Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1- Agatha

Agatha was the start of it all.

She may have not been the first ever member of a Pokemon League (there were plenty of others before her) but Agatha was by far the most influential on the many gym leaders, elites, and even a few champions that would come after her, and the others couldn't even come close. Even champions from all the other regions didn't have the level of respect that Agatha did. Hell, some of those champions even feared her. Agatha found that she liked being feared very much. She was the first elite to establish a total command of any room she was in, within not only Kanto and Johto, but the other regions would look to her for many years to come - even during their heated competition, but more on that later.

If you were to ask someone on who created the ultimate setting on how to run a battle, they would say Agatha.

If you were to ask someone on who had the most input on who the next gym leaders and elites would be, they would say Agatha.

If you were to ask someone on who invoked indescribable terror, they (with utmost certainty) would say Agatha.

Contrary to popular belief, Agatha wasn't that horrifying once you got to know her well. Though she was strict, Agatha wasn't completely heartless. She gave out league jobs to those who others wouldn't even consider; those with even the roughest of backgrounds. Many young people that came along due to Agatha's persuasion in her later years (which, within others in the Indigo league, would playfully call that group her "league children"), because Agatha saw something in them that others didn't.

Vengeance.

Agatha Bychkov would be the first to know about that.

Agatha was sixteen-years-old, and she was furious.

Fury seemed to describe Agatha very well, as anyone in Kanto would be able to tell you. She was a figure of unfiltered, almost catastrophic rage from the moment she stepped into a lab in Pallet Town at ten-years-old and demanded to get a Pokemon. The stupid, bumbling idiotic professor claimed he didn't just hand Pokemon out willy-nilly, and to come back next year. In the same breath the professor said not to go into the tall grass. The same thing her parents said. And her grandparents said. And her older brother who was a terrible trainer said.

Agatha Bychkov had other ideas. She went into the tall grass on Route 1 with an Old Ball she stole from her older brother and hoped for the best.

Really, she was hoping for a confrontation. The fight. Agatha loved the fight. She itched for it; she was quite mad about it. She had the opportunity to watch her brother battle in tournaments, along with all the other trainers. Only one thought came to mind: she could do so much better.

She got her first Pokemon at ten which was actually a Pidgey and she was immediately hooked with how terrifying Pokemon were. When she was small, she was described by her family as "Hurricane Agatha" and it was not because she was cuddly and sweet. Agatha made most of the male trainers cry when she first started battling and she took a lot of pleasure in doing so, including her brother. They had underestimated her because she was a girl. Back then, female trainers weren't treated with as much respect as her male counterparts. Therefore, Agatha was nasty because she had to be and had no regrets.

If you were to ask Agatha in her senior years how she would've reacted if she had the chance to do it all again, Agatha would tell you she would've been nastier.

Right now, she's furious because she had lost a battle against Samuel Oak yet again. That Oak boy really nagged at her, because no matter how consistently awful Agatha was to him, Oak was always friendly to her. But Agatha figured that it was pity and Agatha hated being pitied more than anything else in the world... okay, it was the second thing she hated the most in the world. She hated being pitied, because if she was pitied, then she was weak. Agatha hated weakness more than anything else.

She despised it. It made her skin crawl. Oak was weak, though not in a battling-sense, and Agatha hated that. She hated that Oak didn't seem to care that much about battling and liked researching instead, meanwhile Agatha was jumping through hoops for a battle.

Oak was one of the few that wasn't afraid of her. He was one of the few that actually respected her. He was one of the few that didn't look down at her whenever they battled, even when he would win time-and-time again. So she hated that Oak wasn't as passionate about battling, she hated that Oak was so friendly, and she hated that he cared more about studying Pokemon instead of using them as weapons, like they should be.

Did this mean Agatha hated Oak himself?

Heavens no.

On some level, Agatha appreciated him. She appreciated him because he was the reason she was getting stronger, because those other trainers that she would battle wouldn't anymore for two reasons; the first was that they were too weak for her battling-wise, and the second was that they feared her. Oak didn't fit into either of those boxes.

"You've gotten stronger," Oak would always tell her. "You have such a natural talent for battling."

But what enraged Agatha was that Oak was even more talented when it came to battles, and he would rather study them from a biological point.

"I don't understand why you waste your time," Agatha snapped at him one day. "They're killing machines, and you should treat them as such." Because it was true. They were monstrous creatures that could very well take out your entire family and not blink an eye whilst doing so.

Oak told her they were more than that, and Agatha thought he was insane.

The funny thing was, Agatha researched Pokemon too, but in an entirely different way. She studied their movements - the way they reacted to pain, the way they were defensively and offensively. She studied how typings worked among Pokemon, which was effective against what, and what was ineffective against what. It was also a matter of what type was more combative and which type was more frail. These were ruthless weapons, and Agatha had to have her pick on what specific ammo to use.

Agatha was eighteen-years-old when she took a trip to Lavender Town, specifically the seven-story-tower that was the town's main attraction that gave even the strongest trainers the creeps due to how unsettling it was. Naturally, Agatha was intrigued and knew that she had to go there. She entered the tower and immediately relaxed in the atmosphere. She hadn't faced a single Pokemon yet. That's when and where she found her choice of bullet.

Ghost-type Pokemon were a special type of menacing, and Agatha liked menacing. Grinning triumphantly at the Gastly before her very eyes, Agatha hurled an Old Ball at it. It shook once, not twice, but three times. Gastly from what Agatha could recall, evolved into Haunter, and if you traded it that Haunter would evolve into Gengar. It was not only a ghost-type, but a poison-type.

It was diabolical and sinister. Agatha liked those things, too. Later there would be rumors that her first Pokemon was actually a Gastly, and that she actually frightened the ghost rather than the other way around. That was only half-true, because yes, while she did frighten her Gastly with her signature grin, it was not her first Pokemon.

Time went by, where Agatha grew out of her teens and had not only one Haunter, but three. She also acquired a Golbat and an Arbok for their poisonous types. At this point in her travels, she paid no mind to whatever Oak was doing - because she was winning, getting stronger, better.

To get even better than better, Agatha would have to evolve her two Haunter. While so much as changed, a lot has also stayed the same. One of the few things that stayed the same was that Agatha was feared, rightfully so, and no one would trade with her because her presence alone had frightened trainers. She knew this, and often took pleasure as she did, but this might be the first time where it backfires on her.

That's when she knew she had to go back to Oak.

But first, not without a battle. Shockingly, at first, Oak refused. This naturally enraged her; because battling was how Agatha got her kicks and Oak was depriving her of that, and she sensed something that she had never acquired before in regards to him.

He was afraid of her.

Not full-blown terror like other people had, but there was a hint of fright in Oak's voice when he said no. He couldn't deny it either, because Agatha not only was an expert in detecting fear, she exploited it. This time, Agatha (dare she say) was a little afraid, because Oak was afraid. She didn't show it though, absolutely not. Her voice became sharper and demanded that they have a battle - and he obliged.

Agatha sent out her first Haunter, whilst Oak sent out Arcanine. His Arcanine attempted to get her Haunter with a flamethrower, but Agatha commanded her ghost to evade the attack - and being a ghost type, Agatha knew she could take full advantage of being able to disappear at will. That's when Agatha was able to get her Haunter to use shadow ball. The Arcanine was hit, taking an unusual amount of damage, before being commanded to use another flamethrower. This time, does Haunter manage to take some damage.

Agatha wasn't giving up that easily. With one more shadow ball, did Arcanine go down.

Tauros was the next Pokemon on Oak's team. Agatha mumbled a swear under her breath, because she had studied on why her Haunter couldn't attack Pokemon like Pidgey, Tauros, Chansey, and other Pokemon that were to be called the Normal type. Oh sure, Oak had his own way of researching Pokemon, but so did Agatha. But she knew that neither of them could hit the other, and Oak knew that because she suspected that Oak wanted her to switch out her Pokemon out of frustration.

He was correct because dammit, the idiot knew her so well. Agatha called back her Haunter and sent out her Arbok. That was when Oak ordered his Tauros to use a Take Down attack, which Arbok couldn't evade in time. Agatha's heart was racing, because Arceus - she was not about to lose to him again. Her Arbok was still going, and commanded the snake Pokemon to use a toxic attack. Let the bull Pokemon go down slowly, painfully, whatever. It didn't make a difference to Agatha, and a quick trip to the Pokemon Center later would be fine.

Tauros was weakened by the poison, and this time, Agatha would be the one to stall him. She ordered her Arbok to leer at Tauros, which the latter winced at. Very good - Agatha couldn't hold back a sinister grin. Tauros fainted after a bite from Arbok combined with the poison. Dirty trick? Yes, yes it was. But she was winning. It was almost strange.

Agatha recalled her Arbok to bring her first Haunter out again, while Oak threw another Pokeball to reveal Exeggutor. That's when things got interesting. Oak ordered his Exeggutor to use psychic, which brought her first Haunter down. Fine, she could be petty. Agatha sent out her second Haunter, causing Oak to blink in surprise, and then had the nerve to act shocked when Haunter used a shadow ball on his Pokemon. It was a critical hit, a one-hit knockout, and Agatha was starting to get skeptical.

Agatha withdrew her second Haunter to send out her Golbat, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes when Oak sent out Venusaur in response. That Venusaur was always giving her a damn hard time in the past, and after years of studying typings, she knew why. It was the reason she picked up some poison-types, too. Venusaur's poison would not be able to hit her Golbat, and her Golbat's speed would overwhelm the plant starter Pokemon.

Case and point, Oak ordered his Venusaur to send a storm of razor leaves, all of which managed to miss the flighty bat. Agatha commanded her Golbat to use wing attack. The Venusaur wasn't swift - that was its major flaw. Venusaur survived the first wing attack, but not the second. It went down, and it finally dawned on Agatha that Oak only had one Pokemon left. His Gyarados, which, attempted to use a hyper beam against Golbat - which does knock out the bat. Agatha still had her second Haunter, which she sent back out to use a curse attack - inflicting Oak's final Pokemon with the ghostly condition. Taking advantage of the fact that Gyarados needed to recharge, Haunter used toxic to poison it as well. It would only be a matter of time, given the combination of the curse and poison would take the water-type Pokemon out.

"Haunter, shadow ball," commanded Agatha.

Game, set, and match.

It was the first battle Agatha won against Oak, and she almost didn't get an enjoyment out of it. Almost, though. According to Agatha, Pokemon battles alone were a high but winning them too was pure euphoria. But this battle in particular rubbed her the wrong way, even if it finally ended in beating Oak. It should've made her so high that she would've met Arceus herself, but there was this... disinterest on the side of the battlefield that was certainly not coming from her end.

Oak smiled weakly. "You finally beat me."

It was spoken aloud, filled with regret and defeat. Agatha normally liked those things too when it came from the opponents she demolished, and she was supposed to be looking forward to the day Oak would finally say it, and now that he did, Agatha almost didn't want it.

Once more, almost.

"What's happened, Samuel?" Agatha spoke brashly, unable to help herself. "You're slipping."

Oak looked at her. "Ghost-type Pokemon suit you well, Agatha."

Agatha glared. "Oak."

"You've been gone for quite a while. I was wondering why you originally came to see me in Pallet Town again," rambled Oak, rubbing his chin. "I noticed you had Haunter with you in our battle. I'm assuming you've figured out that we need to trade in order for them to evolve?"

"That I did."

"Let's get to it, then."

So Agatha traded her two Haunter, which both evolved into Gengar, and they traded right back. While Agatha was happy that she got her two Gengar - therefore, getting stronger - she couldn't help but stare at Oak in bewilderment. He looked like a shell of a man that she once knew.

"What's happened?" Agatha pressed.

Oak gave her a careless shrug. "Agatha, you and I both know that I'm into research."

Agatha scowled. "Of course I do," she replied bitterly.

"...I've been toying with something for a while now," Oak said, almost like a confession.

"Like? Out with it now, I do not have all day and you know this!" Agatha knew that after Oak had let her trade Pokemon with her that she shouldn't have been treating him like this. Oak was always kind to her, despite her being pretty awful to him, but Agatha suspected that she was going to hear something that she did not want to.

And she would be correct. "I'm going to quit battling to focus on research," Oak told her, and his voice was wavering slightly, because he was afraid of her.

Agatha's eyes flashed dangerously; this was why he was on edge for the first time. This was why he wasn't looking forward to seeing her. This was why he didn't want to battle her, because he had become weaker due to him focusing on the biological research of Pokemon rather than what Pokemon should really be about which was how they battled, and they always, always disagreed on that - this time was no different.

In many years to come, rumors would spread due to people thinking that Agatha had screamed at him then. A high-pitched, detrimental shrill that would rival a teapot would've been heard all throughout Pallet Town due to their falling out, and that Agatha had attempted to snap his neck herself over the decision he made.

"...why?" Agatha told him with her gaze averted, a voice unusually soft and so unlike her.

They were wrong.

Agatha's eyes snapped up to meet Oak's own. She repeated it furiously, not yelling, but noticeably louder than a normal speaking volume: "Why?!"

Oh no, Agatha was angry. They weren't wrong about that, she was most definitely angry at Oak, and everyone knew it. What they didn't know was that she felt hurt. What they didn't know was that she felt betrayed. They didn't know either of those things because people would assume that Agatha wasn't capable of feeling such emotions. But Agatha wasn't completely heartless, and for the first time, feelings of hurt and betrayal outweighed her anger - and Agatha didn't know how to feel about that.

He didn't answer her immediately.

"You're a brainless moron," sneered Agatha. "Hell... you..." She faltered slightly, if only for a moment before hardening her glare: "You were better than me. Were. What in Arceus' name could be so important that you'd abandon Pokemon battles, it's weak of you, Oak!"

"I'm having a huge breakthrough," pleaded Oak, but Agatha was disgusted by his presence. That's when her anger returned, and at least she had some familiarity with that. It was weak of him. It was absolutely pathetic. "I'm having a huge breakthrough with my research. A device that would record Pokemon, and facts about them, and-"

"There is no point," Agatha cut in sharply.

"You know that's not true."

"But it is," retorted Agatha, crossing her arms. "And that has always been the world of difference between us, Samuel! You treat Pokemon as if they were pets, but if you don't train them properly, they are menacing creatures! They could tear your limbs off. If you're going to use Pokemon you might as well learn how to use them against other Pokemon that can take the damage that humans cannot! That's where the battling comes in, because that's how you're supposed to use them."

Oak stared at her. "We are never going to agree on that."

Beat.

"That we aren't," Agatha allowed, then she shook her head. "I need to leave." She proceeded to exit his home.

"Agatha..."

She didn't stop at the threshold and turn around like she desperately wanted to.

"Agatha, please."

She didn't stop at the entrance of the first route and turn around like she desperately wanted to.

"I'm sorry."

She didn't look back, not even for a second.

At age twenty-nine, Agatha became the first female Elite in the Indigo League, and she had no remorse. Around the same time, Oak became Professor Samuel Oak and revealed his invention of the Pokedex. Agatha didn't care, or at least tried her best not to care, and Oak's accomplishment flew away in the back of her mind.

Though Agatha has achieved elite status, that did not mean she's done and accomplished with her life, and she had accomplished quite a lot of things in her youth. Everyone would bring up what Professor Oak did, but what they didn't bring up was that Agatha published her own research as well. She was the one that created the typing chart. She was the one that introduced how these typings combated against one another, and which ones were ineffective. It was her that studied status effecting moves and its durations.

Oak could sit back and relax regarding his invention being successful, but Agatha had something to prove to him. She would not rest. She would not sleep. She would accomplish everything and more, because she had the thirst to better than him, the thirst to keep going, to (in some twisted way) keep their rivalry alive without speaking to him.

There was nothing sweeter than the taste of vengeance, and the right way to do that was to achieve greatness.

At age twenty-nine, Agatha was far from satisfied, and perhaps she wouldn't ever be. She had an empire to build, because if Kanto and Johto were to have good gym leaders and elites it would only be right if she played a role in it. The Indigo League needed to remain the best league of all the regions.

Regions were competitive with one another, league-wise. It was called the League Numbering System (LNS) in which they recorded and measured how many trainers the gym leaders and elites from all over would defeat; but it only counted if a trainer from a competing region challenged them, and shockingly, there were more challengers like that than one would think.

If a league member that was a gym leader won against a trainer from a different region in an official battle, then the gym leader's region would gain one point. However, if the gym leader lost, then the gym leader's region would lose one point. Depending if a trainer had lost against a gym leader more than once, the trainer would gain a third of their points back that the gym leader had won if they finally managed to beat them. For the elites, stakes were much higher on the defending region's end. If the trainer won against an elite, then the elite's region would lose five points. If the trainer lost, then the elites would gain only three points. The reason for this was because elites could be battled as many times as one wanted, while once you beat a gym leader and obtain their badge then you couldn't battle them anymore.

As for defeating the champion? Well, that was rare – but the champion's region would lose fifteen points, whilst if the champion won the region would gain a mere five points. If the trainer stayed as the champion, then they would have to fight for that region instead of the one they originally came from. This never happened. Call the system petty. Call it immature. Agatha didn't care; that's just how it was - and she was a traditionalist in that sense.

It was something that five of the regions - Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, and Unova - agreed on long ago, ten years before Agatha was born. Normally these trainers would practice by trying to take on their own gyms from their own regions, maybe get to the elite four if they're good enough, and then venture off to one of the others. This system was created to ensure friendly competition so that another world region war wouldn't break out between each other like the last time. Kanto and Sinnoh's champions at the time were both ruthless in their own right and both committed terrible atrocities. Blood was shed, and many top-trainers, soldiers, civilians, and Pokemon had died.

Kanto and Johto were connected with each other due to them sharing the Indigo League. There was a time where Johto tried to have their own elite four, and that was something the region tried to erase from history, but failed. It was abysmal with their chosen champion getting beaten constantly, and eventually when Johto assisted Kanto in the region war they had gotten themselves in with Sinnoh, Kanto agreed to take Johto in and created the Indigo League - a combination of the two. Johto's scores weren't that great (at least they weren't Sinnoh, but that's a story for another time), however Kanto had carried them through and Indigo was always on top due to them having the strongest elite four and quite a good amount of Kanto gym leaders.

The LNS had a friendly rivalry, but regional pride ran deep. Agatha wanted to make sure Indigo stayed at the top. She needn't worry about this until much, much later.

Most importantly, Agatha wanted every single trainer in the world to know her name, and what she represented, and how she achieved all the things she did. In years to come, Agatha is many things to people; terrifying, influential, menacing, strict, the best strategist trainers had ever seen and a glare that would make most people wet themselves.

But Agatha had a heart like everyone else.

You see, there were certain... things in the leagues that you didn't discuss. One of them was Agatha's association with one Professor Oak. There was a reason for this. People still talked, of course, having their own theories - but only one league member would have the guts to confront her on it one-on-one. A league member that was arguably as clever as she, one that Agatha considered a friend however wouldn't admit aloud like many other things, because again - regional pride ran deep. The other league member was entirely correct in her assumption. But this was many, many years later.

Whatever this may turn out to be, it is first and foremost a story of achieving greatness. A story about how league members - with all their quirks, will, determination and, in some cases, sheer luck - had achieved it in some way, shape, or form. Greatness could mean many things. A lot of it was good. A lot of it was bad. And a lot of it was somewhere in-between. It was arguable that most of it was in-between, like people usually were. League members were human after all, despite others insisting otherwise.

But great, nonetheless, and Agatha was the start of it all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2- Pryce

Pryce Rimbach thought the League Numbering System was flawed, but he didn't care about it.

It didn't matter presently, because he's twenty years-old and he's ready to knock out this Magmar in front of him with his favorite Pokemon - Piloswine. His father had found it for him back when it was a Swinub in the Ice Path connecting to Blackthorn City when he was young, and it was a gift for his tenth birthday. Swinub had eventually evolved into Piloswine, and his Piloswine was, frankly, a beast. His Piloswine could knock out any Pokemon with an ice fang, he was sure of it.

That's what Pryce was going to do with this Magmar, and it didn't matter that Magmar was a fire type. Piloswine was family. Piloswine could do anything. Piloswine comforted him when his family couldn't, like when his mother left home shortly after his twelfth birthday causing his father to go into a depression. Pryce really didn't have a lot of thoughts regarding his mother, she was never mentally there when she was physically around, anyway. Johto's Mental Health System was subpar at best, so Pryce couldn't figure out what was wrong with her, and his father was certainly no help after she fled. Piloswine comforted him when he was alone in a house with a father that was too distraught.

Pryce competed in the Kanto-Johto tournaments with his Piloswine, where he mostly came out victorious. The only person that would knock him out was Agatha. He was currently in one now, against that Magmar that was about to go down. Type-advantages be damned. Pryce opened his mouth to command his Piloswine to use that famous, ice fang attack-

...and then Pryce woke up in a hospital.

That's when the memories came flooding back. The Magmar was poorly trained and had a powerful flamethrower that not only hit his Pokemon, but himself. Realizing this, Pryce screamed and demanded to see his Piloswine, and the nurse frantically tried to explain that his Piloswine was in the other wing of the hospital that treated Pokemon. Pryce didn't care. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed - because there were marks on his body that he hadn't seen before, burn marks, and then he was forced into sedation.

The pain meds are calming him down, but barely, and the nurse tried to reassure him that Piloswine was fine - but was also left with severe burn marks. Piloswine would live. They would be released from the hospital when their injuries would heal. Little did Pryce know, that was only the start of his troubles.

When they're released from the hospital, it's during a particularly harsh blizzard. Normally, Pryce would relish in it, because he liked the cold as well as ice-types. Other than Piloswine, his Seel and his Dewgong were like family to him. It's all he had really, it's not like his parents visited him in the hospital, or tried to pick him up. They hadn't a clue.

Pryce and Piloswine were still healing from their injuries, but they were well enough to leave the hospital. The nasty weather was actually beneficial for an ice-type like Piloswine, so Pryce kept him out of his Old Ball as they walked. Though this weather was awful for Pryce, it helped Piloswine, and that's all Pryce cared about. That was the last time a Pokemon of Pryce's would be out of its ball unless it was for battling.

Because without any warning whatsoever, Piloswine left. Pryce had turned his back for just a second, and just like that, Piloswine was gone.

In later years if asked, Pryce would deny he felt anything in the moment when his first Piloswine left him even though everyone in Mahogany Town knew that was a lie. It was an open secret that Pryce was absolutely devastated, but what they didn't know (and what they would never know) was that it was the last time Pryce had cried.

After Pryce was finished crying, he was left with fury as he stormed into the nearest Pokemon Center. His Seel and Dewgong tried to comfort him, but Pryce had snapped:

"I don't want to hear it, just leave it."

But don't leave me like Piloswine did, was what Pryce almost added. Pryce figured they understood without him saying it, but he found that maybe he didn't care if they left. He remembered hearing Agatha's opinions on the radio about Pokemon, that they were meant to battle - so maybe they weren't his friends, after all. It's not like his Piloswine gave a damn about friendship. Agatha was dominating the LNS, bringing in big numbers defeating the trainers in Hoenn, Unova, and Sinnoh - so she had to be right.

Pryce developed a reputation in the tournaments, dubbed by the nickname "Icy Pryce." Pryce didn't care about such a tacky nickname, nor did he confront those that called him that behind his back. He had no time for such a thing, because he had to win tournaments with a new Piloswine that couldn't even produce a proper ice fang like his old one.

Pryce thought he lost his touch. One day he was doing well in a competition, and then, the trainer sent out his last Pokemon. It's a different Magmar from a different trainer, and Pryce knew that logically, but he couldn't help but think this was done intentionally to throw him off, and it worked.

He lost against the trainer, but at least he doesn't have any new burn marks. Still, that doesn't stop Pryce's heart acceleration that night he lost, trying to catch his breath as the vivid image of what once was entered his mind. He gripped the bedsheets as he tried to steady his breathing. He knew his Pokemon were concerned, but he shooed them away. Being too attached to his Pokemon was what started this whole mess, and he wasn't about to make that same mistake twice.

Agatha let out a string of profanities. That stupid, idiotic, psychic-type gym leader from Mahogany Town had gotten himself into a bind. The champion had no choice but to fire him (the champion, whom, was several years older than Agatha) and now they had to find a replacement. One of her colleagues, a psychic-type elite named Gerald, had been assigned to the task. Though the gym leader of Mahogany Town had gotten into a scandal, he was still a very good battler in comparison to the others in Johto, and now Johto would be weaker unless they found a suitable replacement.

Now, you may be wondering: Johto was dragging them down, then why didn't Kanto simply just drop them? Let them make their own league and let them crawl for their lives until they would wither away. Let them try making their own league again. Well, it was far more complicated than that.

Agatha had a theory. It's not one she liked or even wanted to entertain. Though Johto had some shoddy battling techniques with Pokemon, they somehow acquired to have the best military defense out of all the regions regarding humans. It's how Kanto won the war from long ago against Sinnoh, and part of their agreement was to have Johto join their ranks despite their bad numbers. Unova had tried to aide Sinnoh, despite both of their military defenses being subpar at best. When Unova was getting hit, they backed out at the last minute. Hoenn had swiftly stayed out of the whole thing, because Kanto and Sinnoh had been arguing with each other for centuries on how to go on about things politically and whatnot. Sinnoh went down hard; they had suffered the most tragedies out of all the five, and they're paying the price by being ranked last in the system.

Call it paranoia. Call it being threatened. Agatha didn't care; but she suspected that if Kanto dropped Johto, it wouldn't be long until the other regions tried to slither in to try and get Johto on their sides and send Kanto into another war like the last one. Yes, Agatha loved to fight - there was no question about that, but this was a fight she just wasn't willing to risk. It was unlikely, but still - it weighed heavily in the back of her mind. If the four regions went up against Kanto, there was no way Kanto come back unscathed.

It's not like it mattered right now, because Indigo is way, way ahead of everyone else despite Johto's mediocrity. They were friendly with the elites and gym leaders from the other regions currently (sometimes a bit passive aggressive, however they got along with each other) but Agatha doesn't know if that would last if Johto would separate. Agatha hadn't been in the league for a long while yet, but she studied battling not only regarding Pokemon, but humans as well. She knew how they thought. She understood war.

It's also exactly what Agatha would've done if she was in the other region's shoes.

They also didn't have time for wars against those regions, because right now, Johto was in the midst of a war with Alola. Alola wanted to secede from the League of Regions which included more regions that wasn't just the five in the LNS. They wanted to secede because they didn't have gym leaders. This was fine, up until they wanted everyone else to follow suit to get rid of their gym leaders. It was kind of a cold-shoulder-type-of-war, then Alola decided to drop a bomb in the Whirl Islands. A terrible mistake on Alola's end. Johto's military complex was lethal, and at this point they didn't need the help of Kanto - though Kanto had offered their assistance. When Johto's soldiers got involved, the other regions stayed out of it. It was objectively the smartest thing to do, which was precisely why Agatha refused to drop Johto out of the LNS with them.

Speaking of her colleagues, Gerald had walked into the League Office and let out a sigh. "Nothing so far. Nothing whom could replace him."

Agatha gritted her teeth. "Where's our flimsy champion?"

"The champion that beat you seventeen times," reminded Gerald.

"Do not test me today," snapped Agatha. Their champion had beaten Agatha actually only sixteen times, thank you very much. At that point, the champion just offered her a position as the top of the Elite Four and she accepted it. She booted out a veteran, and it wasn't a pretty scene when her colleagues had been moved down. "Where is he?"

"He's also been trying to scout," said Gerald. "We have Roland and Bolt searching as well, even if I'm technically the only one that should be doing this task." Roland specialized in the steel type, and Bolt specialized in the electric-type. Agatha also thought the two were the most useless oafs she's ever met.

"And why wasn't I asked if I had any ideas?"

"Do you?"

"Maybe I do. Just because I'm new compared to you lot, doesn't mean I don't have anything of value to say. It was me that decided to open up new training centers in Johto, and because of that, we widened the gap slightly then. So you're welcome, by the way."

"But now it's going down," argued Gerald. "It's going to continue to go down unless we find a suitable replacement for Mahogany. So I repeat... do you have any ideas?"

"Why don't you check the tournament logs?" Agatha inquired coldly. "I've done it." She had taken it upon herself to try to find someone that could replace the psychic gym leader, and there was a name that came to mind, but now she was feeling particularly spiteful. "How about you take a look? Whichever name you like, there's your gym leader."

"Rather reckless of you, Agatha."

"The Mahogany gym is in a crisis. We can't continue to have that stupid gym trainer." In a dramatic fashion, Agatha slammed the large book of names that had taken hours upon hours of reading on the table, and let out a grim smile. "Check the logs, and tell me what you find."

Gerald gaped. "I thought you wanted to be apart of the search?"

"Mm, I've decided that if you didn't think to consult me, then perhaps you don't deserve my help."

Gerald shook his head. "You're insane, Agatha." But still, he took the heavy book and stormed off.

Though Pryce swore off having friends that were Pokemon, that didn't necessarily pertain to humans. Case and point, a few days after the tournament he traveled to Azalea Town to meet with a friend of his from childhood.

"Have I come in at a bad time?" Pryce asked politely.

Kurt shook his head. "No, actually. I was wondering when you'd stop by." Pryce took a seat across from him. Kurt had once been someone who competed in tournaments like himself, but had left in favor of research. It was similar to what allegedly happened between Agatha and Oak, except Pryce still remained good friends with Kurt. Pryce hadn't met either of the two personally, but Kurt had spoken to them on occasion. Never together though, because for some reason, Agatha refused to be in the same room with him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Terrible, thank you for asking."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Mind your tongue, you don't get to be nasty to me because your life has been so shit." It was another thing Pryce appreciated, in a way, that he was one of the few people that didn't look at him with pity after his incident with his burns. Pryce could always use the normalcy. "I heard what happened. With the last tournament."

Just because Pryce appreciated the normalcy, did not mean he wanted a reminder of the incident. "It's nothing concerning. I had... just frozen in the moment."

"Yes, more than your Pokemon."

Pryce didn't appreciate that. "You know, you're cruel."

"Not crueler than you," remarked Kurt. Pryce scowled at him. "Listen, I know you've had a lot happen to you in the past few years..." Understatement of the century. "...but you don't need to be like this; you've changed, Pryce, and not necessarily in the best of ways. You're like..." Here, Kurt hesitated: "...like an old man, except you're twenty-three."

"Pffft. In that case, call me up in fifty years and tell me you're not bitter."

"I'm not planning on it." Funny how things change. "Did you hear that Mahogany Town's gym leader got fired?"

Pryce's eyebrows shot up. "Really, now? That's the... sixth one in the past two years?"

"Seventh."

Even better. "How'd he get fired?"

"Public intoxication. He also asked one of the Kimono Girls for a lap dance."

"Ah..." Pryce paused thoughtfully. "Who's going to replace him?"

"Hell if I know. But Agatha has been raving and ranting about it to me for three whole days. I'm sick of it. The champion hasn't made his decision on who he wants as the gym leader. I was thinking..." Kurt gave Pryce a look. "...you could take it off their hands."

Beat.

"What?"

"Come off it," waved off Kurt, scoffing. "I could recommend you to Agatha. It's a steady paycheck, you get to face off against stronger trainers, and you would be just as strong as the gym leader before - I remember battling with you, you know. You'd always beat me."

"I..." Here, Pryce tried not to grimace. "...may have lost my touch."

"If you really think that, then here's a way to get it back," advised Kurt.

"The gym leader is a psychic-type," argued Pryce. "The trainers there would be out of a job, unless everyone becomes okay with ice-types very quickly. And that's not going to happen. Surely the league has better choices..."

"Oh come on, Pryce," groaned Kurt. "This self-deprecating bit is not going to work on me. They do not have better choices, and you know it. You'd make a damn good gym leader. You're the person that Agatha would look for."

"Let me guess: cold, icy, overall terrible..."

"Strict," corrected Kurt. "I'll go talk to Agatha."

"I'm not going to get picked."

Kurt let out a smile; it was almost unsettling, but not quite - it was more like he was hiding something. "I think you will."

Pryce said nothing else, only rolling his eyes.

Three hours later at the Indigo League, Gerald appeared in front of Agatha with the tournament log book, with heavy bags under his eyes - his eyes, that were strained. Agatha knew why; because though he had called her insane, she knew that Gerald was going to look through the book. "So," he began, "I think I have an idea of who to pick."

Agatha smiled knowingly. Then, she spoke tauntingly: "Do you, now?"

"Yes I do," huffed Gerald, then flipped to a page. "Pryce Rimbach. He's an ice-type specialist, but we can close the gym down for a couple of more days to find trainers that specialize in that type. His stats went down, but he was very strong when he was a teenager. I think he's the boy that got burned by a Magmar. Maybe this would get him back."

Agatha continued to smile, and only smiled even more when Gerald looked unsettled by it. She's unsurprised, it's a natural gift she had. "So you're going to let the champion know that Pryce is your decision?"

"Yes, I am."

Hook, line, and sinker. "I know. I've had him in mind for a while now."

Beat.

Gerald looked furious. "How long?"

"Mm, about four hours now. I just received call from Kurt that Pryce was willing to do it."

Staggering silence followed.

"I asked you then if you had any ideas," snapped Gerald. "You had a name this entire time? I looked through that log for hours, Agatha!"

"Next time you should consult me instead of leaving me in the dust," was Agatha's cold response. Gerald was rendered speechless, then he shook his head and stormed off. Agatha could only smile watching him go, taking a sip of her coffee - black, with no sugar.

Pryce was handed a set of keys to his new gym in Mahogany Town three days later, and to be frank, he doesn't really know how to feel about it. He supposed that it was a good paycheck, that it certainly beat having to constantly fight trainers for money - but there was a matter of whipping these supposed new ice-type specialists into shape.

He wouldn't physically whip them. Mentally, however...

He recognized a few of the trainers - most of them had been ones he had beaten long ago, he had beaten their ice-types with his own. It was back when he had his first Piloswine, and that ice fang attack that would make them victorious... but that didn't matter anymore. He had something to prove, and he almost grinned at the thought - he had become a gym leader without that first Piloswine, he would surely show him. They would all know about what his first Piloswine did, everyone in Mahogany would.

But what these trainers didn't know was that there were still a few nights where Pryce would have nightmares, a few times where he would be slightly fearful of when a Magmar would come face-to-face with him in a battle, and that (more than anything else) he would still have the same question in regards to his first Pokemon.

Why?

That was the question. Pryce would never find out what caused his Piloswine to leave, and he never would. It would still haunt him until he would take his last breath.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3- Wattson

Wattson was brilliant in all things that were electrifying. Funnily enough, that's how people would describe him that knew him best. "Oh you're talking about Wattson Oswald, right? He's... electrifying, that's for sure." If Watson wasn't described as electrifying, the word "eccentric" would come to mind, as well. But above all the things Watson has been called in his lifetime, the word electrifying stands out the most, because behind the jovial man with a ready laugh was a genius electrician. He was electrifying.

Wattson was born and raised in what would later be called Mauville City. It wasn't called Mauville City yet - it was a nameless city that had been in the works because it had been hit hard by a flood before Wattson was born. Floods were a common occurrence in Hoenn. When Wattson was six-years-old, his mother and father had to constantly stop him from flickering the lights on and off. Wattson, entering his "why" stage in life, asked his parents just that.

But first, a word about Wattson's parents:

They were a lovely couple - doting, kind, and jovial not unlike their son. His parents were electricians, and they moved to the city working to innovate the place and find a proper name for it. They also didn't believe in so-called "baby-talk" considering it to be demeaning to children, nor did they believe in the philosophy of saying "Because I said so." If Wattson wanted to know something, his parents would be honest and explain to him. That's when Wattson's parents told him the importance of electricity.

If you flicker the lights on and off too quickly, it could stress out and damage the wires and chords that keep the light on. Wires that were exposed could spark every time a light went on, and therefore, potentially start a fire. This all may have been a little daunting to tell a six-year-old, but Wattson was a happy child and this only fascinated him more.

He had inherited his mother and father's love for electricity.

With very, very strict supervision over the years, Wattson's parents taught him little things about what electricians had to do by letting him watch on their work. His father occasionally let him practice with electricity, technology, and the tools needed (much to his mother's annoyance and disapproval, despite his father's watchful eye) but Wattson was a natural. His skills were so far advanced that the citizens would gossip claiming that he had worked on his first lightbulb when he was only a toddler.

When Wattson was ten, his parents caught him a Pokemon that his parents knew he'd love.

"Is that an Electrike?" Wattson marveled, and the small electric-type creature let out a playful howl and trotted over in Wattson's arms. He hugged the Electrike tightly, blissfully unaware of the Pokemon's discomfort. "I've always, always wanted- yow, ow, ow!" The Pokemon had shocked him. "That," he began, staring at the Electrike: "...is so cool!"

So he was a little too happy about this new gift, but under his parents' watchful eyes, Wattson would learn the beauty of electric-type Pokemon. How their energy was resourceful in powering up cities, how it would be useful in innovation settings, and how, most importantly, it would make a wonderful partner and companion.

When Wattson was eleven, his parents wanted Watson to pick the name for their city.

And Wattson said: "The word 'Mau' means intimidating! Mauville City. It sounds scary, ohohoho!"

So from a technical standpoint, it was Wattson's parents who had founded the city, but it was Wattson that chose the name. But as the years went by, it was Wattson who helped his parents in his teens to finally build and innovate the place. The people of Mauville City wondered how a boy that was only fourteen-years-old had such bright ideas, along with the question if it was really legal for him to assist them, but they didn't care once they saw his work. He was a prodigy.

That's what Wattson was. He was a prodigy in technology and electricity. Prodigies and talents like him in those fields only came once in many, many years, and that was proven to be true as no one would reach Watson's level of skill until a certain boy in Sunyshore City of the Sinnoh region would be born.

Wattson's ideas came to life as the years went on, and along with that, his Electrike evolved into Manectric and he had caught a Magnemite, and a Voltorb. When Wattson told his parents about another building idea when he was eighteen, it was the first time his parents said no.

"You've already done so much," his mother had said to him. "What you should do, is go on a journey with your Pokemon. Fully. Perhaps take on the Hoenn League? Or... or maybe you can go to another region and get some points for Hoenn?"

Wattson was opposed at first. "But there's so much to do for the city."

It wasn't just that. Wattson loved his Pokemon, he really did, but his passion lied with technology and electricity. Not to mention that Wattson didn't really care about the LNS. Most people in Hoenn didn't, and had only agreed because they thought it would be in good fun. Wattson did like to have fun, there was no question about that, but he suspected that the system was more of an ego boost to Kanto. Everyone knew that Kanto was the best, but Arceus were they obsessive over their numbers. Hoenn simply didn't care. That's why their league members were probably the friendliest. His region and Unova. Sinnoh was always angry. Wattson understood; but really, he couldn't be bothered.

"You've done enough," persisted his father. "We're so proud of you, we really are, but maybe it's time to take a break. Your mother and I can take over from here. You deserve to go on a journey like every other kid."

"I'm eighteen."

"You're always going to be a kid in my eyes."

Wattson tried not to smile and rolled his eyes fondly. "I can power-up this entire city in the blink of an eye, and you want me to fully train my Pokemon."

"Yes," their answers were immediate. His mother took over: "I've seen you battle wild Pokemon, Wattson dear, and it's something. You may have inherited our brains and our love for electricity, but we never had the talent that you have with your Pokemon." It was true, and Watston knew that (his parents brought that up constantly) but part of him didn't think it was necessary. It wasn't like he was going to be Hoenn's new champion, and that was perfectly fine for him.

Nonetheless, he decided to go on a journey for the next two years. It's not like anything bad would happen. Nothing bad had happened in the Hoenn region for quite some time. It seemed as though the Hoenn region was on a winning streak. Things were looking good for the upbeat region.

Right?

"PACIFIDLOG TOWN FLOODED

GYM LEADER AMONG OTHERS KILLED."

The current champion of Hoenn, a man by the name of Bartholomew "Barty" Pollack, had thrust this headline in his room full of elites first thing the next morning after the news broke out that yesterday there had been an outrageous flood that had swept through the town named.

"Pacifidlog Town is no more," he told them all seriously, and they blinked. It wasn't surprising that they reacted this way, Barty was a jolly man that rarely spoke solemnly. He was, as others would say, rather aloof - but an amazing trainer in regards to training fire-types. However this isn't about Barty, this meeting was to speak about how not only they were down a gym leader, but that a gym was destroyed along with many homes and people. They were still fishing out bodies from underwater. "We have seven gyms."

"It's quite daunting," agreed Hoenn's psychic-elite, Elliot. "What's the casualty number?"

Barty looked him dead in the eyes. "Seventeen so far."

"Damn it," groaned Elliot.

"I know this isn't as important and it's rather inhumane to say during these times, but we can't have a league with only seven gyms," pointed out Barty.

Elliot's eyes went wide. "Hoenn would have to go on a lockdown."

"What about the LNS...?" inquired Hoenn's ice-elite, Hal. He crossed his arms over his chest. The other two elites stared at him in shock.

They were relatively new, their names being Ishmael and Jaden, and they specialized in fighting and steel types, respectively. The latter was especially new, only having been promoted just a few days ago. Barty felt slightly guilty that the young man was dealing with an unfortunate part of league duties so early on, but it was necessary for him to learn how to deal with tragedies now instead of down the line.

Barty shook his head. "We can't think about that right now unless we build and innovate a new gym in a city or town very quickly. Who on earth could do such a thing?"

A pause echoed in the room.

"You know," began Ishmael quietly, "Mauville City's innovations are incredible. Have you heard about the Oswald family?"

"Of course, how could we not?" asked Hal rhetorically. "They built that city from nothing. Are you suggesting they host a gym?" Ishmael blanched, and then nodded. "Well I personally think they should consider planning for Pacifidlog Town instead, and remake their gym."

"No, that's ridiculous," disagreed Elliot. Hal stared at him incredulously. "The Oswald family is good at what they do, they might as well do it in the city that they made."

"Slateport City is another option," pressed Hal. "...or perhaps Lilycove-"

"The two contest capitals of the city? No... Mauville would be best," argued Elliot.

"...I've battled with their son a year ago." All heads turn to the one person who hadn't spoke this entire time, which was Jaden, their youngest elite. "What? I have. Didn't you hear that they had a son that helped with their city? I think his name's Wattson. Yes, I'm sure of it now. Young electrician, handy with gadgets. Why, I've never seen anything like it. I heard he made a charging source with a potato when he was seven-years-old."

Barty's eyebrows shot up. "A potato?" Silence after Jaden nodded, then: "Well, you said you battled with him. Any good?"

Jaden bit his lip. "He lost, but not terribly. He took it in stride, though. He's a bit strange."

"Strange?"

"He's always laughing," explained Jaden. "Happy about pretty much everything. When I heard rumors about him, I was expecting the serious and stoic type. You know, how most geniuses are. But he was anything but. Kind of like you."

Barty snorted, though it was good-naturedly. "Buttering me up won't make me move you to the second slot on our elite four."

Jaden grinned. "It was worth a shot."

"Any idea where he is right now?" inquired Barty.

"I haven't seen him since that day, and it was over a year ago," admitted Jaden. "He mentioned that he was training his Pokemon, taking a break from being an electrician."

Barty let out a tsk. "Well, let's get in contact with the Oswald family. I'm sure they would approve of what we had in mind." He gave each of his elites separate looks. "...We are on the same page, aren't we?"

"Are we?" Ishmael asked, frowning. The others stared. "I... uh... we are going to see if Wattson could be a gym leader, I'm guessing."

Barty let out a genuine smile; it was the first one he had in the past sixteen hours. "That we are."

Wattson didn't know what the fuss was about. He had never recalled seeing so many Hoennians looking so distraught because Hoenn wasn't known for its seriousness. Oh no, Wattson didn't mean this in a bad way - he was referring to how his region was very, very friendly. Right now, they aren't as friendly, and he hadn't the faintest clue as to why.

That was, until, Wattson overheard a few trainers outside of Petalburg City talking about the "Pacifidlog Flood." Now, Wattson knew that Hoenn had an issue with floods. This was nothing new, and Hoennian's would adapt very quickly to their new surroundings - like Mauville City did. When he overheard the trainers mention the words "Pacifidlog" and "Flood" in the same sentence, Wattson supposed it made sense. He didn't want to sound insensitive, but he always thought that town was a disaster waiting to happen.

That's when Wattson caught a glimpse of the latest headline of the Hoenn Inquirer and his heart nearly stopped.

"PACIFIDLOG TOWN FLOODED

GYM LEADER AMONG OTHERS KILLED."

It spoke for itself. For the first time in a long time, Wattson did not smile. The Hoenn Inquirer was more of a 'feel-good' newspaper, one that rarely posted bad news because things had been going so darn well for the Hoenn region. A cold shiver went through Wattson's body; he was planning on taking that gym challenge one day. He didn't know when, but he was planning on it. Wattson had just received his badge from the Petalburg City gym, and he wondered why the gym leader there looked distressed; this was why. After two years of bonding and battling with his Pokemon, another flood had occurred. Realistically, he should've expected it. But a gym leader being among the casualties did not sit right with him.

Hoenn was distraught. Gym leaders, like their current champion and elites, had a reputation for being very kind toward trainers. They were even kind toward those from a different region; those that had the same intent as other outsiders to take away points from his region.

No one really cared. Hoenn was in mourning. How were they going to go on when a town was destroyed along with one of their gyms?

That's when it dawned on Wattson. There still was some space in Mauville City, but there could definitely be a gym there. He knew that although Hoenn wasn't too fussy over their standing amongst other regions, it would make them happy if there were a quick solution to their issues.

More than anything, however, Wattson wanted to make Hoenn smile again.

So Wattson returned to Mauville City, to already see that a gym was in the process of construction. His parents were waiting right at the front. Upon sight, Wattson went over to hug each of his parents - he hadn't seen them for two years, after all.

"We're so happy you weren't anywhere near Pacifidlog Town," breathed out his mother. "We hadn't heard a single thing, so..." she let it trail off from there.

The last thing Wattson wanted was to upset his mother further, so he changed the topic. "You were contacted by the league?"

"Yes," said Wattson's father. "Mauville City's going to have an official gym for the Hoenn League. We were hoping you would get back, because, well-"

"Innovations?" cut in Wattson, giving his father a half-grin. "I have several ideas on what we could do."

"I'm sure you do," Wattson's mother chuckled. "There's an elite four member that called us. You may recognize the name. Jaden Manesse?"

"Yes. I battled with him a year ago." Then, Wattson's eyes grew wide. "He's an elite four member now?" He let out a hoot of laughter. "Oh ho! I can't say I'm that surprised. He took out my Pokemon like it was nobody's business. So he's the one that asked you two to help innovate? There's just one thing - who's going to be the new gym leader?"

His parents could only smile at him.

"...What?" Wattson didn't understand. "...What is it? Why are-" Wattson, bless him, though he was quite a genius with electricity, he couldn't take a hint if his life depended on it. This was not one of his strengths, as he did not understand why his parents were just smiling at him. "What's going on?"

"They want you, sweetheart."

Wattson immediately went into denial. "No they don't."

"Yes they do."

"They don't," persisted Wattson, because he really couldn't believe his ears. "They couldn't."

"They could," disagreed Wattson's father.

Wattson barked out some laughter. "They're insane."

"Well Hoennians have always been a little kooky, but I wouldn't go as far to say we're insane."

"Mom."

"I don't understand why you're so surprised by it."

"Because being an electrician is one thing," Wattson pointed out. "Being a gym leader is another. Why haven't they asked one of you to do it, instead?"

"You know exactly why," said Wattson's father. "Jaden put in good word for you."

"Jaden beat me."

"Not by much."

Wattson sighed. "I was hoping, after my journey, I could come back to help my city."

"You can and you will, this is just one way of doing it," said his father.

"I meant with electricity."

"Still counts," grinned his mother. "Wattson - Electric-type gym leader of Mauville City. I think it has a nice ring to it, don't you think? And, well..." Here, her grin widened. "I think you would be allowed to innovate your gym how you want. It's your gym. It would be a big project for you. I'd imagine you're a little out of practice."

That caught Wattson's attention. "Arceus, I've barely been holding on." Of course, Wattson had managed to do with the little he had to get his fix, because electricity was like a drug for him - hooking him, and this would be a good way to finally do something big. To make Hoenn smile again.

"An electric-type gym," marveled Wattson, the gears forming in his head - formulating a plan, on how to do just that. "Is it too late to say yes?"

His parents collectively laughed. "Of course not," said his father. "Part of what Jaden said was that on top of your gym leader position, you'd stay closer to home, so you can work on our city more."

It was quite the bonus. Wattson let out a smile, and said: "Let me get my tools."

Chapter Text

Chapter 4- Bertha

In Floaroma Town of the Sinnoh region, there was a small religious group that were referred to as Arceonists, which was essentially believing in Arceus but with a few extra steps, and by a few it's meant as being regarded as one of the most perplexing groups around. It had only formed within the past fifteen years, but it had garnered a following from the citizens in Floaroma Town. One man, by the name of Orland Skeeter, claimed to have seen Arceus himself and would get voices from Arceus telling him what to do and he would pass that down to the desperate citizens of Floaroma. They built an organization, a building, titled: "The Original One's Church."

Yeah, it didn't really make any sense. Nonetheless, Bertha Morello had believed every single thing they said.

You see, Bertha had grown up in the organization. Her parents were Floaroma natives and had gotten sucked into it, the sense of community and belonging, and followed whatever Orland Skeeter said. Women didn't battle with Pokemon. Women didn't train with Pokemon. Women, women, women - they were quite obsessed with women. Women would get married as young as sixteen to a man, usually far older, and would be encouraged to make as many children as they could.

Bertha, age-seventeen, was set to be married to a thirty-year-old man that she couldn't harbor even the slightest bit of attraction to. Bertha wished at the very least her parents were to have her married to one of those cute boys that were her age – but those were mostly outside the church, and you didn't marry outsiders. One day, her husband-to-be had to stop at the Canalave City Library to meet with a few friends of his. Bertha nervously scanned over the bookshelf when her fiancé wasn't looking. All Arceonists knew how to read - but they could only read things approved by Orland Skeeter. Bertha was too curious, however, so she picked up a random book and hid it in her coat.

It was by a mere coincidence that it was a history book, and thank goodness it was. When she read the entire book in secret, Bertha first went into denial. A few days later, she was crying in her room for three hours straight as the information sunk in. She was crying because everything she was taught was a lie. She was crying because it seemed like nothing meant anything anymore. She was crying because she was set to be married to someone she wasn't attracted to and there was hardly anything she could do about it.

Two days before the wedding, her mother and father found the book and Bertha thought that her life was over. Those who broke the rules of the church were punished very, very severely. They were taken into a room, and they never came back out. She could still hear the screams...

That's how Bertha escaped with nothing but two empty Old Balls, a hundred pokedollars to her name, and the hope for a damn miracle.

When Bertha's journey started since leaving The Original One's Church, she tried to be assertive as she could. This wasn't that surprising, because Sinnohnians were arguably angrier than all the other regions and rightfully so.

Sinnoh was considered a disgrace. They were ranked dead last in the LNS. Even Hoenn was doing better than them and they didn't even care. Johto's numbers weren't good, they occasionally took away points from the Kanto-Johto team than gained, but Indigo still prevailed. Unova was fine. But Sinnohnians kept getting sent home, over and over.

Back when there was a war between Kanto and Sinnoh, there were jokes made at the latter region's expense. Some of the younger trainers during that time would make jokes while Sinnoh was getting creamed with nuclear weapons. Oh, a trainer lost against you? That trainer must've been from "Shithole Sinnoh."

They were angry at each other as well, and Bertha had been on the receiving end of that.

Bertha had an ally – no, a friend she made along the way that was her age. She was eighteen when she met Adelaide Barker, who showed no interest in battling but in chess instead. She was a chess player that had a dream to travel all over to compete in tournaments and win. Adelaide was one of the few female chess players in Sinnoh, so she could relate to Bertha's struggles. Being a Pokemon trainer and a chess player was a man's world. Still, Adelaide's Espeon made quite good company and whenever someone bothered them she would show how powerful the cat was. Bertha had battled against Adelaide several times, and it was a shame – she was quite good with psychic types, and maybe she could've challenged the elite four one day. But her passions lied elsewhere, which Bertha could respect, like chess and... books.

Arceus, Bertha didn't think someone could love books more than she herself did, but Adelaide proved her wrong. If her chess opponent was taking too long to move, Adelaide would pull out a book to read.

"Oh, Bertha!" Adelaide would always say, "I've just finished reading this book. It was quite a good read. Can you believe that some schools wanted this book banned? Arceus, banning books is not the answer! No wonder Sinnoh's educational system is so abysmal."

And Bertha would reply, "Be sure to teach your future children the importance of literacy."

"As a matter of fact I will, if I do end up having children. We ought to stop by Canalave more often, their library is so massive I might start living there!"

Always. Bertha had no issues listening to her, because ever since she discovered Sinnoh's history book when she was sixteen, she was eager to learn.

And so, Bertha and Adelaide cultivated some reputation. When Bertha introduced herself to a trainer, the trainer would mutter a swear because he knew he was done for. When Adelaide introduced herself to her chess opponent, the color would drain from his face.

"My name is Adelaide Barker. Please entertain me, I've just finished this book and it was a chore to get through."

"My name is Bertha Morello. Please entertain me, the last few battles have been a bore to get through."

Some people forfeited the matches before they even started.

The dynamic female duo was suddenly dominating two fields that were occupied by men. Very rarely would you see one without the other.

Until one day, Adelaide simply disappeared. Bertha wouldn't know what happened to her until many years later, and would regret not keeping in touch with her and her family. It was also because Bertha learned she would have to face Sinnoh's trainers alone. And boy, were they nasty.

One time, one of her fellow Sinnohnians called her "Discount Agatha." Bertha kicked him in the privates in retaliation. Another time, in one of the training centers in Jublife City where she was the only girl present, one of them had snatched her favorite scarf. Bertha broke three of his fingers after that.

"That little bitch took my potion!" was referring to an incident when one of the trainers in the training center had spat on her shoes, and Bertha felt no remorse as she yanked his bag off his shoulders and took the first item she saw. She didn't care. She would make use of it on her beloved ground-type Pokemon.

"You should've seen the look on Timmy's face, he looked like he was going to cry when you pulled out your Hippowdon!" marveled Travis in his house in Jublife City.

He, like Bertha, was an ex-member of the church she had grown up in and had escaped. He was a man that respected her as an equal. He was also one of the few men that didn't hit on her if they didn't despise her guts, as Travis had no interest in women. Bertha had picked up on that with his all-over-the-place way of speaking. Oh, and that he admittedly had a crush on one of those cute Floaroma boys outside the church like Bertha had those years ago.

Bertha had heard Travis remark time and time again that if he wasn't entirely homosexual, they would've been married. At this, Bertha would roll her eyes fondly.

"Wait, wait, wait! I'm sure he shed a tear!" Travis went on. Bertha tried to be happy, but truthfully, this fact only frustrated her.

Bertha was now twenty-seven and bored out of her freaking mind. She was just about ready to give up, but there was no way she was going back to the church. Absolutely not. They had long since stopped looking for her, but if she came back, there's no knowing what they would do. If she spoke out against them, they would find her. She couldn't risk outing her church without being an established league member or a politician or someone being worth a damn to listen to. She tried slipping anonymous notes, but nothing.

Bertha didn't necessarily want to be a champion; she heard rumors that it was a demanding job that regarded too much paperwork, settling political disputes she did not care for, and other petty, trivial things that didn't have anything to do with battling.

They called it the "Sinnoh League Boys Club."

All eight gym leaders were male. The elites and the champion? All of them were male. Normally Bertha wouldn't be bothered about such a fact if they didn't insist on bringing it up almost always whenever they did interviews. The idiotic league members had bragged about it. She thought they really didn't have any right to brag either, because Sinnoh was nowhere near the level of the Indigo League - and they had a woman that was knocking out Sinnoh's trainers left and right. Bertha never wanted to admit that in regards to Kanto and Johto, but gave credit where credit was due.

Bertha thought she herself was a force to be reckoned with, too.

The point was, what frustrated her that despite Bertha's reputation, the "Sinnoh League Boys Club" didn't care about good she was. To them, it didn't matter that Bertha had handed twelve of their asses back to them, and those league members could only take delight in that she had lost to their champion three times. It didn't matter that Bertha had taken some points away from Kanto's gym leaders; sure, Kanto was still very ahead of them, but still it was worth noting. Bertha didn't want to become the champion of Sinnoh, she either wanted a job as a member of her own region's elite four or at least be a damn gym leader. It was their club, and she wasn't in it.

"Bertha, dear?"

Bertha shook herself out of her thoughts. "Hm?"

"You're dozing off on me," pointed out Travis. "I was just talking about Viper."

There's a criminal running rampant all over Sinnoh. Mean, wicked, with the fitting name of Viper. He liked to steal high-achieving trainer's Pokemon, and if they tried to stop them, he would order his Arbok to shoot poison down their throats and watched them struggle with a grim smile on his face before fleeing. He's been at this for two weeks now, and most trainers at this point had fearfully locked themselves away in Pokemon Centers or their homes. The Pokemon Centers were starting to get full, and some trainers didn't have homes to go back to. Those were the unlucky ones that Viper targeted. The Sinnoh League hadn't done jack squat about it, and it was starting to get on Bertha's nerves because she's bored out of her mind since the usual tough trainers were either dead or afraid.

Bertha's breath was caught in her throat and everything started to piece together in her brain. Then, she grinned and got up from Travis' sofa.

"Bertha? Bertha, what's going on?"

"Yes, I know all about Viper," remarked Bertha, still grinning as she thought about it. Oh, it would be perfect. "Where would he go usually?"

"I haven't a clue. Why?"

If it was possible, Bertha grinned wider - not only that, she grinned triumphantly. "Because I'm going to capture that sick son of a bitch." It was not often that Bertha swear, but when she did, it was legendary for those who had the honor of hearing it.

"Bertha are you insane?!" Travis barked at her, eyes wide with fear. "Are you mad?! Bertha, love. He's killed trainers, and you might be one of them! You're too good for Sinnoh to lose, Arceus dammit!"

"Am I?" Bertha challenged fiercely. "Because the Sinnoh League doesn't seem to think so. I try and try to get them to finally cast a glance in my direction, and they only did that when I lost against Spyro three times! And the elites laughed at me, jeered at me, and treated me like a joke even though I had technically beat them three times!"

"There's almost no point trying to get into that group that doesn't see how good you are, especially not at the possibility of you losing your life over it," argued Travis.

"Impossible. Because I'm not going to lose my life over it, because I'm going to capture him. I'm going to capture him, something that the boys club failed to do, and they'll have no choice but to let me in." And Bertha knew this to be true. "The ground-type specialist in the elite four, Ahmet, is looking rather frail - I was able to take him down without breaking a sweat. They'll let me replace him. After with what will happen between Viper and I, they have to."

Travis stared. "Bertha please, please reconsider..."

But Bertha had already made up her mind.

She had a high-ranking criminal to catch.

"Arceus fucking dammit!" cursed Pascal, a member of Sinnoh elite four that was currently in the champion's chamber room for a meeting.

Spyro was the league-champion that was an all-around trainer, which meant he didn't have a type specialty. Axel specialized in dragon-types. Ferro specialized in fire-types. Pascal specialized in poison types. And finally, Ahmet specialized in ground-types. "If I have to lose to one more Kantonian fucker-"

"We're supposed to be friendly with the other regions," sighed Spyro, with a hand up.

"Oh it's easy for you to say, when you're taking them out before they could take your title," snapped Pascal. "But this is getting ridiculous. Our numbers are worse this week. Worse than usual. We can easily beat our own trainers, but then some fucker from Kanto waltzes in-"

"Maybe if you didn't battle like shit, then we wouldn't have this problem," cut in Axel. "I'm the one that's been defeating more trainers than losing to them."

"You know Axel, it never ceases to amaze me on how you make everything about yourself," huffed Ferro. "Head of the Elite Four arrogance, they call it. I hope that whoever takes your spot in the future isn't a prick." In later years, Ferro would not get his wish. "These numbers we have are awful, regardless."

"They would be worse if it wasn't for me," interjected Axel.

Pascal snorted. "Easy to say from the guy that decided to specialize in fucking dragons."

"Well who's fault is it that you decided to go for poison types? Oh wait, better yet..." Axel went on heatedly, "...Agatha has all poison-types, so what's your excuse for being a shitty elite-"

"Hey, hey, hey..." But Spyro went unheard.

"And on top of that," took over Ahmet, "there's this Viper prick that we have no leads on, where to find him, where he'll strike next... our trainers are dying, for fuck's sake. Might as well let him finish them off because our trainers are so garbage."

"Ahmet," snapped Spyro. "Shut up. All of you. I'm getting an Arceus-damned migraine from all the blabbering."

"You should be more angry," pointed out Axel. "We're last in the running. Last. Kanto doesn't even recognize us as competition. If our trainers are dying due to some twisted fuck, then how are they going to compete against the other regions? We'll end up having to shut down like Johto did until they helped Kanto kick Sinnoh's asses in a war."

Spyro sharply inhaled. "Calm. Down." Arceus, he really needed a drink. "There's nothing we could do about Viper presently. If we just wait it out..."

"Wait it out? Our trainers are too scared to leave their homes. We could hope that some of them had escaped to another region, but what'll happen if those regions get wind of what's going on? We'd be forced out of the LNS. Then, we'll look worse. I'll look worse-"

"Axel stop being so arrogant!"

"I'm-"

"Stop it!" exclaimed Spyro. The elites stared at him in shock. "Just stop it. There's nothing more we could do. The region is practically on lockdown at this point, and police are searching the areas. That's it. That's all we could do."

It took a few weeks, but Bertha hadn't run into Viper.

He had run into her.

Bertha knew she shouldn't have been that shocked. He went after high-achieving trainers, and Bertha certainly fit that qualification. It was only a matter of time until he would set his sights on her, but Bertha was prepared for every possible outcome. More than anything, Bertha observed. Bertha observed on how people behaved, how they moved, and how to anticipate what move an opponent would use next. Bertha would put what she learned to the test against this deranged man standing before her. She was terribly short, so admittedly she had to tilt her head up to look at him, but she definitely wasn't going to let this sadistic bastard take her ground-types.

In many years to come, there will be rumors whispered on the streets of Sinnoh of what had possibly taken place between Bertha and Viper. Back in Bertha's time when this occurred, trainers were still afraid to discuss such a topic. But in Sinnoh's later years, it became a tale as old as time.

It served as a driving force for Sinnohnians to be even more ruthless. A few said she pepper sprayed him. Many said that she took him out with a single punch. A certain redheaded trainer from Sunyshore City had started the most popular rumor of them all; that she had chopped his private parts off with a knife she allegedly kept at all times. That young boy's name was Flint Brinton.

Neither of these rumors were true, but they were sure as hell entertaining to the Sinnohnians.

After what had happened, Bertha called up the receptionist at the league and demanded that the Sinnoh elite four and the champion go to Stark Mountain. That was, after all, where Bertha and Viper had faced off. But to say that it was a face-off would be a disgrace. It was a completely one-sided win, and not on Viper's end.

Bertha would never forget the looks on their faces when they arrived on the scene that she created.

Bertha had called on her Pokemon to produce a wicked-sandstorm, and Hippowdon was happy to oblige. Arbok couldn't see a thing.

That's when Bertha - Bertha pounced by having Hippowdon attack not only the Arbok, but on Viper as well. Which was why Arbok and Viper were now trapped in a pit completely knocked out cold. At this, she smiled without a trace of humor.

"Well, now," Bertha said, her tone warm and pleasant, however held a tinge of maliciousness to it. They were used to such a tone, they were Sinnohnians, after all - but something in the way she started with that made the elites faces blanch even more. "Would you look at that? It seems as though Viper had taken an unfortunate trip."

"You used a fissure attack," Ahmet pointed out, horrified.

"Oh they'll live, don't worry," waved off Bertha. "Hippowdon knows not to kill, and is well-trained, much better than yours is. But you have your wanted criminal now, you're welcome by the way, and I see that I have your title as the ground-type specialist of the elite four first thing tomorrow morning?"

No one spoke, hell, no one dared to breathe for several seconds.

"You are insane," eventually barked Ferro. He proceeded to rant as Ahmet stared at Bertha with hatred. "You think because you took down a high ranking criminal you could just waltz into the elite four?" Spyro was quiet. "I mean, really, you trap a criminal in a pit - potentially killing him, and you can take an esteemed elites position?"

Bertha's answer was quick. "It's something you lot failed to do, Viper had killed many trainers so I would have no remorse if I did, so yes - especially considering that Sinnoh is ranked last out of the LNS, so maybe you need some... replacements."

"Oh my Arceus..." groaned Pascal.

"Spyro this woman is insane," Ahmet pleaded desperately to the champion who was still strangely quiet, other than the sigh that escaped his lips. "This... this madwoman has been trying to get in for a while now, and I can't have it."

Spyro held a hand up. "Ahmet..."

"We need to bar her from the league, to make sure she can't-"

"Ahmet, shut up," retorted Spyro coldly. The meek ground-type specialist of the elite four quieted. "You've been slipping in the league, anyway. You've been losing to more trainers than usual and it cost us a shit ton of points in the league. I can't have someone like that. Bertha, here, has acquired the son-of-a-bitch that's been killing people, and she needs to be rewarded."

...Was it finally happening?

"At my expense?"

"You've been battling like shit," Spyro put bluntly. "Bertha has not."

Beat.

Ahmet cast his eyes on Bertha, glaring menacingly at her. "Fine. She wants the position? The bitch could have it. But mark my words, she's going to run Sinnoh into the fucking ground. She's going to destroy our region, and I don't want any part of that."

Bertha allowed the words to flow from him, it really had no effect on her whatsoever, because she knew she got what she wanted. That's all that mattered. To her, this was just a Sinnohnian welcome from the man. The funny thing was, Ahmet was wrong, and she knew he was wrong.

The first thing Bertha requested a day into the league was to talk to them about was her past, and revealed that she grew up as an Arceonist. This earned gasps from her elites, which Bertha wasn't surprised by. She let them in on what they did, the sickening things she had been forced to see and experience, the secrets she knew about the church - the in's and out's, and gave out specific names. She would very much like to use her status as an elite to do something about it since neither of them gave a damn.

A day later, there was a raid of Floaroma town, specifically at The Original One's Church. A group of seventeen people have been arrested in total, including Orland Skeeter, and after everyone was ushered out of the chapel - it was set on fire. Some people would say it was going against their freedom of religion, but Bertha couldn't care less - it was not a religion, it was a cult - she had watched and heard people die. She couldn't send messages before she was an elite out of fear that the Arceonists would find her.

Well, Bertha feared no more.

Approximately a week after that, Bertha requested a meeting with her new colleagues about the issue with the training centers scattered around the region. They were subpar at best. The reason Bertha's style of battle had gotten better was from traveling to Kanto and taking some books with her, along with taking trips to the Canalave Library that was deserted half the time. She wanted to put these things to use for the Sinnoh region.

They had yelled at her over her suggestion for hours, until they finally relented after they concluded that she made a point. Bertha pointed out the differences between their region and the other regions, which was that Sinnoh was the only one that did not have a trainer's school. There used to be many until Kanto bombed every single one. After the war, they were replaced with training centers, which Bertha learned how to do nothing except fight and survive. There was no order or structure whatsoever, and Bertha received no education. It was why she believed until she was sixteen that an ordinary man could speak and get direct orders from Arceus himself. Sinnohnians were ranked last in education, and well, that was about to change.

It was the reason they ended up in Jublife City. The city was known for being modern in comparison to the other cities, but like all the others, there was a space within the city filled with monuments of soldiers that had died and played a key role in the Kanto-Sinnoh war. It was a long, long time ago.

Bertha decided they had no need for it.

The other elites watched in fury as the statues were torn down by construction workers; some of the Jublife City citizens appeared angry, as well. Most of them were just shocked that the one that had hunted down Viper was here, and that she was a foot shorter than her fellow elites yet still looked perfectly in place. A couple of the citizens booed, jeered, and swore at her. Vile words that Bertha's own mother would smack her for even knowing. Bertha stared at the citizens and held out her Pokeball that contained her Hippowdon. That's when the citizens scattered back into their homes. She didn't even have to send the Pokemon out.

These statues would be preserved somewhere else, just not here where Bertha had a different plan in mind. Besides, there were books in the Canalave Library that would discuss such topics, and Sinnohnians needed to learn how to read. The literacy rate in Sinnoh was low; roughly seventeen percent of them couldn't even pick up a book. Spyro looked resigned, but said nothing - Bertha suspected that he knew that this was important.

There would be more, she thought. All throughout Sinnoh there would be trainer's schools built - replacing those statues. Those monuments were a painful reminder that they had lost, and Bertha was tired of losing. There would come a time where Sinnoh would rise from the ashes and be able to rival the Indigo League in terms of battling. Their numbers weren't anywhere near close yet, but they would be - these things just took a lot of time.

Many years later, somewhere, in Celestic Town, a blonde girl was set to go on her Pokemon journey. But before she did just that, she needed an inspiration - to watch the tape just one more time, even when her grandmother told her that by now she had it memorized. She put the tape in like many times before, and watched and listened to Bertha's speech after she became an elite. The last line of her speech in particular, echoed over and over in her brain.

"The Sinnoh League Boys Club is no more."

Cynthia grinned from ear to ear, took the tape out, hugged her grandmother goodbye, and left her hometown with the intention of becoming the first female champion in history.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5- Drayden

There had been a variety of surnames that belonged to the prestigious of dragon-tamers throughout multiple regions, and they usually moved on to great things because their last names meant something, along with their chosen type of dragons.

In Johto, and even in few parts of Kanto if you search hard enough, there was the Arrax Family that later bestowed Lance and Clair, the former being an elite (and eventual champion), and the latter being a gym leader. In Hoenn, there was the Wyvern clan, who had later descended Drake that became a member of the elite four. Sinnoh had little dragon-tamers. They were among of many that were wiped out during the Kanto-Sinnoh war. Possibly to their credit, Sinnoh pumped out few members of the Apollo's, which gave them Axel that the league accepted because he actually battled worth a damn. In Unova, there were two families, closely related - the Orochi family, and the Mcleoud's.

At the age of twenty, Drayden Mcleoud was well-aware that Unova's political state had gone to the dogs.

Especially where he lived in Opelucid City. It's a real shame too, because out of all the regions in their world, Unova used to be the best when it came to solving political disputes. The nation was never terribly polarized, and there wouldn't be fights that broke out on the floor like it did in other regions. Chairs would be thrown. Profanities were shouted. Politicians thinking with their hearts rather than their heads, which was why most regions were in political distress more often than not. But not Unova. Never Unova.

It was arguably the only thing Unova had to be proud of, because they weren't really the greatest league in the region in terms of battling. They were okay in that aspect. Their number wasn't high like, say, Kanto - but it wasn't abysmally low like Sinnoh was. They were average. That was fine for now. There was always room to grow. Unova placed an emphasis on education and politics more than anything else. Unfortunately, it didn't really translate to hands-on battling.

Opelucid City was the best politically with few to no problems, but then that idiot Cain Hodge was elected as mayor three years ago, and then everything went to shit shortly afterwards.

Three years ago was when Drayden had been working with his dragon-type Pokemon outside of Opelucid City to go on a journey, like his father did, and his grandfather did - it was just something that was expected of dragon tamers, especially one with a name as prestigious as Mcleoud.

But then, at twenty, Drayden had to come home because his father said that Opelucid City was in crisis.

The city was almost unrecognizable. The city he loved and grew up in was a total shit-show, with crime on every corner, riddled with garbage (figuratively and literally) and Cain Hodge didn't seem to care. Drayden recalled his father writing to him every now and then that there was an increase in crime, with each letter talking about a specific incident.

Oh there was a stabbing on Friday. Knife fight out in the open, no survivors. The gym is fine, oh and by the way, there was a gun trade on the west end of the city a week ago. There's a drug ring operation now. Meth this time, I believe. You know how it is.

Except Drayden didn't really know how it was, because he hadn't been home in three years. But after so many letters, Drayden had enough. His city was in shambles, the Cain Hodge prick was terrible at his job, and his father was likely panicking because although he was a strong gym leader, criminals could break in and hurt him. His father did not deserve to die due to street rats, he was an old man that deserved a death with dignity. When he's retired. Not trying to fix something Cain Hodge is failing to do.

Cain Hodge is up for re-election, and Drayden decided to run against him. It was quite difficult to run against an incumbent, even one that had been there not as long compared to other Unovian politicians. Sometimes, people grow too used to whoever's in charge, and are afraid of change. But Drayden knew he would win, because he had three advantages - the first was that he came from a long line of respected dragon-tamers, which included his father who ran the city's gym. The second advantage was that Cain Hodge was so hated by the citizens that they would accept an Arceus-damned cactus as their mayor instead of him.

The third and final advantage was arguably the most important.

Drayden, in his youth, had charisma.

Charisma was a funny thing. People often held the philosophy that politicians were naturals when it came to charisma, but the truth was, it was also something to be learned - to be crafted. Oh sure, there were people that were naturally charismatic, but it's not something you have to be born with. Charisma could be both good and bad; they had some good leaders that were charismatic, and some bad that were charismatic too - Drayden decided was going to be one of the good ones, because they had a bad one right now. Okay, so Cain Hodge wasn't a dictator, but he was incompetent. Incompetency was dangerous. If incompetency was in office long enough, it would spread like poison to its constituents. Drayden planned on charming the hell out of the Unovians, smile a lot, use vocabulary words that sounded smart, and make promises to clean up Opelucid City.

Oh, but of course that didn't mean Drayden was a push over; the man was bold and strict, but he could definitely put on a performance. Drayden doesn't remember who exactly coined the term, but he knew it originated in Hoenn - politicians were like Sharpedo, waiting for blood to be drawn in the sea. He just had to wait for Cain Hodge to go down.

...And did Cain Hodge go down. Hard. It was the biggest election win that Opelucid City ever had. A whopping eighty-seven percent of Opelucid City voted for Drayden, against Cain, whatever. It didn't matter the intentions of the citizens votes. The point was that Drayden had won the election and Opelucid City was going to get its shit together.

Drayden celebrated with a few close friends at a bar. Other dragon-tamers, not from his family, but they were still respected. They were a little drunk, not wasted, because Drayden was an elected official now and he couldn't afford to get sloppy - people were watching him.

Fun fact about Drayden. He did like to drink. Hard liquor, wine, champagne, beer, it didn't matter. Most dragon-tamers liked to indulge in the habit... more than they should, but it didn't affect their battling performances. He was also experienced with bar fights in the past. Which was why what happened in the current bar didn't shock Drayden at all.

Out of nowhere, Cain charged toward him, clearly heavily intoxicated, with a bottle in his hand. Drayden's reflexes were quick. He snatched the bottle out of his hand before he could hit him over the head and pinned the former mayor against the wall.

In later years, the people of Opelucid would still talk about it like it was the second coming of Arceus. There would be people swearing under their breath in jealousy, wishing that they could've been in that bar, at that time, because Drayden had dethroned Cain and that was godly. The incident was called "The Dragon-Tamer Bar Fight" except it really wasn't a bar fight, nor was Cain a dragon-tamer because he had only a Deino that was a glorified pet if anything else. The story would be exaggerated each year that passed.

No matter, Drayden had a city to run.

Drayden promised the people of Opelucid City that he would clean up the crime, and boy did he do just that. People were fearful of him. The thing was, Drayden was actually fairly pleasant to be around - oh yes, he was stern, but he wasn't cruel. He was only cruel to the rats that polluted his city. He ran them out of the city with his Druddigon. The thugs were someone else's problem now.

But sometimes his people, though Drayden had a pride about them, were dumb as bricks. He learned this when he hosted city hall meetings, which really was a place where citizens would voice their complaints about trivial matters since Drayden had taken care of the crime rate and there was nothing else to bitch about. Drayden grew restless, but he remained calm as an elderly woman ranted about the Dratini that she was sure lurking in her backyard at night. He fought the urge to tell her to see a shrink (her daughter later told him she had dementia). There was also another time when a man had talked about finding a gun in the streets without any bullets and how that pissed him off.

Not that there was a gun in the streets, oh no, just that it didn't have any bullets.

"As the mayor of Opelucid City, do you think there's a communist invasion coming to Unova soon, and should we ready up our missiles to kill the bastards?" was the very first thing a citizen asked Drayden at one of his city council meetings.

"I do not believe there is anything of the sort at the moment," Drayden told him.

"Then what the hell is the point?"

It was safe to say that Drayden was getting irritated. To fix this issue of the citizen's lack of knowledge, he invested the city's funds into education. An academy was built, not only for things regarding Pokemon, but for basic things such as arithmetic, science, literature, and their region's history. No city of his was going to be behind in education. When he was traveling throughout Unova, he learned all sorts of things he wanted to bring home with him. In the future, not only it would be named as one of the most prestigious academies that one could attend, but it would bring the region's academic scores up to the top - even Kanto wouldn't have their level of intelligence.

"Welcome, Alder," said the Head of Unova's Elite Four - a dark-type specialist by the name of Holland. "I'm sure you were filled in on what the position would consist of, and it's not just defeating challengers."

The new champion of Unova, Alder, stared at the elites he had defeated not even two days ago. It's not that he wasn't aware, he fully was, but he thought it was a little excessive. Regarding the LNS, it meant hardly anything to the twenty-five year old. But it was business as usual, and he was going to try his best to be cordial about it. More than anything, he wanted to focus on Unova rather than the other regions. Alder thought that worrying about the other regions was a colossal waste of time.

"Of course," Alder said politely. "Now what's this I hear about Opelucid City?"

"Normally," began Cecelia, the newest elite that specialized in psychic-types that had only been here two weeks before Alder. The champion looked at her; she couldn't have been older than twenty. "We have the champion decide on who should be the newest gym leader. Chevy is planning on leaving the post, and he wants his son to take over." She looked to her other elites for approval. "Um, is that right?"

"Yes," said the ghost type elite named Dalton, then turned to Alder. "Chevy has been the gym leader of Opelucid City for many years. Dragon tamers families are of the highest prestige, so it's somewhat of an unspoken rule-"

"I know," interrupted Alder. "Drayden can have it."

"Really?" inquired the last elite, a fighting-type trainer named Georg. "Just like that?"

Alder shrugged. "I'm still new to the job. I had just gotten here, I'm going to place my trust in the elites that have been here far longer than I have. Besides, Drayden is the mayor too. I've heard about him, and what he's done. Give it to him. If you're asking me to sign a paper, then I'll gladly do it."

The elites exchanged odd looks. Apparently, they were used to a different champion. Alder faced off with him; an older man that was rather callous in nature.

Well, Alder wasn't like that all.

Drayden was still unsatisfied. His father was getting older and the dragon-tamers were looking for a successor to the gym. Drayden was their main contender, because of his influence on the city, and they knew he was a damn good dragon-tamer. He was probably a better dragon-tamer than a mayor, and that was definitely saying something because Drayden was the best mayor they ever had.

"You've done well," remarked Chevy Mcleoud.

Unlike the Arrax family, the Mcleoud family wasn't brutal when it came to their trainers. Drayden heard rumors that there were elders in the Dragon's Den in Johto that whipped their children that were disobedient, and his father didn't do anything of the sort. Was the Mcleoud family cold? Sometimes, yes. But they weren't violent. His father was a good man, and he had passed those values onto his only son. Drayden wondered every now and then if his father was close to implementing something like that, because at times, Drayden was. Not that he ever would actually do that, but Arceus, were some of the young dragon-tamers stupid.

One of them decided it would be a fun idea to put their face up-close to a Haxorus' flamethrower. The kid was still recovering in the hospital.

Which was why Drayden was worried for the reason his father brought him in today. He knew what was coming the moment his father, Chevy, had called him up this morning. Drayden was now twenty-two, three days away from turning twenty-three, and he knew he was going to be asked to become the city's new gym leader.

"Let me make something clear," said Drayden, raising an eyebrow. "If I'm going to be a gym leader as well as a mayor, then I'm not going to be nice about it."

"You knew I was going to ask you?"

"Of course I did... and I'll do it, but I'm not going to be nice about it."

"Elaborate." Drayden's father was a man of few words.

So Drayden did. "I don't want to end up like some tyrant," he confided. "But I also don't want to be some weakling either. I want to do it my own way."

"Then do that. What's the issue?" pressed his father.

"...The new champion," said Drayden, albeit a bit sheepishly than he would have liked to have sounded. "Alder. He's kind of soft. He has to give off the stamp of approval for me to become a gym leader, and if he sees the way I want to run my gym, then he won't let me."

Drayden's father frowned. "Usually family overrides that. The Arrax family has been running Blackthorn City's gym for years and years, and there are a lot of... things that happen there." His father didn't continue further, and for that, Drayden was thankful. Blackthorn City's gym gave the Indigo League the most points out of Johto, and likely because of that, the Indigo League looked the other way. The line between discipline and abuse was a fuzzy one, and Drayden didn't know if Alder could tell the difference.

"I'm not going to torture my students," Drayden told him. "But I refuse to be warm and cuddly. Did you know one of the young kids tried to poke at my Fraxure? Anyone with a brain knows not to do that, so you have to be tough. Firm. Strict. When Alder became the champion and gave his speech, he just..." Drayden let out a sigh. "...he's gentle. Kind of aloof. I don't know how he could be so relaxed and carefree, when you have a league to run."

He couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "Some of the citizens, they're concerned. I understand that we're not one of the regions that particularly cares about the numbers that Kanto set up, but there are whispers that another war might break out."

Drayden's father's eyebrows shot up. "Really now?"

"You haven't heard?" asked Drayden, unable to hide his surprise. "We're the ones that backed out when Sinnoh needed us. And I understand that this happened a long time ago, but these things, I've read about them - it's systematic. These things pass down. Maybe not knowingly, but unconsciously."

"So you're saying," Drayden's father continued, rather doubtfully: "...That Sinnoh is going to overtake us in the LNS?"

"That new elite there seems to know what she's doing," said Drayden, frowning. "Smart, too. But she's made people angry as well. I heard she had torn down several statues of the soldiers that lost in the war, and is using the space to build schools. I'm not saying that it'll be like last war, but I think Sinnohnians are going to get angrier."

His father snorted. "They're always angry over there."

"That's my point," argued Drayden. "I think what's going to happen is that they'll direct their anger in the system Kanto set up, get better with battles, and Kanto isn't going to like that. That's going to end up affecting all of us. And, possibly, things will become very, very hostile again - and then we'll be headed toward anarchy. How is Alder going to handle that if he's too soft? Unova is going to get dragged in again, and this time, we might not be able to avoid it."

Drayden's father looked at him. "Do you see how behind Sinnoh is right now?" Drayden opened his mouth, but his father wouldn't have it. "Even with that new elite. Their numbers are increasing a little, yes, but there's still terribly behind. It'll take years for them to catch up. You don't need to be angry like they are to run your gym, and if you have an issue with Alder, challenge the Unova League and become the champion. But you won't, because you know you'll take the job here as a gym leader."

Drayden frowned. "It's politics," he told him. "Petty, petty politics. Alder doesn't know a thing about-"

"Then challenge the league," his father cut in sternly. But Drayden wasn't going to do that. He couldn't leave Opelucid City since he was the city's mayor, and his father was getting older and needed a replacement. And because Drayden loved his father, he was going to be the city's gym leader.

"I want to be in contact with Alder more, too," said Drayden. "I know I will, because I'm going to run this city's gym, but I want more. If he needs any political advice in terms of the other regions, then I want him to speak to me and me alone."

"You might be asking for too much," said his father.

Drayden glared. "Not even the other gym leaders in Unova have much experience in that area as I do." It was a little arrogant, yes, but it was true. You had to learn how to play the game. The reason why Unova was so good at solving political issues was because there was a lack of political issues. If there would come a time where Unova was in a state of disarray, Drayden wanted to make sure Alder was well-versed. It's not that he doubted him (okay, maybe he did, a little) but Drayden wanted to be as careful as he could.

"...I'll talk to Alder personally and let him know," said his father. "You'll start as gym leader tomorrow."

Did Drayden care about the LNS? Only slightly. But what Drayden did care about is the potential escalation that could happen due to it. He had no idea how right he was about such a thing, but presently, his two biggest jobs would be to be Opelucid City's mayor as well as its gym leader. Drayden wasn't surprised; he figured that the latter would happen eventually. Did he think that he would become mayor? Also yes, but not the way he did. Did he think in the late future that whatever could happen would happen?

Not at all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6- Blaine

What bird Pokemon has an extended, flowing head crest and a puffed out tail, both made of red and yellow flames? A bird, that, has wings that were also engulfed in fire? It has a long, thin neck and a brown beak... what on earth could it be?

Blaine Cote had no idea, but the twenty-nine-year-old wasn't about to question it because he was lost. He was lost in a freezing mountainous terrain, and this bird appeared out of nowhere staring at him curiously. At first, Blaine was positive in that moment he would either die of hypothermia or by this obvious fire-type Pokemon standing before him. His Pokemon were weakened significantly due to the weather, and he doesn't stand a chance if he were to fight against it.

The Pokemon showed its back - as if motioning Blaine to hop onto it. At least the bird was radiating heat, and if Blaine had to choose his way to die it would definitely not be from hypothermia. Blaine would rather not die at all, but he heard stories of people dying from it, and that it was a slow and painful process. He'll take the bird.

Blaine did not die of hypothermia, nor did he die from the bird with flames. In fact, the bird with flames lead him out of the mountains and eventually, to safety.

That's when it dawned on him.

Moltres.

The Pokemon's name was Moltres.

He had read about Moltres, and it would've occurred to Blaine sooner that it was the Pokemon he had read about in his home in Cinnabar Island, but really he was fearing for his life. He was completely frozen due to the cold and because a Pokemon like Moltres appeared before him.

Fuji, the head researcher at the Cinnabar Lab, didn't believe him. That's where they were currently, since Blaine helped out the man three years his senior with research, and when Blaine had confessed what happened to him that day he went into the mountains.

"Blaine, you are so full of-"

"I swear, I swear, I swear!" Blaine protested. "It had to be. There's no way it wasn't."

"You were probably so delirious from the cold that you thought you saw Moltres," denied Fuji.

Blaine crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. "And how else would I have gotten out of those mountains?"

"First of all, you shouldn't have been in those mountains in the first place," said the older man. "I told you that we were planning to do that part of the research together, but no, you just had to completely disobey me. Second of all-"

"I got on Moltres' back," cut in Blaine. Fuji's eyebrows shot up. "Then it guided me out of the mountains. Moltres' back warmed me up, saving me from hypothermia. Then I got back here. It's a sign, no, it's fate. Wait, no, either way - it has to mean something."

Fuji blinked, then he shook his head. "You're insane, it was probably a Charizard."

"You ever see a wild Charizard?"

"You ever see a wild Moltres?"

"I just did." Fuji didn't say anything for a bit, then sighed and returned to his paperwork. However, Blaine was persistent. "I mean it."

"...If you say so."

Blaine frowned. "You don't believe me."

"You're right, I don't. However-"

"It means something."

"You keep saying that, so could you at least tell me what you're going on about?" inquired Fuji. That's when it became clear to Blaine, where he had an epiphany of some sort. That Moltres - and he swore it was Moltres, despite Fuji's doubt - was a fire-type. The Moltres had warmed him up, against the cold, and flew him out of the mountains.

Fire.

Blaine smiled. "I'm going to work exclusively with fire-type Pokemon."

Beat.

"You're..." Fuji couldn't speak for a moment, and shook his head for what felt like the twentieth time today. "...You're what?" Blaine's smile did not waver, and this made Fuji roll his eyes. "Oh come on, Blaine, you're not serious. Just because you have some near death experience where you hallucinated a Moltres saving you-"

"Oh, so I'm hallucinating now?"

"–doesn't mean you have to dedicate yourself to exclusively training fire-types," finished Fuji, as if Blaine hadn't interrupted him. "It's not fate, it's fear."

Maybe Fuji was right. Maybe Blaine was afraid that he would be put in a situation in which he would almost freeze to death like he did that night. There was another positive to this, however. He would learn to work with fire-types to understand fire more and potentially not burn to death. There was a volcano in Cinnabar Island. Blaine knew that he had to study to avoid potential disasters, and this was the right way to do it. It's not like it mattered whether or not Fuji was right, because Blaine had already made up his mind.

"Say, are there still Growlithe and Ponyta in the Pokemon Mansion?"

"Blaine."

But Blaine was still smiling as he bid Fuji adieu, and only smiled wider when Fuji had called after him saying he was crazy. It wouldn't be the first time he was called crazy, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Before he had gone to the Cinnabar Lab to see Fuji, he went to his parents' home to tell them about his experience. They had believed him, but had said that he was crazy for going on the Pokemon's back. Blaine simply said that's what saved his life, and that quieted them.

Blaine had grown up on the island, and 'crazy' would be an accurate word to describe himself. He took it with pride. Because it wasn't crazy in an axe-murderer-kind-of-way, it was more of a way in which he was a sixty-two year-old trapped in a kid's body. At twenty-nine, Blaine was just fine with being labeled that way.

That didn't mean that Blaine was shunned, oh, not at all. People liked him a lot, because how could the citizens of Cinnabar Island not like Blaine? He was sweet to everyone that crossed paths with him. He was nice to the elders of the island and always stopped what he was doing if they needed help carrying groceries while making small-talk with them. His parents had been apart of the city for quite some time, and everyone knew how lovely the Cote family was. They had been apart of Cinnabar Island for generations.

Blaine also played the sickest, incredible, mind-blowing saxophone solos one could ever hear. His father taught him, and he would play for crowds on occasion. The citizens would never get tired of it.

Right now, however, he was going into the Pokemon Mansion to catch himself a few fire types. He didn't know why it didn't occur to him sooner to do such a thing. Occasionally, he would go in there as a teenager to hangout with friends, as it was an abandoned warehouse at that point. The Pokemon there were always friendly to him, specifically, the fire-type Pokemon.

It had burned down during the Kanto-Sinnoh war as retaliation from Sinnoh, wanting to kill the head researcher there after the Kanto researcher cooked up a plan that involved attacking Iron Island. No one had bothered to rebuild the mansion. Whatever. It didn't matter, because not many people visited the deserted area. The way Blaine liked it.

Blaine spotted two Growlithe and two Ponyta, and they were ones that he had recognized. He knew that, because these were the four that trotted up to him whenever he did visit the Pokemon Mansion and allowed him to pet them. Case and point, their eyes gleamed with familiarity upon sight, and grinned.

Oh Arceus.

Why hadn't he considered this sooner?

"Guess what we're going to do," said Blaine, unable to hide his smile as he pet the Ponyta's snout.

The war between Johto and Alola had ended, with the latter region finally surrendering. This didn't come as a surprise to Agatha, because to call it a 'war' would be a disgrace to all the wars that had happened over the years. It was a massacre, because Johto did not play around when it came to their weaponry, combat skills, and military status. Now, if that could transfer over to their Pokemon, that would be great. Agatha learned that a man - really, though, he wasn't more than a boy - that came from a prestigious military family in Johto, had played a leading role in ending the crisis. Agatha made a mental note of who it was, and it flew away in the back of her mind.

She could deal with that later.

It's been almost five years since she became an elite, and Agatha could sense that she was finally getting a taste of power amongst her colleagues. They did not fight her anymore on the decisions she wanted to make. If she wanted something done, then it would be done. Now if she could just finish the paperwork in front of-

"Hello!"

-there was someone at the door of her office.

Agatha sighed angrily, and threw it open. "What?" she snapped, not bothering to hide the irritation out of her voice. She saw a young man, who appeared around her age, perhaps a little younger - looking properly smug. Something about him was vaguely familiar... "I don't take challengers at my office, you have to wait in line like everyone else."

She was ready to close the door on him, that was, until he said: "Agatha, it's been so long! I saw Moltres a week ago!"

What?

"...Don't be stupid, boy."

"You're only few years older than me, don't call me boy. Arceus, you don't remember me, do you?" Agatha didn't reply; there was something about his face - the smugness, coupled with a cheery smile on his face. "When we went to the Lost Tower together?"

Oh, oh it was becoming familiar now. He cried, if Agatha remembered correctly.

"How about a Kanto Tournament? A decade ago? That was back when I used a Pidgeot, and you used a Gengar. And after you beat me, I-"

"You tried to get a date with me," huffed Agatha, crossing her arms. She remembered now. She had twisted his arm, back then. "Blaine Cote, is it?"

Blaine grinned and leaned against the threshold. "So you do remember me."

Agatha rolled her eyes. "Only because you were a pest about it," she snapped. "What are you going on about, in regards to Moltres?"

"Mountainous terrain. I was about to freeze to death-"

"Stupid..."

"Let me finish," cut in Blaine. "And then, Moltres appeared, and flew me away to safety. It made me have an epiphany, that, I should start using fire-type Pokemon. I just thought the league should know, because, well... you've got a Legendary Bird roaming around... Neato, isn't it?"

Agatha lifted an eyebrow. Strangely enough, she believed him. They say that legendary Pokemon were summoned during the Indigo-Sinnoh war, and the Legendary Birds - Articuno, Zapdos, and Moltres - did help during those times, along with the legendary beasts from Johto - Entei, Raikou, and Suicune. It was a major help in winning the war, the Sinnohnians didn't know what hit them. To be fair, Sinnoh had their fair share of attempts of trying summon legends as well. All of which failed tremendously, like a lot of other things Sinnoh did which also contributed to them losing the war. Agatha wasn't a myth fanatic, never was, but she didn't know how people thought mythical legendaries didn't exist when there was recorded proof of them being aided.

Agatha rolled her eyes at Blaine anyway. "You almost die and that's when you decide to train with fire-types?"

"Yep!"

"Boy, if that's not the stupidest reason-"

"Don't call me 'boy.' It's my destiny."

If Agatha could recall - and she had quite the good memory - Blaine had always been a strange. From what she remembered in the tournament, this behavior was normal for him. 'Destiny' and all of that nonsense. Along with Blaine trying to flirt with her. Which would usually end in violence. Part of Agatha wanted to know if he's had his head checked.

Curiously: "...How is that going?"

"Pretty well, I suppose," droned Blaine. "I was wondering if I could battle you, actually. But then you mentioned not taking challengers at your office-"

"Let's go."

Because Agatha just couldn't help herself if someone asked her to a battle, and they went outside the league to do so. She never could help it, and wouldn't be able to help it for the rest of her life. Technically, Agatha wasn't supposed to accept challengers from those who didn't have eight badges, so knew that she wouldn't lose either. Especially considering that he evidently only had his fire-type Pokemon for about a week, while she had her Gengar for quite a while. Agatha didn't let people win, no matter what. So it came as no surprise when she slaughtered his whole team of fire-types.

"Oh..." said Blaine, his face fell upon seeing his fallen Growlithe. "...That's... not good."

"You're still weak," Agatha told him bluntly.

However, there was something there. Oh no, he wasn't that good yet with fire-types, but he could be. Cinnabar Island's gym leader was old as time, and Blaine surely must've known that. The old man's probably got a couple of years left at the post, and if Blaine was serious about fire-types and trained until that time came... well, that was something worth noting. She motioned for him to return to his office, and she didn't point out on how shocked the man looked. They sat across from each other, and Agatha spoke again.

"Have you considered evolving your Growlithe? You need a fire stone," asked Agatha.

Blaine blinked. "...Oh I do!"

"Go to the Celadon Department Store," Agatha ordered. "Ask for a girl named Cindy, and say that Agatha Bychkov sent you."

"That's a mouthful-of-a-name you have, by the way."

Agatha resisted all the urges she had to smack him across the face. "Do you want the discounted fire stone or not?"

"Oh crap! Yes, yes I do!"

One part of Agatha told her that Blaine was cheeky, and overall, a nuisance. Another part of Agatha knew she had to start molding potential replacements for gym leaders that might retire soon. If Blaine trained a little more with his fire-types, then it's quite possible that he could be almost decent - then grow into the job. She remembered her battle with him from ten years ago, and though he lost, he knew what he was doing with those trained Pokemon. If he could put that to use with those fire-types...

...Well, it would be almost promising.

Almost, though.

But something.

"Here's what you're going to do," said Agatha. "Talk to Mitch." Mitch was the fire-type gym leader of Cinnabar Island. "Ask him to take you under his wing. He won't say no."

"Because I'm a resident of Cinnabar Island?"

"Because you're going to add that I requested it," Agatha corrected. Blaine snorted in amusement, but Agatha wasn't having it. "Train with Mitch for a year or two. Clear? Any other questions or unnecessary comments?"

Blaine was quiet for a moment, then he grinned: "You look lovely tonight, by the way."

Beat.

"Get the hell out of my office."

"Right, understood." And Blaine fled before Agatha could twist his arm again.

"Ah, Blaine, how are you doing?" Mitch greeted warmly in his gym. "Still good with that saxophone? How's your research?"

"I'm doing well, the saxophone is going great, and the research is... well, on hold at the moment."

Blaine had known Mitch since he himself was a small child. Mitch was the eldest in Cinnabar Island, and acted as a kind grandparental figure to Blaine like he did to all the children that roamed Cinnabar Island. Before he could use the fire stone on his Growlithe, Blaine approached Mitch in his gym directly after his devastating loss to Agatha. He explained how he wanted to train under Mitch as one of his gym trainers, and the old man's expression was entirely unreadable.

"Hm..." began Mitch, with a heavy regretful sigh. "I have a lot of gym trainers around currently."

"You know I saw Moltres, yes?" pressed Blaine.

"That you did, and it is interesting, however... I'm not sure if I can accept new students-"

"Agatha requested it."

Mitch's eyebrows shot up. "Did she now?" Perhaps Blaine was imagining it, but the old man's face may have gone a little pale. Arceus, Agatha was an elite for only five years and already she's scaring the pants off gym leaders who had been here since... forever?

"I don't really understand it either," shrugged Blaine. "We go back a bit, Agatha and I. I've battled her in the Kanto Tournaments before she became an elite. We were finalists, and then she smoked me. Burnt to a crisp. But she wants me to work with you, for whatever reason."

There was a knowing glint in Mitch's eyes. "I think I understand what Agatha's angle is here."

"What is it?"

Mitch hummed. "I'm not too sure, but if Agatha wants me to work with you, then I can't say no. Also, I must take into consideration about your encounter with Moltres, even if some of the citizens think you're lying. By what you've described to me before, it did sound like Moltres. You think it's a sign, don't you?"

"To train with fire-types," added Blaine.

"...Fair enough," allowed Mitch.

A year later, Blaine's Ponyta had evolved into Rapidash. Funnily enough, it was also the day that Blaine had turned thirty. Mitch had advised Blaine to wait at least a year to evolve his Growlithe into Arcanine using the fire stone, and he did precisely that. Blaine had asked why, and Mitch said that Growlithe learned certain moves that Arcanine couldn't if you evolved the Pokemon too early. Blaine got lucky in terms of his Rapidash and Arcanine's abilities - the former had Flash Fire, and the latter had Intimidate. Mitch had taught him a double battle trick that to boost Rapidash's fire type moves, Arcanine could use a fire type move on his partner in battle. They put it to practice often.

Blaine was a former researcher, therefore his brains were swift. The other gym trainers appeared a little disgruntled that Blaine had become a quick favorite among Mitch's students. Blaine tried to ignore them, because he knew they were really just jealous that he got to see Moltres and they couldn't. That didn't matter, thought Blaine. He was finally understanding fire-types more. One day, after their daily battle in their gym - in which, Blaine had won - Mitch had told him that they needed to talk.

The hairs on Blaine's arms went up. "Am I in trouble?"

"No."

This did not put Blaine at ease. "Is something the matter? You're not dying, are you? Because I'm not prepared to deal with that yet."

Mitch rolled his eyes. "No... however, it has to do with duties in Cinnabar Island's gym."

"I swear, I did that paperwork through and through," insisted Blaine. Mitch was holding back laughter. "I was a former researcher, so I know how to do paperwork. It can't be that, right? Because paperwork is-"

"No, Blaine, slow down," said Mitch. "As you know, I'm getting older..."

"Arceus, you are dying, aren't you?"

"No. Blaine, just..." Mitch cut himself off with sighing. "I've been looking into retiring from my post as Cinnabar Island's gym leader, and I need to find a proper replacement."

Blaine's eyes grew wide. "But you've been the gym leader forever! You not being the gym leader is just... wow, Arceus, who's going to take your spot?"

"I'm looking at him."

Silence.

"Me?" Blaine asked incredulously. "I've only been training under you for a year. There's other gym trainers who've probably been in line to take your spot, and you're giving me the position just like that?"

"Well, it's not exactly that." Then, Mitch proceeded to explain: "There are several factors involved. The first is that they prefer to have a gym leader who was born and raised in Cinnabar Island, and you fit that description. Many of the fire type trainers are not from Cinnabar Island. The second is that Moltres decided to help you, and not even the top elites could ignore that. That brings me to my third point. Agatha wanted me to take you in, and I have a theory that she wanted you to be my successor to the gym, and when I asked Agatha that she later confirmed it to be true. It also helps that you were a fast learner, therefore you were able to get ahead with your Pokemon."

When Mitch finished, Blaine didn't say much of anything at first.

Then, he grinned: "So Agatha's really, really interested in me, isn't she?"

"Oh stop it," groaned Mitch. Blaine let out a hoot of laughter. "Agatha's just being a strategist."

Yes, and her eyes were still pretty.

...Oh.

Oh!

"That's what Agatha was doing," marveled Blaine, as if realizing this for the first time. Because none of the other gym trainers were allowed to touch Mitch's paperwork, and he often did other duties that surrounded being a gym leader. Fuji gave him knowing looks but didn't say anything as Blaine explained this in the lab whenever he stopped by.

And of course Blaine didn't pick up on it. Up until now. Blaine couldn't understand subtlety if he was hit over the head with it. Sure, his brains were swift when it came to research, but reading between-the-lines was not Blaine's strong suit. Not that it mattered right now, though.

"You are going to take the position, aren't you?" inquired Mitch. "If anyone should take over, it should be the man who saw Moltres."

And Blaine knew this to be true, and his grin widened. "Of course."

Chapter Text

Chapter 7- Drake

The Wyvern family wasn't a serious one. They were aloof, kind of did things willy-nilly, would rather spend time at sea steering a ship than bother with their training regimes with their dragons. This wasn't to discredit the esteemed dragon tamer family of course, as they too had a natural talent with taming dragons not unlike the other prestigious families, but the Wyvern family was different from the other dragon tamer families as in they weren't too fussy over how you wanted to tame your dragon Pokemon. Whatever worked, worked, as long as no one was getting hurt. They also loved to travel at sea, letting their dragons roam above the raging waters was their idea of a good time.

When Drake Wyvern came along, the family was a little baffled.

Some had whispered that the boy was secretly an Arrax, or perhaps a Mcleoud, because no dragon-tamer in the Wyvern family had ever looked so serious when they were born. As Drake grew older, the adults around him were even more puzzled. He wanted to work with dragons as soon as he could speak and walk, and while his parents were thrilled by his desire to start, it was said with a certain seldomness that no toddler should have.

Nonetheless, they introduced him to their dragons. Drake was quiet, observant, and entirely focused. The Wyvern family had heard of a condition in which children couldn't sit still. Drake was the complete opposite of that. He had pet the snout of the newly hatched Bagon, looked at his parents and said he wanted that one. His parents didn't want him to train with dragon Pokemon right away, they were at least sensible in that aspect. But they did give him tasks, such as feeding the fussy Bagon - it would teach him patience.

It turned out, they didn't need to teach Drake patience, he was a natural at it. This was yet another thing that rose several eyebrows from the Wyvern family. The children in that family had the tendency to be rambunctious, impatient, and overall a little difficult to discipline - but Drake was a little too capable of discipline. The boy hardly had fun.

When Drake was twelve, he asked - no, he demanded that he finally started training with the Bagon that had hatched. His parents agreed, since normally dragon-tamers in their family started battling with their Pokemon when they reached that age. That's when, for the first time, Drake finally started to show the impatience that the Wyvern family was known for. They had breathed a collective sigh of relief once Drake had grown a little frustrated. It sounded cruel, but the Wyvern's were beginning to wonder if Drake expressed emotion at all.

Drake was frustrated because when they weren't sailing the seas, they were in their hometown of Petalburg. His family had instructed him to stay within that area, not allowing him to go past Route 104 until he trained with Bagon more. Drake's Bagon was far too strong against the Pokemon in that area, and he was starting to get restless.

"I've gotten rid of so many Zigzagoon they're extinct there now," Drake had told his parents, crossing his arms.

His mother's brow furrowed. "How do you know what the word extinct means?" Drake didn't answer. "And no Drake, we would like you to wait until you turn thirteen."

Drake tried not to roll his eyes. "Can I at least challenge the gym leader in Petalburg?" His parents rarely if ever said no to him, even when there were times when Drake thought they should say no to him. This wasn't one of those times.

"Just... Drake dear, we think it would be worthwhile for you to wait a little while longer." Drake thought it was equally frustrating and wholly amusing that his parents would let their dragons fly in a thunderstorm rather recklessly, but wouldn't let their son move onto another route besides Route 104 until he turned thirteen. But Drake always obeyed his parents even if they were strange. He's two days away from his thirteenth birthday training at route 104 like he usually was. That's when one day someone called out to him.

"Hey kid!" Drake turned around after knocking out his seventh Zigzagoon of the day, and he hadn't even been there for a full hour yet. He turned to see someone that looked to be older than him, must've been about... seventeen, eighteen maybe? Drake couldn't tell the exact age, but he was sure that he was older. "You've been getting better!" Drake was slightly alarmed, because based on those words, that meant the teenager had been watching him. Also, he had no right to call him kid when he was still a kid himself.

"...Thank you?" allowed Drake, frowning. He was still cautious. "Do I know you?"

"You're the Wyvern's boy, right?" asked the teenager, grinning. Drake didn't reply. "My parents would sometimes sail with your parents, back in the day. My parents being Mia and Arnold."

Oh. Okay.

"You're a Briney," Drake pointed out knowingly.

"Hagi Briney," introduced the teenager, sticking his hand out. Drake shook it twice. "What's your name?"

"Drake."

"Pleasure to meet you. Care for a battle?"

Drake thought it was slightly odd that this teenager wanted to battle with a small child like himself, but then it hit him seconds later that it was likely because he wanted to battle a Wyvern. Fair enough, Drake thought, because at least he had a bit of a challenge this time instead of those Wurmple and Zigzagoon. "Sure. One-on-one?"

Briney had sent out a Whiscash. Drake had known a bit about them. He understood water-type Pokemon, not on the same level as dragon-types, but a good amount for a boy his age. When his family wasn't in Petalburg, they were out at sea - and his mother and father were quick to point to the water-types that were out and about.

Briney went first. "Whiscash, use water pulse!"

The water-type Pokemon was readying its move...

"Dodge it, and use dragon-breath!" Drake called out quickly. His Bagon yelped as he narrowly avoided that water pulse and tried to use dragon-breath, but missed.

Briney smirked. "He's a quick one, that's for sure. But it won't be enough. Whiscash, try again with water pulse!" This time, does Briney's Whiscash manage to get a hit on Bagon, who cried out at the damage - soaked from head to toe. Drake's eyebrows shot up. The dragon-type tried to brush it off, but it was still shivering.

"Snap out of it, Bagon, and use dragon-breath!" Drake commanded sternly. Bagon shook off the water's residue and obeyed. The bipedal Pokemon charged up to the catfish and let out a gust from its round snout. Whiscash took damage, but not as much as Bagon did from that water pulse attack. It was vastly concerning.

"Raise your special defenses with amnesia!"

Oh, dammit.

"Try and make Whiscash flinch with your bite attack!" There was no point in using dragon-breath now, he thought. It had already done little damage before, but now with Whiscash's special defenses raised sharply Drake knew he had to be physical. He had watched enough Pokemon battles among his parents to know that.

His Bagon tried, he really did try to land a bite on the Whiscash, but it was no use as Briney ordered his Pokemon to use mud bomb, and Bagon let out another cry before it fainted right in front of Drake. The battle was short and sweet, with Briney declared as the winner.

"Oh," was all Drake could say, returning his injured dragon in its Pokeball. "It was a good battle."

"It was," agreed Briney, bringing back his own Pokemon. "Especially for someone who's younger than I am. How long have you been training with that Bagon?"

"Almost a year now."

"Quite good, really. Have you gone to challenge the Petalburg City gym?"

Drake let out a snort of contempt. "My parents won't let me until I turn thirteen, which is in two days."

"Happy early birthday, then." Drake didn't know how to properly respond. "I'd stay, but I must be off to sea. I've followed in my parents' footsteps to sail all over, there's just so much to discover in the waters. I know that when I see you again you'll have a few badges under your belt, yes?"

It amazed twelve-year old Drake on how someone who had just defeated him spoke so confidently about such a thing potentially happening. "I suppose." And Drake supposed Briney had a point, because Drake did intend on taking the Hoenn League - perhaps he could snag some points from differing leagues, too. Though they were ranked three out of four, Drake had a certain smugness that they at least weren't last.

But the one thing Drake inherited from his parents other than how much he liked dragons, was how much he liked being at sea. If he was old enough, then maybe he could steer his own ship one day. Usually those in the Wyvern family learned how to do so when they were eighteen. That's probably what Briney was doing with his own family.

Two days later, Drake got a gift for his thirteenth birthday - which was a Trapinch. It was a good little guy, though it had the tendency to gnaw on furniture. His parents finally give him permission to venture off on his own journey, and to make sure to write to them everyday. His first stop would be to challenge the Petalburg gym leader.

Trainers didn't necessarily have to battle the gyms in a specific order. Those gym leaders usually adjusted their teams based on the number of badges earned in their own region. This went out the window if you're from a different region and taking part in the LNS - then the gym leaders would go all out to try and secure their points. This was because those challengers that participated in the LNS usually had garnered quite a lot of experience due to taking on their own region.

Some gym leaders facing challengers within their own region, however, request that you collect a certain amount of badges before challenging them. It's not really a requirement, but it was a recommendation. The Petalburg gym leader was not one of those. Because Drake had been watching over dragons since he was very small and trained with his Bagon defeating Zigzagoon and Wurmple for a year, it was how he managed to get his first gym badge.

Years had passed, and eighteen-year-old Drake had eight gym badges under his belt. He managed to get hold of a Swablu that evolved into Altaria, his Bagon evolved into Shelgon, and that Trapinch he had evolved into a Flygon. He would've continued on to take on the Hoenn elite four, but there was just one thing he wanted to do before he did just that. For the first time, Drake wanted to steer a ship. His parents, of course, were thrilled to hear of this.

Drake set sail on Route 104, and two days later, he ran into a different ship. Drake saw a familiar face – Briney.

"Oi!" Briney called out, waving at the teenager. "Steering your own ship, are you?"

Drake grinned. How long was it now since he'd seen him? Five years? Perhaps more? Drake couldn't pinpoint it exactly; but it occurred to him in the moment how much has changed and how much has stayed the same. Admittedly, he was excited to see him. Mostly because Drake remembered Briney saying that he would see him again after getting some badges under his belt. He would mostly be correct, except it was more than a few.

"That I am," answered Drake. Then, with a hint of smugness to his tone: "I've gotten eight badges now." Also, he had a new addition to his team - a Seadra who had a habit of scowling but willingly jumped into a Pokeball a day ago. "Want to battle with the new Pokemon I just got? I hope you still have Whiscash."

Without thinking twice, Briney sent his Whiscash into the water. Assuming that was Briney's way of saying he accepted the challenge, Drake threw out Seadra's Pokeball.

"Dragon Pulse!" Drake ordered sharply. Strange, it was three in the afternoon and the sky was already growing dark?

"Dodge it, and hit him with a mud bomb!" Whiscash had gone under the water in the knick of time to avoid Seadra's dragon pulse attack, and tried to counter Seadra with a mud bomb, but Seadra was swift and narrowly evaded it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Drake saw large puffy clouds gathering ominously. "Seadra, bubble beam!"

It was bad luck on Briney's end that Whiscash had a dual-typing in which one of them had a weakness to water, which left the move effecting Whiscash on a neutral level. Bubbles escaped out of Seadra's tubular mouth, aiming at Whiscash above water. The first few bubbles were able to be dodged, but eventually, Seadra's remaining bubbles were able to hit the catfish. It was forceful, and drew Whiscash back a few feet.

"Mud bomb!"

No way. "Seadra, get out of the way and then use dragon pulse!" The seahorse's eyes went wide and dove under the water and was far quicker to dodge it than he was the last time. Whiscash let out a cry as it was hit with the dragon pulse attack. Though Drake was winning, he couldn't help but feel awful - there was a sudden drop in temperature, and Arceus, it seemed a lot more windy than it was a mere few seconds ago. Did the ship get unsteadier, too?

That's when Drake figured it out.

"Whiscash, use... wait a minute, Whiscash return!"

So did Briney.

A rumble of thunder shortly followed, and the waves below their ships started to get more and more intense. Rain began to pelt the ship, and Drake quickly returned his Seadra to its Pokeball to minimize the damage. The last thing Drake wanted was for his Seadra to get struck by lightning. The sea was getting very heavy, with dark clouds threatening to strike him and his companions at any given second. He had been through a thunderstorm before, with his mother and father when they sailed, and he knew the best thing to do in these situations was to remain calm at all times. That was Drake's priority, a way to stay rational, in order to stay alive.

It worked for approximately seven seconds until a lightning bolt hit Drake's ship.

"Shit!" Drake swore loudly, jumping off the ship and into the sea.

All the rationality was swept away, along with his ship that was torn apart in a matter of seconds. The thunder was getting mightier now, more dangerous, and the rain was getting more intense to the point where he couldn't see where Briney had gone. He heard a shout in the distance, but it didn't at all sound like Briney's voice - perhaps it was, but Drake couldn't tell the difference.

The water was weighing him down. It most certainly didn't help that he could hardly see a thing. Despite all the chaos that was going on, Drake made the mental note to steer ships more often to prevent things like this from happening in the future, because he damn well wasn't about to die here, of all places.

Act now, fall apart later.

Drake had to find land. A cave, perhaps. His father always told him that when thunder roars, go indoors. Obviously the entrance of the cave was dangerous, but the further you went inside the more likely you'll survive. It wasn't as ideal as say, a house or another building - but it was the closest Drake could get. He wasn't going to let the ocean drag him down to the abyss, to be lost at sea. Drake had been swimming since he was a toddler. It would be incredibly shameful if his first ever exploration was a fail.

Squinting tightly, Drake spotted sand and a cavern. Drake wasn't a religious person at all, but he thanked Arceus out loud, and in his head. If there was anyone around him during this time, they'd probably think he were insane, but Drake didn't give a damn - he was going to be safe. He started to swim toward the shore...

"Help!"

Drake's ears perked up at that voice, not Briney's - maybe... (the thunder was so loud he still couldn't tell) but it was a desperate cry. Despite everything Drake's instincts told him to leave that person behind in order to save himself, he found himself swimming toward the direction of where it was coming from. Moments like this were survival of the fittest, but Drake couldn't help himself.

"...You're here," the man's voice breathed out in relief, "Thank Arceus, you're here..."

That wasn't Briney's voice, but it wasn't a random citizen's, either. It was someone very, very important - but Drake didn't know how important until they reached the shore and he could see his face. That didn't matter right now, because Drake now had to get the both of them to the shore. The storm had quieted down since then, but it was surely still not safe. The man had been drowning and Drake had told the man to hang on as he carried both of them to shore, and into the cave.

The man coughed up water, and Drake was visibly uncomfortable - to think if Drake wasn't there, then the man probably would've died. Another thing to think of, was that Briney possibly wasn't alive. He doubted that, however, as the man was far more experienced in steering ships. Drake had to accomplish that, after today, he simply had to.

"You saved my life," the man told him.

That's when Drake got a good look at him. "You're..." he frowned deeply, trailing off. "Your name is Elliot." He was a member of Hoenn's Elite Four. What on earth was he doing in this storm? Then, another realization hit Drake: he would eventually have to battle this man, one day. Once Drake learned how to captain his ship, however.

Elliot grinned. "That I am. I repeat, you saved my life."

Drake blinked. "...Sure. You were, well, screaming... couldn't ignore that."

"Most people wouldn't have done that," remarked Elliot, sitting upright in the cave. "It was quite admirable. May I have your name?"

"Drake Wyvern."

"Ah... Drake Wyvern," mused Elliot, the familiar surname on his tongue. "That's why you acted so quick. Coming from a fine sailor and dragon tamer line, yes?" After what the hell just transpired? Arceus, the elite hadn't a clue. Drake could only shrug in response. "I had been swept up in a tidal wave while I was surfing, the waters were maddening. It pulled me under several times. It is a miracle that I'm still alive. How are you feeling?"

"...Fine," Drake said.

"Do you steer often?" This elite sure asked a lot of questions.

"This was my first expedition," Drake admitted.

"Your first? Mm, quite unlucky." And how. "Have you taken on the Hoenn League? I presume not, since I haven't seen you challenge me yet."

"You will, I've gotten eight badges," affirmed Drake. Elliot blinked at him. "But I can't challenge the Pokemon League right now. Not yet. Not until I become a master of the sea, and tame my dragons even more. I want to be prepared."

"I look forward to it," remarked Elliot, with a glint in his eyes. "I have to thank you, somehow. I promise you, the league will make it up to-"

"Don't worry about it," cut in Drake. "It's fine."

Elliot smiled. "Oh, I'm sure."

For the next twelve years, Drake had gone through ten thunderstorms at sea - three of them which resulted in his ship being destroyed. Except for all those times, Drake was much more prepared. He had even sailed with Briney on a few of them. A day after Drake's first sail when he was eighteen, did he find out that Briney had survived. Since then, Drake had defeated Briney in every single Pokemon battle. Not once did he lose to the older man.

At age thirty, Drake wanted to take on the Hoenn League. That was something he was definitely prepared for as well. Apparently they were expecting his arrival, too. Drake knew this to be true because the first elite, Jaden, had greeted him personally. Drake's mind flashed back to that first thunderstorm where he had saved Elliot's life. Surely this must've meant that he had garnered quite the reputation. It's not surprising, since during that time Hoenn had been raving about how a member of the Wyvern family had rescued an elite. It still passed on years later to the point where more inexperienced elites knew about it.

The same thing happened with Ishmael, the second elite - since Drake had beaten the first. Whole heartedly welcomed him, though Drake wasn't too surprised because even if he hadn't saved Elliot's life - Hoenn's elites had a reputation for being very friendly. Everyone in and out of the region would agree wholeheartedly - though outsider regions would remark that it was a weakness of theirs. On most days, Drake would agree.

Drake got to the ice elite, Hal, the third one - and Drake knew how to counter him. He opened up with his Kingdra so the ice-types wouldn't be able to hit the Pokemon as well as say, his Flygon and his Salamence. This was a smart decision on Drake's end. Though Hal was far tougher than Ishmael and Jaden, Drake managed to beat him.

Then he reached Elliot's room.

"Welcome back, old friend."

Friend? Arceus, you save an elite's life and he'd call you that. Only in Hoenn. Drake would definitely agree today that the outsider regions were correct. Even if Elliot had called Drake an "old friend" that did not mean that the elite was planning on going easy on him. That's what Drake learned after the psychic had taken down each and every one of his Pokemon - though Elliot was down to his last Pokemon - and Drake's league challenge was over.

Drake returned his fallen Salamence into its Pokeball, and frowned in disappointment. Elliot was still looking at him, and let out a tiny smile. "Yes, you'll do." Drake's frown deepened even more of what that statement could possibly mean. "You'll be great."

"I hate vagueness," Drake told him. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Elliot mused lazily, with a wave of a hand. "I'm going into retirement. Planning on spending time in Mauville City. Might spend some time with that nice gym leader there, you've heard of Wattson Oswald, right?"

Drake did, but he had no idea what on earth the man was rambling on about. "I'm sorry?"

"Barty was wondering who to replace me," Elliot went on, oblivious to Drake's confusion, "And I mentioned you, and well, I promised the league would make it up to you somehow, and I think this would be suitable - especially after getting past three elites, almost four. Now that I've seen you battle..."

Drake took the hint. "You want me to be a member of Hoenn's elite four?"

"If you'd like it," said Elliot. "Barty certainly would like you. The surname helps."

It always did when it came to dragon-tamers.

"...I could use a break from the seas," admitted Drake, with a small smile.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8- Lt. (Matis) Surge

Matis Surge knew what he was getting himself into the moment he was old enough to enlist. He had seen it, over the years, with his family. Despite the horrors and atrocities of war and what came after, Matis still wanted to bring honor to the Surge family name. Though Matis still suspected that even if he didn't, he would be peer pressured, anyway.

Contrary to popular belief, Matis resided in Johto. The Surge family was believed to have originated from Unova many many many years ago, but fled to Johto of all places because his ancestor Caesar Surge had gotten into some trouble that had to do with being a trained assassin, and had to go into witness protection. Matis' father loved to tell this story, but in later years, Matis would learn that it was greatly exaggerated every time he told it. In Johto, Caesar Surge applied whatever education he learned from Unova, combined with his... experiences in Unova being a trained assassin, and therefore the Johto's Armed Forces thrived to what it was in present day.

During the war between Kanto and Sinnoh, the age to enlist had dropped from eighteen to fifteen because they needed all the help they could get, and since then the limit was never restored out of fear due to another war potentially breaking out. Regions figured that hey, if children can get ahold of fire breathing dragons at ten, why couldn't they die for their region at fifteen? The last name "Surge" was as famous as it was infamous among militant officials across the world. Those from Kanto and Johto held that surname with the highest of respect. Matis Surge's great grandfather was the leading lieutenant in the war against Sinnoh, and the man had no remorse on bombing the motherfuckers. They were Sinnohnians. His great grandfather called them leeches, vermin, filth, and every other slur under the sun. They were traitors, and anyone who allied with them were traitors, too. He had no issue on laying out a few attacks on Unova, as well, for trying to help Sinnoh. Unova had backed out after they saw the power of Surge.

Matis enlisted in Johto's Armed Forces the moment he turned fifteen, like his father had, his grandfather, and the many other relatives before him.

Johto's Armed Forces were, well, not dependent on the Surge family per se, but it's clear that they ran the region's military like it was nobody's business. They let them. Johto's battling with Pokemon was subpar, but Johto knew their greatest strengths had to do with bombs, tanks, guns, and other sorts of weaponry. That had to due with the Surge's. To say that their training was harsh would be a massive understatement. Some soldiers under the program would not come back alive, and that wasn't because they lost in combat, it was because they took their own lives due to the harsh brutality by the drill sergeants to prepare them for what could happen in the future.

Johto's Armed Forces were not for the weak, and Matis sure as hell wasn't.

Matis was impressed with how the commanders could get up close in your face, screaming the nastiest insults they could about you. They'll insult you, your family, how you look, how you dress, or how you carry yourself. Matis could take it, because his father and grandfather had prepared him on what was to come by highlighting their own experiences.

Matis could put together a weapon faster than anyone else in his squad. This came as a surprise to no one. It was said in Kanto and Johto for the longest time that anyone with the last name "Surge" learned how to fire their first rifle at the age of seven. Kids with the last name "Surge" could take apart a gun and put it back together again at age nine. A "Surge" could operate their first kill at the age of twelve and tell you how they would do it. No one knew if this was true, but it seemed like it. Matis broke the record that his father held of assembling an assault rifle. He could feel the jealousy from his companions, but Matis didn't care. He had a lot to prove, especially given his surname.

It took approximately eighteen months for Matis to be promoted to Lt. Surge, and this also came as a surprise to no one. The surname helped, there was no doubt about that, but Matis was just that adaptable to the cruel environment of the armed forces. He was vital, too, and was able to get his piloting license in the meantime. The seventeen-soon-to-be-eighteen year old at this point was well liked by his comrades, and had one of the best strategic minds they've seen in roughly twenty years. On top of that, there hadn't been any war declared while Lt. Surge was in the military yet, so it's possible that he wouldn't have to really kill anyone, and continue moving on up the military ladder.

Then fucking Alola of all regions decided to drop a bomb in the Whirl Islands, and all hell had broken loose.

Prior to that, word had gone around that Alola wanted the other regions to abandon gym leaders and dismantle the league's system, but no one thought that they'd actually do anything about it. Johto had taken a sharp stance against them, and therefore, Alola pulled a bomb out of Arceus-knows-where and threw it wherever the hell they liked. Lt. Surge at age seventeen was called to lead in the troops, and his skills that he built in such a short amount of time would be put to the test.

Lt. Surge had a sniper, and two Alolan soldiers were wandering about - with the same intention as Lt. Surge and his side of the war, except they were looking for some Johtonians to kill. Lt. Surge waited patiently. In war, there were times to wait, and times to attack. Eat when you can, sleep when you can, kill if you can. He waited until the Alolan soldiers seemed distracted therefore they wouldn't even see the bullets coming. Lt. Surge never missed in target practice, and this was... a little different from the targets, as they were actual people, but Lt. Surge tried to brush off that thought. He remembered that if they had the chance, they would kill him. Especially since he's a Surge.

Once Lt. Surge was sure, two shots rang out. A Surge never missed.

It's almost funny, that in later years, when people would dare to ask Lt. Surge if he had killed anyone in the war. It was a stupid question, because of course Lt. Surge did. He remembered his first kill vividly, and when people would ask them about what it was like, Lt. Surge would tell them an orchestrated answer. He would tell them that it was very hard on him and that the soldiers around him were equally as distraught over taking a life. Oh sure, it hurt eventually, but it was not like that at all in the moment.

"Holy shit!" one of the soldiers called out, laughing maniacally. "Surge just took out two Alolan motherfuckers!"

"You're kidding," marveled the second soldier. He took out his binoculars to get a closer look. "Man, look at their badges! They're high-ranked! Massacred the shit-stains!"

"I expect nothing less from a Surge!" chuckled the first soldier. He gave Lt. Surge a friendly pat on the back. "Man, you're going to be ruthless!" The soldiers around him cheered his name, that he was a cool and calculated lieutenant just like his daddy and his daddy before and his daddy before...

Lt. Surge knew he should've been proud, but still, taking a human life was immoral. He tried not to think about it, because hey, the Alolan scum were going to kill him. This was merely in self-defense despite neither of the two soldiers finding him. Yes, they probably had wives and maybe a couple of kids, but why should Surge give a damn about that? Mercy was a weakness that got you shot. They were the enemy. "Alolan shit-stains," as his comrades would call them. They probably laughed like this when people in the Whirl Islands had died from that bomb they threw. So no, Lt. Surge tried not to feel guilty about what he had done - his great grandfather would be proud.

Lt. Surge held the idea that the moment you put on those uniforms you're a soldier - not a husband, a son, nor a father. None of that meant shit because that would imply that soldiers were merciful. As it had been said, mercy was a weakness that got you toast. In war, you had two options. You are either set for an early grave or you set someone else's. Lt. Surge was planning on living a long, long time - and yes, so were those Alolan shit-stains, but they started it. Lt. Surge ordered his troops to be patient, fly carefully, and drop the bombs in the Alolan islands. Did he care? He was long past caring, especially considering Johto had warned them countless times not to screw with them.

Oh the casualty number of Alolan lives so far? Probably sixty or seventy, Lt. Surge couldn't keep count. Who the hell cared anymore? All that mattered was that Lt. Surge killed and won the war, or else they'd get him. People that had nothing to do with the war were murdered? Well, their region started it, so why should Lt. Surge care?

A year and a half later, with the war still going on, this would backfire on Lt. Surge. Since the bombing of the Alolan Islands, a lot of Lt. Surge's soldiers had died - Alola had retaliated nastily, but what they couldn't get through their thick skulls was what Lt. Surge could be nastier. On some level, he knew that Alola was aiming for him, and they very nearly did one day - and he could've died.

Oh yes, very quickly: Lt. Surge still kept Pokemon on him. They were the electric-types that fueled his plane, and normally he didn't have to take his Pokemon out since Lt. Surge's weapons surely seemed to take care of those Alolans.

Lt. Surge's luck had run out, he was going to die there, out on the battlefield as those Alolans surrounded him. Like he expected, they were grinning - excited that they finally got the golden boy of the Surge family that had taken so many of their own. He's shot in the shoulder (fuckers couldn't even shoot correctly) and he knew that they were waiting it out to taunt and gloat that he had fallen, and that he disgraced his family's name.

It was the wrong thing to say. With the little strength he had left, Lt. Surge threw a Pokeball. His Raichu emerged, and before Lt. Surge can shout to use a thunderbolt on all of them, his Pokemon knew exactly what to do already. The three Alolan soldiers screamed in agony (screams that would be burned into Lt. Surge's brain for years to come) as Raichu's powerful lightning attacks struck them. Folks would say in later years that Lt. Surge had only paralyzed his enemies, and he did - he paralyzed them to death.

Lt. Surge would never forget their names, because it was the last thing Lt. Surge heard until they died - because they had called out to their own comrades names to make sure they were okay, but they weren't. They were going to their deaths, while Lt. Surge got to live. He was escorted to the hospital wing to recover, but Alola finally surrendered after too many of theirs had died. It's what Lt. Surge wanted. Sure, he played a big role in those many that had died, but he was just fine.

Completely, totally, fine.

Lt. Surge was nineteen years old, and his life was completely shit, but he was fine.

He was alive, which was what his family told him to be grateful for. He was given a medal of honor for his duties in Johto's Armed Forces. Lt. Surge couldn't watch television anymore because they would show Alolan Military Uniforms which would leave him unable to speak for days. The mere sound of a plane flying by would cause his head to snap at attention. Someone could shoot a firework into the air and Lt. Surge would instantaneously duck for cover. Lt. Surge got a papercut on his hand and saw his own blood and could feel the Alolans' smiles on him, but it's whatever. It was fine. It was normal.

At least Lt. Surge's shoulder was doing better. The strong pain medication that sedated him really, really helped - and sure, he was dependent on it because most nights were spent unable to sleep due to the graphic night terrors of the people he killed, but Lt. Surge was fine. Shame and humiliation flooded through him when his bedsheets were wet those first few nights, and not just from waking up in cold sweats. The last time he did something like that he was five-years-old. Sometimes, he would shower with his clothes still on - as if to wash away his sins. But he wasn't guilty. Not at all. He did what he had to do. 

Some of his comrades had died, but it was their price for being so careless, right? If they cared more they'd be alive, right?

Whenever Lt. Surge had thoughts like that, he would blast the shower as loud as he could. That way, his family wouldn't have to hear him scream. 

...He's paranoid. Lt. Surge kept a knife under his pillow, a handgun under his bed, a bat by his bedroom door, and a Pokeball containing his Raichu on his nightstand. The knife was later confiscated by his father after he almost slit his throat thinking he was one of those lieutenants from Alola. The handgun was confiscated shortly after he shot the walls three times thinking the loved ones of those Alolans that died would break through for revenge. Lt. Surge, one day, had swung the bat and nearly whacked his mother. Luckily, she had ducked in time - and that's when it hit Lt. Surge that he was not fine. He's freaking out, and somehow, the aftermath of the war was just as bad as being in it.

His Raichu was a godsend.

Now, Lt. Surge would tell people that electric-type Pokemon saved him in the war due to his Raichu paralyzing his enemies. This was definitely true, but what most people didn't know was that Raichu would help him through those attacks he had. He knew what this was - his heart racing, feeling the life being sucked right out of you, and the feeling of concrete on your chest - a lot of soldiers of war that had survived lived with such a condition and Lt. Surge was no exception. "Shell Shock" was what they called it. Despite that Lt. Surge was safe in his room and there were no threats, he didn't feel safe. Raichu had his back, watching over him as he got a little bit of sleep.

As months passed, Lt. Surge didn't need the pain meds anymore. He didn't have as many freak-outs as he did in the past. There were still bad days, of course, but Raichu was there to remind him every single time that he was safe and that no one could hurt him. Raichu's presence was enough for him. Lt. Surge wasn't going back into the military, not a chance in hell, but he was going to consider battling with Pokemon. At least having Pokemon battle each other won't result in death.

It took a while, admittedly, and most days he wouldn't leave the shore of Olivine City. He would fish for the Pokemon by the shore and have his Raichu battle them, and most people knew to leave the lieutenant alone. There would come a time where Lt. Surge would talk about his experience in the war with trainers, but now was not one of them. He was healing.

Until one day, he was discovered - no, not just by any person, but Agatha of the Indigo League.

"You're fishing."

Out of instinct, Lt. Surge jumped. Agatha wasn't phased. "Breathe."

Lt. Surge obeyed.

"I've wanted to speak with you for a while, and waited when I thought the time was right," continued Agatha. Lt. Surge blinked at the woman. "How are you feeling?"

Well that's a fucking awkward question to answer for two reasons. One, Lt. Surge could hardly pinpoint on what he was feeling half the time. Numb maybe? Hesitant? Sad - oh, there were certainly days where he was sad - but oddly, there were days when he was fine... for real, this time. The second reason was that Agatha was asking that question, and she looked like the kind of woman that could detect a lie, so he knew he had to tell the truth.

"Most days it varies," Lt. Surge told her honestly. "It varies, day by day. Some days are good, some days are bad. I... I have my Raichu to help me."

Agatha let out a little hum. "I understand war can be difficult."

Something inside Lt. Surge snapped. He didn't care that one of the scariest elites was standing before him, because out of all things that Lt. Surge hated hearing, it was that civilians understood what he went through.

"No you don't know war," Lt. Surge retorted. Agatha didn't even blink under his callous tone. "You may think you do, but you don't. You will never know what it's like to hear your enemies and allies scream for their lives. You will never even begin to fathom, or understand what it's like to be on the brink of death. You will never know the aftermath of the war, and how sometimes at night you can still see the faces of the people you killed, their screams before, and how you orchestrated that. You will never know what it's like unless you put on that uniform and march onto a battlefield and until you do, you have no right to tell me that you understand."

It was the first time, Lt. Surge thought, that he ever really said that aloud to someone.

It felt good.

Agatha took this in, and didn't speak for several seconds. Lt. Surge suspected that her blood was boiling, and she was waiting for the precise moment for her to snap at him, almost like those military officers did when he was a teenager. At least it would have some familiarity and structure. Painful, but familiar.

"...You raise a good point."

Lt. Surge blinked. "What?"

"You're right," Agatha allowed once more. "I thought I did, but history books could only take you so far. It is definitely something you need to fully experience in order to understand, and I simply don't have that. You're correct in that aspect. No one would know better than you on the atrocities of war." And fucking how. "But what if I were to tell you, that there was a way to ensure that another war wouldn't break out again?"

Lt. Surge frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"I may not be able to understand war like yourself," Agatha went on, "...and that's precisely why I'm here. I want you to be the gym leader in Vermillion City." Lt. Surge's eyebrows shot up in surprise. That was in Kanto, but wait...

"What the hell happened to Carmine?"

"I've been waiting for an excuse to kick him out."

"Does the champion of the Indigo League know you want me?"

Agatha let out a little grin. "I'm a brilliant strategist, too. Usually what I say in the Indigo League goes."

Lt. Surge could definitely believe something like that in regards to Agatha. She may have not been the champion, but he heard the people of Olivine City say she was the one that truly called the shots. Lt. Surge could respect that.

"How does me being in Vermillion City stop a war from breaking out?" Lt. Surge couldn't help but ask.

"I could use your brains," Agatha admitted. "If something were to happen in the future, I would consult you on how it would be best to handle it, and the league would act accordingly. Now you may be wondering how you win in a situation like this, and I'll tell you. If you take the gym position in Vermillion City, you are granted the highest safety in Kanto. Gym leaders in Kanto have the highest protections in comparison to the other regions. You can organize your gym how you'd like, and you could use that energy you have from the war into battling instead. Consider it a distraction, of sorts. A healthier outlet. I could only imagine that it beats out having to identify fallen comrades."

Lt. Surge didn't say anything for a while.

"...At ease," Agatha told him. "I can assure you that you won't be hurt in the gym. I take it you'll be flying back to Kanto with me?"

Lt. Surge looked at the elite, and for the first time in a long time, he smiled and nodded. It was almost amusing, he thought. Would he be the first league member in recent years that had blood on his hands? The answer would be yes. However, would he be the last member of a league to have blood on his hands? It turned out in the future, the answer was no. But Matis Surge knew he himself needn't worry about killing anyone anymore.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9- Juan

"Amazing! Juan's Kingdra just let out a beautiful, dazzling bubblebeam spread throughout the arena!"

There are three important things Juan Dubois learned by the time he turned sixteen. The first was that you never start eating breakfast, lunch, or dinner until everyone at the table was seated if you have company. That's how Juan ended up getting berated by his mother at age seven due to his lack of manners. His mother was Kalosian, always spoke it in the house, and would mutter some Kalosian about refusing to raise a brat child. Since then, his manners had improved tenfold. The second was that suits are different from tuxedos, and the former was far superior. The third thing he learned was that water-type Pokemon were the most graceful of all the types. That's how Juan ended up leaving his home of Sootopolis despite the gym leader (and mentor) telling him that becoming a coordinator would be a mistake.

It's not that Juan didn't like battling, oh no, quite the contrary - Juan was Douglas' top apprentice at the Sootopolis Gym. You didn't get to be the top apprentice of the Douglas of the Sootopolis Gym if you didn't like battling. Douglas would never take students like that. But Juan's passion for Pokemon Contests was just a little stronger, therefore, it destroyed his old mentor when he told him he didn't want to battle currently.

But it paid off for now. Case and point, Juan was declared the winner of this festival, and the crowd roared in delight at his success. Of course, people knew him as the apprentice of Douglas – but he had made a name out of himself with those contests.

Cameras swarmed him as he left the arena, they always did, and that was just the one thing Juan didn't like about being a coordinator. He preferred to be alone, and he didn't care very much about the fame that came with the territory. This somewhat annoyed reporters or cameramen who wanted to catch an interview with him because Juan had a reputation of giving the media very vague answers, usually consisting of a few words. If he could do Pokemon Contests without this level of invasion of privacy, then he would do it in a heartbeat. Of course, however, he just couldn't do that - it, like it had been said, came with the territory.

"Juan, tell us a bit how you felt in that moment when you won?"

"Juan, are you going to compete in the next season?"

"Juan, can you sign this?"

On the upside, Juan was nice to his fans and would stop to give them autographs if they asked politely. The media that just wanted Juan to sign something or catch a snapshot for the sole purpose of wanting to make quick cash disgusted Juan to no end. Juan would simply ignore those people, because talking back in the past hadn't done a single thing. It's not like Juan liked to talk back to people anyway, because most people would agree that Juan was sensible and polite, and they would be correct.

When Juan got home, a little place he rented in Slateport City, he felt himself sigh with exhaustion.

"Rough day?" asked his girlfriend of two years, Clara, who had been a coordinator in the past but decided to switch that for costume design instead. Juan didn't say a word. "I know it's rough for you, Arceus, that's why I quit-"

"But I don't want to," Juan interrupted firmly. "I love the contests, it's just the... press." Every now and then, it would get so bad where Juan had wondered whether or not Douglas was right about coordinating being a mistake. It wasn't, in the sense, of how much he enjoyed doing these contests. And Juan could mostly deal with the hysteria of it all. But if a fan went up to you and remarked that they got a tattoo of your face in an area that Juan would like to not name, and then show you that tattoo despite you not asking for it, then you would very much like to drink to forget - which was what Juan did. He would worry when he had thoughts like that. A lot of coordinators had... vices.

"They're mad," pointed out Clara, with a shake of her head. "The press, I mean. I don't know if there's ever been this much chaos before in regards to coordinating, and I don't see how it could get more intense." There would be a time where it would get even more intense except this time it was in another region with a different coordinator.

Juan poured two glasses of wine for himself and his partner. "It could be worse. One of the coordinators had a stalker."

Clara gave him a pointed, obvious look as she took the glass. "And what happened to that coordinator?"

"She was killed by her stalker," said Juan, sitting across from her on the sofa. "But that didn't happen to me-"

"It could," cut in Clara firmly. "Even if the crime rate in Hoenn is low."

Eh, Juan didn't think that was entirely true. Then again, it depended on what your definition of 'crime' was in the Hoenn region. While yes it would be true that Hoenn was without a doubt the lowest in violent crimes in comparison to other regions, there was a reason why trainers from other regions referred to his region as the "Hoe-Pen." It was a juvenile name that pointed out the region's reputation for having an unusually high amount of streetwalkers. In Hoenn, wherever there wasn't water, there would be a prostitute.

Juan brushed those comments off. He figured it was jealously, as in, they didn't have particularly violent people in Hoenn - while in places such as Sinnoh, they had people who ordered their Pokemon to shoot poison down their throats. So really, Juan thought they were just trying to find something to poke at Hoenn for - and bringing up the flooding issues they had was old news, at this Arceus foresaken point.

"Well that's not going to happen to me," remarked Juan. "I can defend myself perfectly fine."

And it was true. The other coordinator's Pokemon was out of her reach, so she didn't have enough time to react to that knife that eventually slit her throat. Juan always kept his Pokemon on him, and while a knife was quicker, Pokemon provided an element of surprise. In some of Juan's callous moments (which were few and far-between) he would privately agree with Agatha of the Indigo League that Pokemon were the perfect weapons of destruction, when it came to certain cases.

Clara gave him a weak smile and pressed her lips against his in a gentle, brief kiss. "I know, Juan. I just worry."

Juan returned it, although hesitantly. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Clara told him. "I just don't want to see you get hurt and all."

He supposed his girlfriend had a point, but he suspected that she wanted him to reconsider coordinating. That in turn made Juan think about Douglas' words, that coordinating was a mistake, and that was not a road he wanted to travel on or consider.

If you were to ask Juan what happened between the next three years that followed, he would say that nothing happened - however this was far from the truth. In later years, there were whispers among the Hoenn league members on what had occurred that made Juan quit coordinating, how tragic it was, and how Juan would never get over what happened, and how he would continue to kick himself for it for many years to come. They were right, but they had no business being right. The thing was, Juan refused to speak about it to anyone - until a specifically little cheeky apprentice that eventually would surpass him in ability, and later, would take his place.

In the three years that shall not be mentioned, Juan continued to have a go in Pokemon Contests where he felt he truly shined. Even with the crazy fans that occasionally tried to get a lock of his hair. Juan thought nothing of it. One or two of them tried to grab ahold of him, and security acted accordingly. Juan insisted that this was normal fan behavior. Oh, a few of them sent letters to his home address with declarations of love? Whatever. It's fan mail. He occasionally kept in contact with Douglas, but over those next three years their relationship would dwindle. It was already slightly strained, but when Douglas had the nerve to ask him over the phone if he was okay with all of the fame he had, Juan hung up on him. He wouldn't speak to him until a year later.

Juan was nineteen and ready to propose to his girlfriend of five years. Yes, they were terribly young, but Clara understood him. She had been there through it all. It was she that stood by him when facing Douglas that he didn't want to battle anymore. It was her that held him as he let a few tears slip out of his eyes after he left Sootopolis City, and Juan hardly cried. His parents didn't really believe in tears, especially from men, but Clara did. She was the only person who had seen him cry, come to think of it. She never judged him, not once. She was perfect, which was why Juan knew she was the one for him.

Juan took her to Lilycove City and proposed at dusk. Clara, of course, said yes and they embraced. Clara had suggested that Juan call up Douglas to let him know the wonderful news, as Juan had already told his parents, and it wouldn't be long until the media broke out with the news that Hoenn's top coordinator was engaged to former coordinator Clara Doyle.

Juan wouldn't listen to her; because right now, he was a top coordinator with loads of money and successful and he hadn't even reached his twenties yet. Juan felt like he was on top of the world, with a beautiful fiancé, money, fame, power, and more. He did not want to get into another argument with Douglas, because he knew exactly what he was going to say. That there were some fangirls that would be destroyed by such news. Juan would disagree.

Sure, the fans were crazy, but fans were what made him rich. Fans were what gave him the fame and power he had in the region with coordinating. Fans were the reason his Pokemon would do well, thriving off of their cheering and shouting in the stadium. Fans gave Juan a separate name from Douglas. Fans gave it all.

Fans were the reason that Clara had been shot and killed.

When it was released to the public that Juan and Clara were engaged, many were happy, but many weren't. The teenage schoolgirls wailed, they wailed that the gorgeous, breathtaking coordinator was officially taken for good, as if those schoolgirls had any chance in the first place. This was by far the most normal reaction in terms of those that were unhappy by the news. A week afterwards, it had died down, or so Juan thought.

Juan didn't know how, or specifically what possessed one of the crazed, stalker girls of his to get a gun, (or how on earth she could acquire a gun, Juan would never know) show up at Juan's apartment where he hadn't arrived home yet, and shoot his fiancé six times. Juan had shown up to the complex seeing police surrounding it, and a sobbing twenty-four-year-old woman in a police car screaming her love for him, and that her heart was broken over their engagement. Juan had never seen this woman before in his life.

The policemen told Juan what had transpired while he was gone. Her body had been removed from the apartment, and Juan didn't remember much of what he did for the next fifteen minutes. In fact, he had blacked out entirely. He snapped back to the reality to see his entire living room destroyed. Trophies, photographs, another memorabilia that reminded him of her, because Clara was gone and wasn't coming back because he just had to compete in a contest. In midst of all the chaos, was Douglas, who looked at him with such pity that it made Juan well up in anger - he did not need for the older man to remind him that he had been right this whole time.

But then Juan looked down at his own bruised hands, which was evident on what caused the scene, and then he burst into tears. He hadn't cried in front of his old mentor before, nor did he ever plan on it, but Juan couldn't help himself. Douglas went over to hug him, lowering them both to the ground as he held the shaking younger man. Juan kept muttering brokenly, over and over, that Clara was dead. Clara was dead. Clara was dead-

"I'm sorry," was what Douglas had told him. He kept going on about how Juan didn't deserve this, that neither of them deserved this. That he came as soon as he heard the news over what happened. Juan returned to Sootopolis City to see his parents but he didn't want to see them. He wanted Clara. Clara, the girl that said long ago that she was worried about stalkers, and how he just wouldn't listen. They couldn't even have an open casket funeral because the crazed woman had butchered her so badly.

Days passed, and Juan couldn't leave his parents' house. He could hardly drag himself out of bed. When he had gone to Clara's memorial service, there were still paparazzos swarming the area like the mongrels they were. There was no decency, no respect, and if Juan had the will or desire he would've screamed at them to fuck off. He had neither.

None of those days were spent crying, because Juan had cried so badly in front of his mentor that he simply had no more tears left to cry anymore; he was too exhausted. Part of him almost wanted to get up solely to seek out a woman of the evening, but what stopped him from doing so was that Clara, somewhere, would've been watching. Juan didn't believe in the gods, especially after what just happened, but Clara did. She was privately devout. It was one of the things they used to debate about. He missed it.

Neither of his parents spoke a word, and Juan knew why, they were afraid. They looked the other way when he grabbed his fifth drink of the day, and Juan didn't have enough energy to care that he would drink until he passed out. Since the incident that shall not be named, Hoenn and other regions were upgrading security to protect those in show business. It took everything Juan had within him not to laugh, or, at the very least throw his glass of bourbon at the wall. It was the fact that it was being done now when the damage was already done. Instead of laughing, Juan downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.

On the second week, through Juan's drunken haze, he squinted to see that Douglas had shown up in his room. "Get up," he ordered sternly.

Juan burst into laughter. "You're... You're..." He was slurring awfully. "...Not my mentor no more."

"I'm not showing up as a mentor, I'm showing up as someone who's concerned that doesn't want to watch you drink your life away," Douglas replied coolly. "You could get back into contests, then-"

"Contests?" Juan cut in angrily. He let out a bitter chuckle. "You've always hated them, and now you want me to get into it after my fiancé gets shot? Yes... you definitely hate me. Only you would want me to do it after such tragedy has gone down-"

"Fine," Douglas interrupted coldly, crossing his arms. "You don't want to do contests anymore, that's fine, but it's been two weeks. Are you really going to spend the rest of your life moping over something you had no control over?"

"But I did," argued Juan. "I could've... listened... to you."

Douglas did not dispute the point. "Get dressed first thing tomorrow morning," he told him instead. "You're going to show up sober and you'll get your shit together. We're going to go to the gym and battle, to see where you stand."

Juan snorted. "I haven't properly battled in years..."

"You'll get that spark back," Douglas replied knowingly.

"...You want me to be your apprentice again." A statement, not a question.

"That spot has always been there for you." Juan, though he was quite intoxicated, took note on how much softer Douglas' voice was after saying that. Maybe Juan couldn't get back into contests anymore (not like he wanted to, after seeing what damage it could do) but he could go back into the familiarity of battling properly again. What still shocked him was that Douglas wanted him back. Strange, Juan thought, considering they hadn't really spoken a lot since Juan had left.

"And then what?" Juan pressed.

Douglas pressed his lips together. "When the time comes," he started off, "...then you can become the gym leader. It should, give-or-take, be around six months when I retire."

Juan stared. "You want me to be a gym leader."

"Yes."

"Why?" But Juan already knew the answer. Douglas was getting older, and he wanted to spend the last ten years of his life not wanting to worry about battling, or the other political affairs of the Hoenn region. He wanted to spend his remaining years fishing, the man loved fishing more than anything else in the world. Douglas had hinted it to Juan back when he was his apprentice many times, and how he was looking for someone to take his spot eventually. Juan knew, deep down, that Douglas had his eye on Juan.

Which was the true reason why Douglas had been so upset about Juan pursuing a different career. He never outright said that Juan would take his place, but Juan could feel it. He decided to ignore it then, like he did with all the other bullshit that had entered his life. Well, no longer could Juan do such a thing. Ignoring things was what left him broken, left him without his fiancé, and maybe Juan realized that Clara would want him to take Douglas' offer. It definitely, without-a-doubt, would be better than those blasted contests.

"Because of your potential," Douglas said, as if it were obvious. All of a sudden, Douglas reached over to snatch the bottle of liquor out of Juan's hands. The younger man let him do so. "Now listen here. I want you to start training tomorrow to prep you into becoming a gym leader. I've talked to Barty, and he approves of you."

"Barty was always so accommodating."

Douglas nodded. "He's a good man."

The grieving process was over, Juan thought. Well, not entirely. Juan knew that he never, ever would be over Clara. But still, this was a step in the right direction. It would also definitely beat laying around in bed all day with a bottle of whiskey that was about to run out, anyway.

For the first time in two weeks, Juan let out a genuine smile. "I will."

Chapter Text

Chapter 10- Giovanni

In all of her fourteen, almost fifteen years of being an elite, Agatha never wanted to strangle the sitting champion as much as she did right now. Sure, Sergei Tertius had been at the position for twenty years and had more experience in the league compared to Agatha, but Agatha needed to put her foot down over his new proposal on who should be the new Viridian gym leader. For almost fifteen years as an elite, Agatha noticed Sergei couldn't care less about the gym leaders that needed to be replaced, and that job often fell into Agatha's hands. Not that she minded, but the fact that Sergei was so insistent on this new hire raised a few red flags.

She didn't trust him. Sergei told Agatha that he knew the new hire's father, back in the day, when they were both businessmen and not trainers. Agatha couldn't give less of a damn about the obvious nepotism. There was a glint, a mischievous glint in the ground-type specialist's eyes, that Agatha couldn't shake off from the twenty-one year-old. She had known this from the moment Giovanni Feliciano was introduced to them, and he wouldn't stop smirking in her direction.

It was the look of someone that was up to no good.

"You're being paranoid," said Gerald in their league meeting, with a scowl.

Agatha glared. "I am a very good judge of character." She knew, she just knew that this Giovanni fellow was bad - and not the good kind of bad either that Agatha relished in. She had no proof of this, but her gut was screaming at her when he walked into the room three days ago.

"Worried that he'll take your spot one day, Agatha?" Bolt remarked dryly. "Those ground-types of his would be detrimental to your poison types."

"My Gengar and Haunter have the levitate ability, you swine," snarled Agatha.

"Wow... insulting us when you've called this meeting to ensure Giovanni wouldn't be hired, what a convincing argument," Bolt replied sarcastically. The other three league members stared at Agatha as if to agree with him. "What the hell brought on this, Agatha?"

Giovanni was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

Having your father be best buddies with the champion of the Indigo League had its perks, not that Giovanni in particular needed that in terms of money. He had more than enough money to spend recklessly, which was what he did at first. A few trips to Hoenn to spend on whores, bottles of the most expensive wine imported from the Kalos region, you know - the usual that wealthy businessmen had inherited from their businesses or, in Giovanni's case, his father.

Their business was a shady one. Oh sure, their construction business was the most well-known in Kanto, but there were secrets within. Secrets that they had hidden well from the league's government. They dabbled in selling narcotics, specifically heavy pain medication, which was truly where most of their earnings had come from. No one dared to snitch, and when someone tried to, that person was never seen again. Giovanni suspected that the champion knew but turned the other cheek in order to protect his friend.

Giovanni's father died when he was twenty, and that's when the business shut down indefinitely. His mother's no help, weeping hysterically and in no mental state to take over the business that her husband created. Giovanni had no such desire to reinstate the drug business, nor the 'construction' business, but he did want to do something else.

...Well, he didn't know what, yet. But it involved filling his pockets more, because to Giovanni, that's all that mattered.

He's in a hotel room in Hoenn right now, rolling over in bed to greet his purchase for the night that was still sleeping soundly. Pretty, blonde, thin - you know, his usual type when it came to the Hoennian women that wandered the streets.

What he did not expect to see was a few Pokeballs on the nightstand that weren't his own. Giovanni glanced over the woman whose name he didn't remember. It started with the letter S, right? Sarah? Selena? Oh well, it's not like that mattered - it was the way Giovanni liked it, especially considering she was still fast asleep. He was very careful when picking his women from Hoenn, to make sure that they had no idea who he was, and vice versa.

Strange, Giovanni thought, the prostitutes he got his kicks with usually didn't have Pokemon with them, and if they did, they wouldn't leave them out in the open like this.

That's when it hit Giovanni, and grinned. He snatched the two Pokeballs from the nightstand and slipped out of the room.

"...I just have a feeling," Agatha admitted, continuing their meeting. Gerald, Bolt, Roland, and Sergei stared at her as if she had three heads. Agatha couldn't care less; she needed to get through to them that hiring this man would be the worst idea. "What? Do you three not sense it? Oh, I'm not including you, Sergei, I know for a fact that you're oblivious to everything that goes on in Kanto and Johto, but don't you three find him a little suspicious?"

"What's to be suspicious of?" inquired Roland.

Agatha pressed her lips together in desperate attempt to keep her temper at bay. "Well, firstly, was what happened to Ruddy." Ruddy was the Viridian City gym leader for many years. Even during the Kanto-Sinnoh war he was present. Ruddy was present until one week ago, he had mysteriously died in his home. Or at least that's how Agatha saw it.

"Ruddy was eighty, Agatha," scowled Gerald.

"But then," pressed Agatha, "...then Giovanni shows up, saying he would make the perfect replacement for Ruddy, even specializing in the same type as him. Is this not even a little bit concerning to you? At all?"

Sergei snorted and crossed his arms. "I cannot believe you. Are you insinuating that an old man's death is because of Giovanni?"

Well, it did seem a little preposterous when it was put that way.

Agatha remained insistent. "Not Ruddy. Ruddy's stronger than that. He'd probably outlive all of us if it wasn't for-"

"Oh please," huffed Bolt. "I know you aren't serious. Please, please tell me you aren't serious."

"You should be grateful, if anything," interjected Gerald sternly to Agatha, "We evaluated Giovanni. His ground-type Pokemon are even stronger than Ruddy's, and Ruddy was due for retirement anyway. Giovanni would bring big numbers to the LNS, and I know how much you care about that."

Agatha couldn't deny that.

But under these circumstances...

Giovanni marveled at how easy it all was. Find a prostitute in Hoenn, get her outrageously drunk, they'd have their good time, and then disappear the next morning with a new set of Pokemon - that is, if the street walkers had them. They hardly suspected a thing. Giovanni never saw these women again, and it's not like if they remembered him they'd go to Hoenn's police about their troubles - Hoenn's police and the region's sex workers had an animosity toward one another. Something Giovanni took full-on advantage of.

The sex was always a plus. No strings attached. It was perfect. Besides, he was paying the whores anyway, so why couldn't they exchange something else besides the sex in return? Like their Pokemon. So what if it was to protect them from anyone with far more ill intentions? Giovanni didn't care.

One day, one of the prostitutes that was with Giovanni had been murdered. He remembered her well; a brunette, not really his type, but she had a high-leveled Zangoose that was in his possession the moment he left their hotel room. That Zangoose could've protected her, but what was done was done. It's not like Giovanni had direct correlation to the murder. Not really. He didn't stab those women, just... stole their only form of protection. Giovanni's initial response would've been to tell them to buy a damn pistol.

Like his father used to sell, too.

Weeks went by, and Giovanni was absolutely sure that this was what he was meant to do. Perhaps he could open up a black market one day, to sell these creatures, because now he's starting to run out of space. Giovanni was on top of the fucking world right now, and no one had any idea. Selling Pokemon for cash was a good business - illegal, yes, immoral, absolutely. Giovanni didn't give a damn. Hoenn was the best place to open it up, because he couldn't be traced back from his homeland of Kanto, and Hoenn's law enforcement was erratic at best - easy to trick. This was going to be absolutely perfect.

Then the murders started to stack up, and everything went to shit.

More women had turned up dead that had their fun time with Giovanni, blissfully unaware as Giovanni took away with their Pokemon. No one could find the killer; Hoenn's police stated that it was likely the same perpetrator - handy with a knife. Giovanni started to sweat. If more women that spent a night with him ended up dead, and if Hoenn actually started giving a damn about their prostitutes, Giovanni could be in trouble. Even if he hadn't committed the atrocities itself, he could be traced as a common denominator.

A person of interest. Giovanni couldn't have that.

Not only was that an issue, it seemed as though some of the prostitutes were starting to actually arm themselves as if they had read Giovanni's mind. The last thing Giovanni needed was some trigger-happy girl shooting his brains out under the assumption that he was the stabber.

That's when Giovanni knew he had to leave Hoenn. Back to Kanto, he went.

"Under these circumstances, I would rather have someone else," Agatha told them, her frown deepening even more. She hardly drank, if ever, but depending on whatever came out of this meeting, she would consider it. "I'm sure there are other ground-type specialists out there-"

"Not like Giovanni," Sergei cut in crossly. Agatha glared at him, but to her surprise, he wouldn't falter as he usually would. "Not like him. His father was a powerful trainer, and he seems to have passed that down to him. If I had to put money on it, I think he would give Bertha a bit of trouble."

It was certainly an interesting thing to ponder about.

Once in a while, the elites and champions of the LNS regions would have meetings - making sure to keep the peace, uphold the LNS, discussing the other politicians of their regions, yadda, yadda, yadda... and Agatha conversed with the ground-type specialist of Sinnoh frequently.

Agatha hardly remembered the names of the other elites in Sinnoh (and Agatha definitely couldn't tell you the names of their gym leaders), but she remembered Bertha. That's because she was a clever one to be watched. Though Sinnoh was still ranked last in the LNS, they were inching closer and closer to the Hoenn region within her time there - not even Drake's presence was enough. Agatha remembered how Bertha had taken down one of Sinnoh's criminals with ease. In Floaroma Town, all Bertha had to do was raise a hand and there was a raid against a rising cult and several arrests were made. She had torn down monuments of fallen soldiers from the Kanto-Sinnoh war and replaced them with schools. She did all of that while dealing with such incompetency in her own league and therefore the ground-type specialist had earned the ghost elite's respect.

But did the idea of a ground-type specialist potentially stronger than Bertha make Agatha happy? Oh very much so. Bertha had taken away some points from Indigo in the past. Not only that, Agatha didn't forget how Bertha had taken some of Kanto's research papers on battling (most of which, were from herself) and applied those to the curriculum of her region's trainer's schools. Agatha wasn't blind as to what was happening. In those meetings they had, whenever Agatha spoke to the woman that wasn't that much younger than herself there was a fierce determination in her eyes, coupled with a warm crafted smile.

Bertha could be friendly. Agatha didn't doubt that there was some genuineness behind Bertha's words, but Agatha knew she had to tread carefully around her. Bertha was arguably the smartest elite that Sinnoh had in a while, therefore Agatha wouldn't slip any meaningful information to the woman. This wasn't a problem, as Agatha was usually careful, but maybe having a ground-type specialist that rivaled (or better yet, better than) Bertha, would send a clear message to Sinnoh.

...But not Giovanni.

"No," Agatha told them, shaking her head. "Even with that in mind, I don't see anyone rivaling Bertha in terms of ground-types, and even if Giovanni did - I'm sure there's someone else that would be more suitable."

"This is ridiculous," spat Bolt, each word filled with venom and contempt. "For someone who goes on, and on, and on about how important the LNS is, and how we need to uphold this tradition of being at the top because of regional pride, honor, and dignity - you sure are hellbent on destroying that just based on a feeling. It's not like you, Agatha. It's not like you at at all to go on about this based on a feeling, considering you're a damn good strategist. And before you ask, yes, it hurts for me to say that."

It always did, Agatha thought quickly, before the most common Agatha-like emotion bubbled up in her - fury. "I'm not destroying anything," she retorted back. "I'm saying we need to consider other viable options. Our champion, over here, is merely hiring him because he was friends with his father-"

"Did you not hear anything else that was brought up?" cut in Sergei angrily. "We tested his abilities. When I say he could give Bertha some trouble, I mean it. That says something. That's not a personal bias, it's just a plus to this whole situation. Don't roll your eyes at me, Agatha, if you have such a problem with it you can always challenge me again. Rack up your twentieth loss to me, why don't you?"

Agatha inhaled sharply as she stood up at the table on placed her hands on it, her eyes flashing dangerously. The other elites scooted themselves away to ensure they'd be out of her point blank range. Sergei was the only one that wouldn't budge.

"You think because you're a better trainer than me..." Arceus, that was really awful to admit, Agatha thought- "...that you think you're more competent at running the league? Where the hell were you when you needed to find a replacement for Mahogany? Or Vermillion? I've been in charge of that, and now you think you could just decide to hire this... this obviously shady individual, and because you're so inexperienced with hiring new gym leaders-"

"Arceus, Agatha!" erupted Sergei. This earned a low whistle of exasperation from Roland. "It's about time you know your place. You may be head of the elite four, but you are not the champion so stop acting like it. That's my position, and if I say - along with everyone else - that we want Giovanni as the new gym leader, then that's what'll happen."

Agatha's jaw was tightened, glaring madly at the Indigo Champion. She said nothing.

Roland took a calmer approach, arguably, the least irritable one out of four of them. "Agatha, think about it. Giovanni would keep our numbers very high, and the Indigo League would remain at the top. It's what you've always wanted to ensure, yes?" For some reason still aching at her, Agatha thought the opposite. She had no proof of it. Just a hunch.

When Giovanni returned to Kanto, the killer of those prostitutes had been caught. It was rather careless of the seedy little man, Giovanni thought. If Giovanni had to murder someone he could do it in a way that would ensure being off the hook entirely. That didn't matter because Hoenn would go back to business as usual as barely being fourth place in the LNS, having a ton of hookers, and their citizens being their cheery, oblivious selves.

Giovanni had other matters to attend to. His father taught him that businessmen were very careful, very sneaky, very callous. If your business competitor was hanging off the side of a cliff, you'd step on their fingers. Giovanni found that his business, his black market, would be stealing Pokemon - which it turns out, was a very popular business model.

To get this past the Kanto Government would be difficult, especially that bitchy Indigo Elite Agatha.

Perhaps it was luck, but Giovanni had some of his father's old business partners still lurking around. When Giovanni told them about his ideas, they were intrigued, and then they expressed the same concerns that Giovanni had. Understandable concerns, of course. There were others, others that were in the business of the black market of selling Pokemon for cash, and they would be considered competition. But Giovanni's father's voice echoed in his head with the metaphor about the cliff. So what did Giovanni do?

Tragic, really - that Micheal Napoli had committed suicide by putting his plugged-in toaster in the bathtub. Another shocking revelation a few days after that, Tony Stallone was found in his high rise apartment hanging from a closet. What a shame, leaving three beautiful daughters and a hysterically distraught smoking hot wife behind. Just like that.

Nothing would ever compare to the handsome yet brutal head of the Russo family, Calogero Russo, who stuck his head in the oven like that famous author that Giovanni didn't know the name of that would surely end his sad, troubled, and deeply pressuring life. What made it all-the-more devastating was that it was not his wife that found him, but his mistress who screamed upon sight.

It was nothing personal. It was business. Tying up loose ends, you know how it is.

With the competition taken care of, Giovanni could move forward with his operation.

Except, he wasn't done. Not really. Once Giovanni realized how big business was booming, there had to be a proper cover up. Anything to ensure his innocence, that he would get off scot-free in case anything drastic were to be discovered. A lightbulb went off in his head. Ruddy was a dear friend of his father's, who occasionally dabbled in narcotics due to his aching back - probably bordering on dementia if time goes on.

It would only be right to put him out of his misery.

Agatha wasn't going to win this battle, and if she wasn't going to win, then the only other option would be to lose. Battle outcomes had a short menu, and draws almost never happened - so that was out of the question, especially when it came to the likes of Giovanni. Staring at her elites, stone-cold and furious at her display, she knew she had lost.

Agatha sat back down, resigned, yet still angry over this revelation. "You win this time," she seethed frustratedly. "But mark my words, he is bad news. I'm sure of it."

"You and your hunches," retorted Bolt.

"Because I'm correct," spat Agatha, "And when the time comes when I'm proven to be correct this entire time, you'll never hear the end of it." And she just knew it, but apparently her team didn't see it that way - especially the damn champion, and unfortunately if the champion wanted Giovanni, then Giovanni was what they were going to get.

She wished she was a better trainer than Sergei.

"I'm shaking," Sergei replied sarcastically, his chair scratching the floor as he stood up. "Glad that we've come to an agreement. I'll be sure to give Giovanni a set of keys to the gym first thing tomorrow morning."

That being said, Sergei departed the room. Bolt and Gerald followed, flashing a triumphant look in Agatha's way before doing so. Roland was the last to leave, and he looked as though he felt slightly bad for the ghost-elite. Agatha would have none of that. She would rather have gloating looks sent her way than ones of pity. Under Agatha's glare, did Roland scatter out of the room like a rat. Agatha leaned forward on the desk, sighing into her hands as she rubbed the bridge of her nose.

Giovanni slid into his new gym with a sly grin, marveling at the new job that he had successfully gotten, and those league members hadn't a clue of what his plans were. They had no clue about the hit on Ruddy, thinking that he actually died of old age. His people had threatened the doctors that had the information on how Ruddy truly died would be hidden from the public. Like it had been said, it was nothing personal. Business. For now, he was off the hook.

For now.

A figure suddenly burst through the revolving gym doors. Giovanni turned around to see that it was Agatha of the Indigo League, lifted an eyebrow once he saw her usual menacing stance, and grinned. It was especially satisfying that he had won against her, because when they met in the league building he could radiate the anger off of her - like she didn't trust him. She would be correct not to.

"Come to congratulate me on my new job personally, have you?" Giovanni couldn't help but quip.

"You played a role in Ruddy's demise."

Giovanni's grin vanished.

"I don't have proof," Agatha went on, narrowing her eyes at him, "But I know you have something to do with it."

The man didn't say anything for several seconds, before nodding in agreement- "You have no proof." -that he did have something to do with it. Not only did he have something to do with Ruddy's death, he was the direct cause. You see, unlike that prostitute killer in Hoenn - Giovanni was careful. He was calculative. Cunning. Resourceful.

But on some level, Giovanni had respect for the elite standing before him. She was probably the only one that suspected his true intentions, and while it wasn't mapped out fully - not yet, it would be something terribly great. It's almost funny, because Lt. Surge was the first league member to have direct blood on his hands and Giovanni was the second. Surely, this would be the end of league members being involved in such things. It turns out in later years, the answer was still no. But this time, if Giovanni were to kill again, he had the perfect way of covering up his tracks.

Agatha stormed over to the man and gripped his collar. Giovanni didn't even flinch. "You'll pay," she spat furiously, glaring into his eyes: "I may not have the power to remove you, but you'll get yours. I swear by it."

"I haven't the faintest of what you're talking about, dear," chirped Giovanni, with that same sly smile he perfected over the years. "I must say, it's difficult to be surrounded by idiotic elites. Especially being the only woman. Hard, I imagine."

Agatha yanked his collar down. "That has nothing to do with anything. All I know is that Sergei seems to like you, but the moment I see a hint of suspicious behavior from you, you'll be taken down, and I'll see to it as I get my way in the league. Sergei may be the champion, but I have just as much influence."

"Clearly you don't," Giovanni pressed, still smiling. "Or else I wouldn't have been hired."

Smack!

The imprint on Giovanni's cheek was getting red, very quickly. He rubbed at it gingerly, for once clearly taken aback by the woman's outrage. "It's a shame, really. Someone like you becoming a gym leader because your father dropped dead. This isn't because you're strong, it's nepotism. It's pity. Rather pathetic and weak of you."

Giovanni's eyes flared. He was no longer smiling. "Watch yourself now."

Agatha, however, was grinning sinisterly. "Or what? Do to me what you did to Ruddy?"

"You. Have. No. Proof."

"I don't," agreed Agatha. Then it became quiet. Then, venomously: "Welcome to the Indigo League."

She departed the gym.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11- Clay

There were four well-known titles associated with Clay Wesley.

They called him the miner king because Clay had been working in the underground mines ever since he was a little boy. Folks in Driftveil City would say he had gotten a firm grasp on a pickaxe with two hands before he learned to speak full sentences, dug his first fossil up at five, and extracted coal and loaded them up at ten. Working in the mines was regarded as a dangerous job, and sadly it wasn't that much of an abnormal sight to see a small child working in the mines. He would rarely get injuries and when he did, he'd brush them off and rise early to work the next day. Clay was so good at his job that he was dubbed as the miner prince and as he grew older, the miner king.

They called him the greedy capitalist because according to Clay, money was what made the world go round. Clay was fascinated by his city's market, how their herbal medicines were being sold. The process of supply and demand had him hooked on business inquires, and Clay wanted a role in that. A lot of it was political, and while he was no Drayden Mcleoud, Clay would at least be able to get a passing knowledge. As Clay fully invested in the business, he learned things about the value of a dollar. Money talks, but wealth whispers. Those prancing idiots from Undella Town flaunted their cash like they earned it themselves when in reality it was most likely mommy and daddy's inheritance.

They called him the true ground-type specialist because yes while Sinnoh had the pleasant yet clever Bertha, and Kanto had the strong yet shady Giovanni, Clay was the true ground-type specialist. It was he whom specialized in such a type that actually spent time underground. It was one of his mines that became the Driftveil gym.

They called him the underground boss among trainers once Clay became a gym leader. Ground-types usually weren't known to be very fast, but Clay's Pokemon moved in a way that trainers would be blindsided with due to how unnatural it was. Over time, trainers would send out Pokemon that could either fly or levitate to ensure that Clay couldn't touch them. It didn't matter, because Clay had coverages with his Excadrill knowing rock slide and that would be the end of the match.

Clay Wesley was called a lot of things by Unovians and non-Unovians alike, and in the history books of Unova's gym leaders in the far future, many of the legendary things he was called would be referenced.

Except this one name, the only name that was dubbed by the citizens of Driftveil and by those companions closest to him: the gruff and gentleman-like bastard.

(The Miner King)

Clay's parents grew herbal medicine and had no experience working in the mines, but his grandfather taught him everything he knew about the world of mining.

A lot of children came into the mines young. Usually these kids either came from poor parents that struggled to feed their own families so they sent kids to work, or the kids that came from families that didn't love them. Sometimes it was both. Because mining was regarded as such a dangerous yet desperate job, Clay took them in with no hesitation. With the knowledge passed down from his grandfather, Clay put it to use when teaching them.

"Underground mining is the best way to mine," said twenty-three-year-old Clay to the mousy looking children who barely looked strong enough to carry a hammer. But appearances could be deceiving. He was scrawny himself when he was younger, but after years of working in the mines you built up muscle. "Do you know why?"

Predictably, he didn't get an answer.

"Underground mining is practical when the ore body is too deep," Clay informed the new crop of miners. "The ore body is the mass of rock produced. While it'd be cheaper to do open pit mining, you usually find more resourceful things by underground mining. The farther you mine, the bigger the reward."

And thus Clay would explain the different types of underground mining. Room-and-pillar mining was used for flat seams. It was the most traditional method that ensured recovering at least three quarters of coal. Longwall mining operated machinery, in which the machine moved along the panel of coal and was automated. Clay preferred the former - it was cheaper, and Clay would remark that automation was the work of the devil that would take away jobs. In many ways, he was absolutely correct.

Clay had acquired what was called in Unova "The Drayden Effect." It wasn't about politics, or mayoral duties, or even being a gym leader - but it was referring to how Drayden was as a teacher. Stern, no-nonsense, rather distant from his proteges and telling them how it is. Clay had to be like that because working in the mines was no joke. They had mouths to feed, businesses to run, and a city to run. It was no different from Opelucid City and how Drayden taught his students that working with dragons were not a joke. Clay didn't coddle them, because you cannot go into the mines and expect for someone to coddle you. One little mistake could put you in danger.

Jeremy was fifteen-years-old and one of Clay's top miners. No, Clay didn't have a soft spot for the boy that came in at ten-years-old because his mother had recently died and his father was disabled therefore unable to work. It's because Jeremy actually had a brain and didn't make all the rookie mistakes that Clay had seen in adults. It's because Clay valued someone who was passionate about mining, that it wasn't just about a paycheck, but also recognized the importance of putting in a hard day's work. Clay didn't have a soft spot - it didn't exist. It was good to keep a distance from co-workers and proteges alike. Obviously Jeremy was smart and Clay trusted him.

THUD!

The sound of a body falling sent a jolt in Clay's. Sadly, this meant that someone had fainted or something worse - which Clay had seen throughout his years as a miner. He ran into the direction of where the sound had come from, and came to a halt when he saw Jeremy collapsed on the floor without a mask. Clay held back a gasp as he processed this, and desperately tried to ignore the racing of his heart. Clay acted quickly and slid one arm on the kid's back (Arceus, that boy needed to eat more), another under the kid's knees, and bolted to the city's nearest emergency room.

Clearly there were chemicals. Clearly that there were toxins. This wasn't a little mistake, but a stupid one. How the hell could Jeremy be so stupid? He would live, there was no doubt that he would live, but he had no right to send him into a damn near heart attack, thought Clay.

Jeremy stirred in the hospital bed, hooked up to an IV, and his eyes landed on Clay's furious ones. "Mm... I'm fine-"

"Be quiet," Clay interjected sternly, getting up to pace back and forth. "No oxygen mask? The hell was going through your thick skull?"

"I... I didn't think-"

"Obviously not," Clay cut in once more, then shook his head. "You stupid son of a bitch. You take your mask off for even a second, you could die. Do you have any idea how lucky you are that you didn't? You..." He stopped his pacing to see his protege's eyes averted in shame. Perhaps Clay was going to hard on him?

...No. Because if the kid died on him, Clay didn't know how the hell he would be able to unpack all of that. No, it's not because Clay had grown to like the boy as a younger brother or anything like that. That would require not keeping a distance, and Clay kept his distance. Surely. "...You're stupid." This was business. Nothing sentimental.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you damn well better be sorry," Clay snapped.

Silence.

"Clay," began the young man hesitantly, "...as the Miner King, how many miners have you seen die?"

It's not the first time someone had asked Clay this, and it wouldn't be the last.

Clay cleared his throat and looked Jeremy dead-in-the-eye as he replied: "Too many to count, and thankfully..." There was a hint of emotion in his voice, "...none today."

(Greedy Capitalist)

Clay was twenty-four-years old, and things were getting shittier by the minute.

It's not money. Money was never an issue for Clay and he had plenty of it to go around due to his mining business. But his parents were at a loss when it came to their herbal medicine business, and trainers from around the globe were hungry for it. Wesley's Herbs popularity boomed in a year once people discovered that it would save their Pokemon a trip to the Pokemon Center. The thing was, it was a Mom and Pop business, and trainers from around Unova would buy their products. It wasn't an outsider issue.

They needed more workers.

"That would take time and money," his mother had said. She was correct. That's how Clay ended up going to retired miners, either ones that couldn't make the cut dealing with the dangerous conditions or those that had been injured and never fully recovered. They were out of work and needed a job to support themselves and in some cases their families, and Clay wasn't damn well going to let his city turned into some government welfare capital.

Those people would make a lot less than what they had received working in the mines, but it was the far safer option. Clay took full on advantage of that. They would be working barely above minimum wage, but at least it would guarantee their survival. When it came time to discuss Wesley's Herbs opening up to outsider regions, Clay suggested something that made all those involved in the business stare at him like he had told them to start murdering people. Even his parents seemed appalled, but Clay insisted.

"Triple the prices to outsider regions?" inquired one businessman. "Why?" Because they were shipping some of them overseas and that took time and money. Time was money, money was time, and Clay didn't like either of those things being wasted. If those from outsider regions wanted his family's products so bad they'd have to pay more. Others told him that the regions would back out finding it preposterous, but let Clay have the final word anyway.

They were wrong. It was a huge hit despite the tripled prices, people were willing to pay, and Clay thought they were all a bunch of suckers. It didn't matter. His mom and pop were living the good life, Clay was living the good life, those suckers that were paying extra money for his family's business were living the good life. Everyone was happy.

...Well, almost everyone.

His workers weren't happy. Because of the amount of money that was being brought in due to tripling the prices, they wanted a pay raise. It was understandable, he really did understand, but he wasn't going to give in. Be thankful you're not working in those mines where you can fall twenty stories and die. Call it selfish. Call it greedy. Clay didn't care.

That was, until, the protests started.

The whispers of the workers wanting more money turned into something a more. First, there were whispers, then there was talk of going to Clay's parents and demanding a raise, and when neither of those things had an effect - there were angry people shouting in front of Clay's home. All because he wouldn't raise their paychecks. Clay gave every excuse under the book as to why he couldn't pay them more, and had barked that they were doing something a Machoke could do for free.

Clay immediately regretted that statement as soon as the words had left his mouth, and it wasn't because one of the protestors had thrown a rock at his glass window. They called him an asshole and just about everything else negative under the sun, and Clay knew that they were correct.

"These protests are getting out of hand," one of the businessmen said with a groan. Clay snorted at first, because this was one of the businessmen that was more lenient with the folks of Unova. More kind and gentle. Clay thought at first that there was no such thing. "Stop being a greedy capitalist and give them money so they don't kill us all."

Clay looked at him and snorted once more. "What capitalist isn't greedy?" Nonetheless, he raised their pay a little more - just to quiet them down. Sure, it was money out of Clay's own pockets and he begrudgingly caved in, but he knew... he knew that what was once his Mom and Pop business would go under if he didn't meet their demands.

(The True Ground-Type Specialist)

There were rumors, rumors that started in Clay's early twenties that the gym in Anville Town was to shut down soon. The immediate thought Clay had was that at least it came as a rumor and a potential warning and not suddenly like the Pacifidlog flood tragedy from years ago. These rumors were confirmed to be true once Alder approached Clay at twenty-five that the gym leader in Anville was arrested for tax evasion. Clay didn't bother telling him that he himself, too, expressed a desire to avoid paying taxes. Not that Clay would ever do that, but he did think about it a few times.

"And what would you like for me to do about it?" inquired Clay, crossing his arms. "And whatever I do, what's in it for me?"

Alder grinned and let out warm laughter. "Ah, Clay. Always wanting something in return."

Clay didn't deny it. "What would you like me to do about it?" he repeated instead. Alder told him exactly what he wanted Clay to do.

The next day, Clay stormed into the underground where the miners were talking instead of working. Upon sight of Clay, they scattered to go back to their mining, but Clay wasn't letting them get off so easily. "Get off your asses," he barked. Their faces blanched significantly that they weren't able convince him. "We have a bigger job to do."

This time, it was a mix of construction and mining. One would think that Clay, a businessman, would've sat by and bark out orders to his underlings at this point in time. In the past, it had been something he had done in regards to his parents herbal business, but no, not when it came to mining. He led by example. That was the one thing that differed Clay from most businessmen, which was that he had no problem getting his own hands involved.

At his very core, Clay was a blue collar man. White collars were suckers that didn't know how to live.

Clay would be at the front of the line, no question about it - especially for something as prominent as building Driftveil City's first gym. The reason why Clay initially agreed to Alder's request to create the gym was that Clay would have complete creative control. Some people who naturally despised Clay (unsurprisingly, not an uncommon occurrence) whined about it being so unfair, but Clay didn't give a damn. It's Clay's city, with Clay's businesses, with his money and time, so when Clay said that Driftveil's gym would specialize in ground-types, then it was going to specialize in ground-types.

It was a real ground-type gym, with real tears and sweat put into it. It was made by the people who would serve as gym trainers in the Driftveil City gym. It consisted of miners and construction workers that understood the value of hard labor. When the gym was completed, those that even disliked Clay greatly begrudgingly owed him some level of respect. It was him who worked tirelessly, even when he wasn't feeling well and nearly collapsed from exhaustion one day, he still managed to pull himself up to finish the project. Clay didn't half-ass things, and turned his nose up at those who did. As they were building, it was Clay that taught them the value of ground-type Pokemon.

A true ground-type specialist, the Unovians would say. It was nothing against the elite from Sinnoh, or that gym leader from Kanto, but Clay was the one that built that gym from scratch from the ground up. He understood it. Therefore they respected him.

When Alder remarked that they needed a ground-type specialist as a gym leader, it was Clay that said: "Leave that job to me."

(The Underground Boss)

"Excadrill, slash."

After one quick swipe of the claws, the Johtonian trainer's Weezing had fallen. Clay wasn't too shocked by the choice of Pokemon on the trainer's end. Rumors spread like poison after Clay had become a gym leader after only two weeks, and the rumor of Clay's ground-types being abnormally quick had spread like wildfire among the outer regions and in Unova alike. Ground-types shouldn't move that way, they said. It's so strange, they said. Let them talk. Clay paid no mind to such silliness.

The Johtonian trainer who's name Clay honestly couldn't remember spoke, his head down. "They call you the underground boss, you know."

Clay blinked. "Do they, now?"

"They do." The nickname made Clay feel more smug, to be completely honest. He liked it. The trainer thanked him for the opportunity, and then left.

One point to Clay, the new gym leader thought.

Being a gym leader was good for business, which was one of the reasons why Clay agreed to it. The other reason was that he didn't really trust anyone else to take the job. It was arrogant, no question about it - but even the Driftveil citizens knew, deep down, that it would only be right if it was Clay that became the gym leader. He built it, after all.

The doors to the gym opened, and to Clay's surprise it wasn't a challenger, but two esteemed league members.

"Alder, Drayden," Clay greeted cordially, crossing his arms. "What can I do for you?"

"How's the gym holding up?" Drayden asked, grinning.

Clay let out a bark of laughter. "It's interesting."

Alder raised an amused brow. "Interesting good, or interesting bad?"

"Can't it be both?"

The three shared a laugh at that.

"Numbers are doing well on your end," Alder observed casually. "Does the underground boss care to take a break and join us over a pint?"

"So everyone's been calling me that, huh?" grinned Clay.

"Word travels," Drayden simply said. "Now are you going to join us for a drink or not?"

(The Gruff and Gentleman-Like Bastard)

A businessman, a politician, and a champion walked into a bar. They had gotten some stares (of course they would, how could they not?) but overall minded their own business after Alder ordered a round of drinks for everyone on the condition that they would leave the three league members alone. Unovians loved to drink, so of naturally they obliged - even when Clay learned that Alder could be a rather talkative drunk, and ended up telling the pair things he hadn't really told anyone else. Oh, and he was a loud drunk, too.

"...and then he died," Alder continued the story of his Volcarona, downing yet another shot of whiskey. "My fault. My fucking fault. 'Said it had an illness, didn't realize 'till it was too late. And I pushed, and pushed, and pushed... some days I think 'm a murderer, still wake up at night furious... so fucked up."

Drayden was more of a careful drunk, but he, too, slipped a few things Clay wasn't expecting. "Let me be clear, I love being the mayor - but Arceus fucking dammit... some of my consteiuents bitch for no reason. So what if there are too few benches in Opelucid City? Who gives a flying fuck? Stop being lazy. Laziness is spreading in this damned region - less kids wanting to be dragon tamers, the hell is going on in this world? Kids are saying we're too harsh. At least we're not like those damn Arrax's, be grateful."

Clay snorted and took a swig of beer. "Don't they whip their trainers? Shouldn't the Indigo League intervene?"

"They produce the best dragon tamers there, so they look the other way," Alder told him, rolling his eyes. Drayden shot him a look. "Oh sorry." Clay couldn't help but grin.

"...What about you?" Drayden asked Clay instead, with a slight hiccup. Clay furrowed his brows in confusion. "What's your issue. Y'know, the thing that makes you tick? Since we're all just confessing things here instead of going to therapy." Alder snickered at this, presumably in agreement. Clay frowned in thought. There were a lot of things, really. He's also had a fair bit to drink, too - which was why the words spilled out before he could stop it.

Clay told them. He told them about the people who died in the mines, who got injured, including his best miner Jeremy that's like a brother or maybe even a son to him, and how he himself had gotten injured a few times too. He told them about his hatred for those upper-class, snobby, elitist Undella asswipes who had everything handed to them, and how he was secretly jealous. He told them about his Mom and Pop's business booming, how he helped it grow, and how he had many people fucking hate him because he's a selfish greedy prick who hogged their money. He told them how he secretly felt guilty because he was just like them at one point, in which his family was once flat-out broke and Clay couldn't go to school because he had to work in the mines to support his parents. Clay told them how he felt like shit knowing he became what he despised the most.

When Clay finished, he downed a shot of Jack Daniels. Alder and Drayden watched.

"That's heavy," Alder remarked, and Drayden nodded in agreement. "But you're not all bad. You fixed the problems. You're the best damn miner anyone's seen. You're a good businessman that eventually paid your workers more. You made your own gym by hand. You're just..." He thought about it, and grinned. "A gruff-gentleman like bastard."

Drayden chuckled good naturedly, and for some reason, this made all three of them chuckle.

"Alder, you're drunk," pointed out Clay, but he was still smiling.

"I've had a few," he admitted.

Drayden raised a shot glass. "To the gruff and gentleman-like bastard!" Alder and Clay raised their own and Alder repeated the nickname, then downed their whiskey.

This would later become an unchallenged tradition among the three of them - Alder, Clay, and Drayden - in which every Saturday night, they would go to the same bar at the same time and talk. No one would bother them, but it did earn the three of them the collective nickname of the "Whiskey League Trio" or the WLT for short. It would become the "Whiskey League Quad", the WLQ, with the arrival of a certain ice-type gym leader that was a movie star, of all things.

But that was a story for another time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12- Koga

Someone once said that the best thing about being a ninja was to win without lifting a single finger, to trick your opponents, play mind games, and deceive your way to victory. It required focus, patience, and persistence - and if you had neither of those things, then you might as well throw in the towel because you'd let your opponent win.

Koga was good at all of it. He perfected it, mastered it, and crafted it. Yet if you asked the citizens of Fuchsia City what they thought of Koga Tanaka, they would say that you couldn't meet a more honest down-to-earth person.

And they would be correct. Well, at least outside of a Pokemon battle they would be correct. The ninjitsu master was as poisonous and clever as he was personable, and he had garnered a bit of a cult following before he even reached league status. Most of them were children, usually abandoned ones as there were plentiful in Fuchsia City, that were fascinated by the twenty-year-old's ability to disappear on a whim. Though Koga was serious as a forty-five year old when talking to those his age or older, he was quite gentle with children - which some wouldn't expect from a young man who loved peace and quiet, and the abandoned children of Fuchsia City were anything but.

They were pranksters. Children as young as nine and as old as fifteen "terrorized" the city, as the adults put it. Koga scoffed at the description and to anyone who came to him with their grievances about them. They just wanted attention and the pranks they did were virtually harmless. He told people this, and the mayor had remarked that if it was so darn simple, then Koga should be the one to do something about the problem. The gym leader, also a poison type specialist like Koga except far older, suggested the same.

So Koga did. It was Koga who noticed that though the pranks were childish in nature, in its own way it was sneaky and clever. On some level, Koga realized, that it was partially his fault because a lot of the abandoned children had parents who couldn't take care of them and had sought that in Koga, which involved trying to imitate his ninjitsu.

That's when Koga put his foot down, and with the help of the city's mayor, opened up the first school in ninjitsu beside the orphanage of the abandoned children. Every single child wanted to enroll. If the children weren't at the orphanage, they were at Koga's school, which meant they were off the streets of Fuchsia. It was a win-win for everyone.

Koga himself had learned ninjitsu from his parents. The art of ninjitsu was dying in the Kanto region when he was young, and his parents wanted to ensure that Koga could learn everything he could before it would completely fizzle out. Little did his parents know, the opening of the Fuchsia Ninjitsu Academy, aka the FNA, would bring it back to life.

Koga instructed his students with a goal. Try and prank him without getting caught. This was an intentional goal that would redirect their pranks toward Fuchsia's citizens to himself, and because Koga was a master of disguise and all things clever and sneaky, the students leapt at the chance. Most of whom failed, of course. It wasn't too surprising: his students would gossip that he had eyes in the back of his head that were invisible to the naked eye. Of course that wasn't true but students liked to spectate.

One day - and Koga would never forget it - a woman his age showed up at his academy after class. She was gorgeous, with auburn hair down to her shoulders, startling green eyes that shimmered, and naturally, that smile of hers. She said that she came from Viridian City and had heard rumors that ninjitsu was on the rise and she wanted to learn.

"I normally take in younger students," Koga said.

"Make some room for me then," she had insisted, still smiling brightly. "I, too, have a desire to learn ninjitsu, and textbooks could only teach me so much."

At this, Koga smiled back. "Fine then. Your name?"

"Aurelia Monroe." And she held her hand out for him to shake, and he did. In later years, Koga would say that there was a spark even then, and he would be right.

Koga taught her privately, one-on-one. In these sessions, Koga learned a bit about the mysterious and beautiful Aurelia Monroe. She, too, loved poison-type Pokemon and had been with her Nidoqueen since she was a little girl when Nidoqueen was a Nidoran. She took on the LNS briefly, defeating five gym leaders from Unova, before heading back home to work in her parents' bakery where their signature pumpkin pie was envied in all of Kanto. She learned about ninjitsu from watching street performers in Unova. It was her favorite part of traveling there. Aurelia believed in something called "Being Zen" which probably explained why she was doing so well in her sessions with him.

It didn't take long for Koga to realize that he was attracted to her. She was attracted to him, too. On some level, Koga knew it was somewhat unethical. Even if they were the same age, they were still considered teacher-and-student, and there had to be a little professionalism but let's face it, they were both drawn to one another the moment they met. They were also both in their early twenties, and neither brain was fully developed, so hormones were bound to take over sooner or later.

Apparently his students are becoming more observant or perhaps Koga's love-addled brain was slipping, but when Aurelia was well-versed in ninjitsu enough to teach them Koga's students as well, they started to gossip. Gossip about them. Surely they were dating. It was a breezy March, when someone had the nerve to ask them if they were.

"That is none of your business," Koga told the giggling students, "...and we're not." It was the truth. They weren't dating at the time. But that night, they finally confessed their feelings to each other in the safari zone after meditating together. They were twenty-two, more than liked each other, and they kissed. It was perfect.

They were married in late July of that same year. The citizens of Fuchsia, young and old, all attended the ceremony. Apparently there was a betting pool arranged when Koga and Aurelia would finally get together. It seemed as though everyone knew it was fate then, too. Because Aurelia and Koga were perfect. A dream team. The art of ninjitsu was becoming popular among the older people of Fuchsia as well, and even some trainers outside of the city wanted a piece of knowledge regarding ninjitsu.

All thanks to Koga and Aurelia Tanaka.

A month later, Koga's parents want to meet with him and his wife over a late lunch to discuss something very important. Koga was skeptical at first, and had no idea what it could be about since his parents liked Aurelia and seemed to have no issue with them getting married after only four months of dating.

After everyone finished eating, his mother dropped the bombshell question. "When are you planning on having children?"

Oh.

Of course.

Koga and Aurelia exchanged an odd look. They had never thought about it, really. Not while they were dating, not while they were getting married, not while on their short honeymoon, not ever. And both of them knew the reason why then and there. It was because they considered the students at the FNA as their own. Orphaned or abandoned kids whom they were strict with, no doubt, but provided the parental substitute that each and every one of them had been craving. Those were their children.

"We just got married," Aurelia said, with a chuckle. "But I understand. I'm sure my parents want grandchildren, too."

"We had Koga one year into our marriage," Koga's mother pointed out.

"That's because I was an accident."

"You were a wonderful surprise."

"Still an unintentional pregnancy," Koga told her, with a cheeky grin. "I don't see you asking Aya when she's going to have children." Aya was Koga's younger sister by a year, and technically Koga's first ninjitsu student, until she had gotten married at the age of eighteen to her childhood sweetheart. Now that marriage, his parents were livid about.

His father snorted. "Aya doesn't know what she wants, at least you and Aurelia are responsible. Aya and Calvin on the other hand..." he trailed off from there.

"Yes, we are responsible," agreed Koga. "Which is why we are going to be careful. We're..." He hated that they were having this conversation now, and was sure to look at Aurelia when he went on, "...we're still young, and we still want to continue things the way they are now, I hope? But we will think about it."

Aurelia smiled. "Of course." She looked to Koga's parents. "We'll let you know if anything changes, but for now, we want to wait."

And so, time would pass as Koga and Aurelia ran the FNA, with no desire to really start a family as the children in the orphanage were more than enough for the lovely couple. Besides, Koga and Aurelia thought that they should at least take the time for their love to blossom even more before bringing a child into the world.

For a woman that called the Lost Tower an adequate vacation spot, Agatha insisting that Fuchsia City was cursed was a bold statement. That's because it was only when Agatha started as an elite that Fuchsia City's gym was stable. Before the current gym leader of Fuchsia came in, there were many gym leaders there that would come and go. The Indigo League could never quite find a good poison-type gym leader that stayed indefinitely.

That was because the children of Fuchsia were always rambunctious and chased the gym leaders out. This could be traced back to the Kanto-Sinnoh war era where many that studied the art of ninjitsu had died fighting when Sinnohnian soldiers invaded their city. It was a generational curse, scars passed down to their children and their children's children and would likely continue to do so. Almost all the children in their city's orphanage had an ancestor that died. So when word reached Agatha that this gym leader of Fuchsia was going into an early retirement, Agatha was convinced this city was cursed.

But not completely. Agatha had someone in mind to replace the man. Her elites and champion knew she had someone in mind and left her to it. When it came to the state of Kanto and Johto's gym leaders, she had proven a point that it was she who established replacements with the exception of Giovanni. In fact, ever since Giovanni, the other elites and Sergei raised their hands and told her she could do whatever she wanted. You know, the best option. If a gym leader dropped out, there would always been someone waiting in the wings to take their place. Usually Agatha handpicked them from those that competed in Kanto-Johto Tournaments, like the cold Pryce Rimbach. Usually.

This was not one of those times. The Fuchsia gym leader also had a lot of input on his replacement since he had been there well over ten years. He and Agatha had the same person in mind which made things easier for the league. Ninjitsu had been a dying art when Agatha was a little girl, but it was brought back to life again by the lovely couple Koga and Aurelia Tanaka - whom had taken in those abandoned kids to teach him his tricks and keeping them out of trouble.

It was a choice between Aurelia and Koga.

Logically, it should've been Aurelia. While those that competed Kanto-Johto Tournaments had an upper advantage, those that had competed in the LNS couldn't be ignored. She had beaten five gym leaders from Unova, and it was impressive. Unova was always ranked number two in the LNS, and while they weren't near Indigo, Agatha begrudgingly admitted that they produced good trainers. But that was because Unova had a pen-to-paper method of battling as opposed to experience in the field. If Johto was known for their best military, then Unova was known for producing the best scientists, researchers, teachers, and all sorts of scholars in academia. They were political experts too, which came as no surprise to Agatha when Drayden of the legendary Mcleoud family line was hired as a mayor and gym leader.

It should've been Aurelia. However, there was something that held Agatha back from making that obvious choice. She had stopped after five gyms when she could've gone further. Apparently she's the daughter of the bakery shop that the Monroe's had in Viridian and wanted to come back and work there. To Agatha, that was deplorable. Stopping your battling for other areas of interest was shameful, especially if they had the potential to be great. It reminded her of the person she hadn't spoken to in over fifteen years.

"You're still here?" inquired Roland, taking a seat across from Agatha at eleven at night in her office mandated by the league. She was so tired over this decision that she didn't have the energy to yell at him to get out. It's not like she yelled at Roland much, anyway - at least not in comparison to Sergei, Bolt, and Gerald.

Agatha did have the energy to give him a flat-glare. "Someone's got to make these decisions."

Roland shrugged in defeat with his hands in front of him. "Alright, alright. You don't have to tell me twice." He peered over the paperwork. "...So Koga, is it?"

"Twenty-four, opened the ninjitsu school in Fuchsia, specialized in poison-types," Agatha read off. Yes, this would be the correct decision.

"Married."

Agatha furrowed her brows together. "Your point?"

Roland gave her a wry grin. "Usually those who are in the league that are already married end up in arson. Why do you think so many of us are single?"

"I don't follow that nonsense," scowled Agatha.

Every league had their own dramas like a school did, and some members couldn't seem to grow up. Some league members even liked to sleep with league members outside their regions. Inter-league dating was a recipe for disaster. Those were usually the younger ones that would barely last, so Agatha needn't worry about conflicts arising. It was all petty. Just keep your clothes on and battle for your respective region, was that so hard?

Bolt once asked Agatha if she slept with Blaine back in her tournament days. She had slapped him in response.

Roland hummed. "Do you think hiring one of them will cause a rift?"

"What makes you say that? One of them could teach the FNA full-time, and that would be Aurelia."

"Ah... I didn't think." Of course he didn't. Dim-witted fellow, Roland was. At least he was the least likely to challenge Agatha on anything. "When are you going to tell Koga?"

"First thing tomorrow morning."

"Should be eventful. You're usually picky with poison-type specialists, considering you're technically one yourself."

"There is a limited amount of ghost-types in Kanto."

"Go to Johto and get a Misdreavus. Or Hoenn and get a Banette," offered Roland, and let out a cheeky smile. "I go to Hoenn a lot, and not for the ghosts-"

"I know why you go to Hoenn," scowled Agatha, rolling her eyes at the implication.

A lot of league members outside of Hoenn went there secretly to seek out pleasurable company if they weren't sleeping with each other. The "Hoe-Pen" was still alive and well, and it seemed as though the region went on pause when prostitutes were getting murdered. They barely had anything else going for them besides not being ranked last in the LNS, so the naive Hoennians were terrified when their precious street walkers were being killed. But not even Agatha was the type of person to take pleasure in a human being's murder. That didn't mean Agatha didn't find Hoenn an utterly ridiculous region that did things all willy-nilly. Hoenn's promiscuity was the least of Agatha's concerns.

...She suspected that little rat bastard Giovanni went there at times. The swine.

"You should get to sleep," advised Roland.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Alright, alright..."

"Some of them are getting sneakier," marveled Aurelia in her and Koga's home referring to their students, with a grin. Koga grinned back at his wife at the kitchen table, where the two of them were sharing a cup of coffee before heading to the FNA. "It's amazing what you could accomplish in four years."

"I didn't do it alone," was Koga's reply, still grinning. The FNA had gotten a lot better once Aurelia had arrived in Fuchsia City. The mayor was pleased with the lack of kids causing trouble in the streets of Fuchsia. Fuchsia citizens were even friendlier toward those children, and regarded Koga and Aurelia as saviors of the city. Koga thought that was a little preposterous being referred to as 'saviors,' considering that all they had to do was to give the kids a little bit of attention which was the bare minimum.

There was a knock on the door.

Koga and Aurelia exchanged a look. The former glanced over at the clock to see that it was still early, roughly seven am, and most of their students knew better than to bother them before eight in the morning. "Who could it be?" he asked. Aurelia could only shrug. "It's not your parents is it? I thought we weren't expecting them until three?"

Aurelia snorted. "I hope not. It'll probably be to bother us about having children already."

Koga looked at her. "...Don't you want to have children?" Because they had been thinking about that, leaning toward having a child at this point in their lives. As much as Koga didn't want to hear about his in-laws go on and on about bringing a miniature Koga into the world like his own parents would, he secretly he hoped Aurelia wouldn't back out.

"Of course I do," Aurelia said, with a smile. And he believed her, of course.

"It's Jasper!" the current Fuchsia City gym leader said from outside the door. "And I've brought company. We need to have a word."

Now Koga and Aurelia were apprehensive. In the past, whenever Jasper shown up at this time it usually meant one of the FNA kids had done something wrong. This hadn't happened in over two years. When they opened the door, it was not just Jasper. Not only was the prestigious Agatha of Indigo's Elite Four there, but the champion, Sergei.

Aurelia spoke first. "Please don't tell me one of the FNA children pranked a league member again," she sighed. "I swear, we've done our best to-"

"Nothing like that," cut in the ghost-elite. That was Agatha, straight-to-the-point. Terrifying in person as she was on television when she did interviews. "Jasper here, is retiring from his post." Koga's eyes went wide at the gym leader.

Sergei rolled his eyes. "He can speak for himself, Agatha."

"Quiet," snapped Agatha, then turned to Koga. "We've chosen you to replace him. Think you can leave the FNA fully in Aurelia's care?"

Koga was still trying to process what was happening. "I'm sorry, wha-"

"You do understand that we need a new gym leader," Agatha interrupted yet again. "I'd rather not look through the Kanto-Johto tournament logs, it's hours of paperwork that I don't care for and way above my pay-grade as an elite. I've done that before, would rather not do that again."

"Technically you made Gerald-"

"Shut up." Sergei shut up. "Well?"

"...Why not pick Aurelia?" Koga gestured to his wife. "She's taken on the LNS."

"And then she quit," replied Agatha swiftly. "Now I need an answer."

"We need an answer."

"I need an answer," Agatha corrected Jasper.

Koga looked at his wife, and then back at Agatha. "Give us some time to think about it."

"You have five minutes."

"Five minutes?" Aurelia squawked.

"I'm an impatient woman, I don't like to be kept waiting."

At least Agatha was honest about it. She herself close the door behind them, leaving the couple alone.

"I don't know if I-"

"Koga, do it. I can take over the FNA fully."

Koga blinked at Aurelia. "What?"

"You're telling me you've never once considered becoming a gym leader?" Aurelia asked, even though they both knew the answer. "All those times you've remarked, 'Arceus, I wonder how long it'll take for Jasper to leave the position like the others had' before we went to bed were not just for casual conversation. Don't look at me like that, Koga Tanaka - you're the one that taught me to see through these things." Aurelia's smile glowed, with a hint of mischief. "Like a proper ninja."

Damn her. So brilliant, so clever, so wonderful.

Koga never explicitly voiced aloud about wanting Jasper's position of gym leader. He thought if he had expressed interest early on it would for sure be a way of getting him barred from the position as well as disliked by Fuchsia's citizens. He was well-liked among them. Jasper was their first stable gym leader in a while that wouldn't rise to the bait of the abandoned Fuchsia children and because of that alone citizens thought he was perfectly placed. To speak out about wanting that position, even if Koga had solved the problem of Fuchsia's children, wouldn't look good for himself. It also felt morally wrong; a ninja followed a honorable code to respect your elders.

But Jasper was leaving. Now Koga could do what he wanted.

Which was to be Fuchsia's gym leader.

"I'll let them know my decision," smiled Koga, and opened the door to answer to the league members.

Fast-forward to six months later, Koga was twenty-five-years-old and living the dream. He's the gym leader of Fuchsia City, a part-time teacher at the ninjitsu school, had a fat paycheck because of the two, married the most extravagant woman in all of Kanto, and they were going to have a precious little kid of their own. Aurelia had told Koga that she was getting morning sickness and they took a home pregnancy test that ended up positive. The lovely, married couple of three years had embraced and wept in joy. They had told their respective families that were ready to dote on the little guy that would come along. Their students were ecstatic for them. Things were only going to get better.

Or so they thought.

A little over a month into Aurelia's pregnancy, she began to complain of stomach cramps. Koga was told that stomach cramps were a normal part of pregnancy and neither of the two thought much of it. But then, the pain began to increase, and then Aurelia started to bleed, and then she started to scream, and both of them realized it wasn't normal.

They lost their baby before it was even born. Koga and Aurelia went to the fertility clinic, and heard perhaps the worst thing two aspiring parents could hear.

"You can keep trying," said the doctor, his voice tinged with regret. "You can keep trying, but it's likely the same thing will happen. You can get pregnant, but your genetic-makeup given to us would make it hard for you to carry a baby full-term."

In other words, Aurelia would continue to miscarry.

That night, Koga held his sobbing wife on their bed, not stopping his own tears from flowing from his cheeks. He was a proud man that swore that he would never cry, but that was the one thing that broke him. Both had realized that they wanted to bring a child, a little ninja of their own, and they wouldn't be able to do that.

Of course, as you know, they were wrong. It would take years, and throughout those years their doctor had been right; Aurelia had suffered through numerous miscarriages when trying for their miracle child. They took a break for a while, the stress being too much for Aurelia's body to handle, and within that time they had pondering giving up.

They didn't.

But you already know that.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13- Glacia

Gillian Cervera.

Back then, her name was Gillian Cervera.

Galar was not as posh as outsider regions thought they were. Gillian Cervera, who had lived in Galar region for the first eighteen years of her life, could attest to that. She was born in Spikemuth to working-class parents, like everyone else in Spikemuth. Her father was a construction worker that eventually left the family to climb the social ladder when Glacia was eleven, and her mother was out working as a bartender. This usually left Glacia in charge of taking care of her little sister, Remora, who was three years younger.

So no, Galar was not posh as outsider regions thought.

Gillian wasn't too surprised, however, as those opinions were usually held by the regions competing in the LNS that Galar had said no to joining all those years ago. Gillian would agree that they made the right decision. Those trainers from those regions in particular had no contact with her own region, as they had no desire to go to a region that wasn't in competition. All their information they got from Galar was likely from television, where they only showed the upper-class areas, such as the wondrous Circhester.

Circhester, with their lovely elegant accents that would make foreigners swoon in delight. Circhester, with their aristocrats that likely carried the region's economy with their old, old money that came from Arceus-knows-where. Circhester, with their peaceful city drenched in serendipity, their buildings made of stone and destined to bring good fortune to those who are lucky to see them in person.

Spikemuth was everything Circhester wasn't.

Those who came from Spikemuth spoke in a cockney accent; the brash, hostile tone that would make foreigners flinch. Spikemuth was considered a burden on Galar's economy with it being the poorest city. The city of Spikemuth was dubbed as the "wrong-side-of-the-tracks" with its gangs, vandalism, and the reason why Gillian had held Remora's hand extra tight when walking home from their school. No sister of hers was going to get caught up in that riff-raff.

Gillian wished she was in Circhester with her father. It's why she studied those folks on television. If she listened to them enough, she would be able to imitate their speech patterns. If she watched trainers from Circhester enough, she would battle just like them. If she watched politicians from Circhester debate well enough, she would acquire their intelligence. In later years when she's properly established, she would realize this made little to no sense.

"It's mad, innit?" Unlike her older sister, Remora had no such desire to be like the people in Circhester. She paraded her cockney accent with pride. Gillian turned her nose up at these people, even if she was one of them. Remora was referring to the gym leader in Ballonlea who had been in the position since before Gillian was born. "Speaking out against those Circhestians like that. Oi, I tell ya, it's a miracle she's not fired."

"They're not going to fire Opal, she's been there since the beginning of time," Gillian told her haughtily.

She had no idea how much longer she'd be there. No idea at all.

"She's not that old yet, an' she's looking like a skeleton, int she? She can't decompose more!"

Frankly, Gillian also had no idea how wrong Remora was.

Gillian also had no idea that Opal wasn't the only one that spoke out against the Circhestians. Gillian's father, Wilfred, the intern at one of Circhester's estates, had also spoken out against the upper class Circhestians wanting bigger tax cuts for themselves and their businesses. Of course, Gillian understood why her father thought this was a bad idea. It seemed good on paper, but Gillian knew better. Decades ago, they introduced a system like that which would ensure the money to trickle-down to the poor.

"Oi, hold on, it's coming!" some citizens would say, "It's going to come down eventually, yeah?"

It's been forty years and nothing. It's then Gillian truly knew where the money was going. Despite this fact, she still wanted to get to go to Circhester with her father. When Gillian Cervera was fifteen-years-old, she had gotten her wish. He was sworn in as Galar's Head of Intelligence, and because of that, she and her sister and mother were able to move up in the world. Wilfred Cervera was described by Spikemuth citizens in the past as "wasted talent," because he was a lowly construction worker that was utterly brilliant.

They weren't calling him that anymore.

The Circhester architecture was perhaps more beautiful in person than it was on television and in the papers. Gillian and her family were warmly welcomed by the current champion of the Galar region. They were introduced to various rich pastries and exquisite drinks that melted on her tongue. Finally, Gillian's dream was a reality all thanks to her father's activism and hard work. For the next three years, Gillian lived a life of luxury. She studied classic literature and history, played multiple instruments, went to one of the finest schools that Galar had to offer and Remora did the same. Gillian perfected that faux phony Circhestian accent from being around those citizens for so long. She had a room dedicated to the most expensive clothes, made of silk and velvet, and would never leave her estate without it. She was Circhestian now. Forget Spikemuth.

Her father didn't forget. Wilfred was the Head of Intelligence in Galar for a good reason, as Gillian learned what that truly meant the day she turned eighteen.

There's a leak. There's a leak from Galar's database that exposed the names of the aristocrats that had stolen money from not only families, but the charities that they allegedly were pouring money into. There weren't any charities, and families that belonged to those organizations that were supposed to benefit from them had wondered why there weren't getting a lot of funds up until now. Oh sure, they had gotten money, but it was a menial amount. They could've gotten more. Circhestians always could've given more.

Galar was in pandemonium.

Working-class families raged at the Circhestians. They burned down the house of one, and broke into the office of another. They were the first ones, but hardly the last. Fighting-type Pokemon were ordered to burst through the offices and destroyed them to bits. Fire-type Pokemon were commanded by their trainers to burn it, burn it all, burn it all now. Yet Gillian's family estate remained perfectly in place, because Wilfred Cervera was a hero. He had brought attention to the region's economic disparity. Everyone loved him.

Except the Circhestians, of course.

A week after the database leak, Gillian and Remora walked back home to see her mother's body hanging in a closet. Her father's body was right underneath her, with an evident gunshot wound to the head. Immediately, Gillian spun Remora's body around so see wouldn't have to see the corpses of their dead parents. This wasn't done by their citizens.

That's when Glacia realized that she didn't like Circhester. No, she not only didn't like Circhester, she hated it. Circhester took away her mother and father, and if Gillian and Remora were home with them, then they would've been taken away too. When she realized this, she came to the second realization that they needed to get out of Galar. Now.

But where could they go?

Alola was a no go; those islands were still recovering from the war against Johto. Paldea was out of the question even if Gillian did want to go there, since the region went on lockdown due to a dictator. Nobody went in, and nobody went out. Kalos's political climate was not that much better than Paldea's and Galar's, hearing about how the middle class was shrinking as the rich got richer and the poor got poorer. Then, realizing these things, she came to her third and final realization.

Gillian would have to go to a region in the LNS.

Urgh.

She researched on each of them in her time in Circhester. The Indigo League had done a lot of bad, bad things in the past. The things she read about the Indigo-Sinnoh war terrified her immensely, so she wasn't going to Kanto or Johto. Gillian had also read on what Sinnoh did on their side, and that was equally as terrifying. Plus she heard rumors that their trainers were very nasty - probably because they're still recovering even after so many years over losing the war. Sinnoh wasn't an option, either.

It came down to Unova or Hoenn.

Unova seemed like the safest option at first. Gillian valued their educational system and yearned to learn. But Unova was second in the LNS, and though they weren't close to the Indigo League in spite of that, Unova was always regarded as the region's biggest competition. Gillian couldn't care less about the competition, she just needed to escape her own region. Unova took very little refugees from outer regions. During the Johto-Alola war, it was actually Hoenn that took more Alolans in than anyone else.

That's when Gillian knew Hoenn was the best choice. Hoenn was the middle ground, ranked second-to-last in the LNS, and wouldn't draw to much attention to themselves. The Hoennians would welcome Gillian with open arms.

"We're leaving for the Hoenn region," Gillian told her sister. "Pack your things."

"What?"

"Now."

Gillian was an eighteen-year-old refugee. Remora was a fifteen-year-old refugee. Though Galar wasn't in midst of a war, Gillian was positive that if the Circhestians had their way they would persecute her and her little sister if they didn't escape the region. By the definition of the word "refugee," escaping their region to avoid persecution counted.

They traveled by boat.

"What is your name?" asked the immigrant official.

"...Gillian Cervera," she told him. Remora didn't say a word. "This is my sister, Remora Cervera." The immigrant official stared at the two girls just for a moment. Immigrant officials were sworn to secrecy when one wanted to leave the state of their region, but Gillian prayed with all her heart that he wouldn't send them back.

"Your new names are Glacia and Roccara Frost." Glacia Frost tried not to roll her eyes. He definitely knew based on those choice of names. Circhester was interchangeable with their gyms, either branding itself as an ice-type gym or a rock-type gym over the years. But nonetheless, that was their permission being granted. They were going to Hoenn.

Rustburo City took in the most immigrants out of all the cities in Hoenn. The region had always been free-loving in that regard. A bit too free-loving perhaps, because Roccara (formerly known as Remora) loudly pointed out that a woman was wearing little-to-no-clothes and had her body against a man in broad daylight. Glacia told her to look away and murmured apologetically toward the pair. They actually smiled at her and said it was okay, and went right back to business.

The culture shock was real. Within two weeks of living in Hoenn despite knowing about the region's friendliness, Glacia was still getting used to it. They weren't snobby at all like those people in Circhester, and it made Glacia realize that she had adjusted too quickly within her three years of living in the upper-class area. Try as she might, she would never lose the accent that she tried to imitate as a little girl and succeeded. On the other hand, Roccara never lost touch with her Spikemuth roots. The only thing they shared in common was that the citizens in Rustburo seemed to have figured out they were both from the Galar region.

Because of that, they were referred to as the "Galarian Sister Duo," as a tear of endearment over the past two years of living in Rustburo. Roccara had earned a job in that shop in the route below of Rustburo City, and Glacia had battled with several trainers among the routes closest for money. The one thing Glacia was relieved to see was that the ice-type Pokemon in Hoenn were plentiful, and would occasionally fly out to the Shoal Cave to train there when her sister was working hours in the shop. Life was good.

There's big news in Rustburo City. The Devon Corporation was an organization that was rising in power with their products. This was thanks to a charismatic young president by the name of Joseph Stone who's pushed toward strong inventions in his short time of being the president of the Devon Corporation. You could get anything related to Pokemon and their training from the Devon Corporation. Pokeballs of various variations, fossil extractors, medicine, running shoes, whatever you needed.

They were looking for a new assistant to the president, to be his right hand man, and the pay would be high.

Glacia immediately applied for a job interview, and was waiting outside his office the very next day.

"The president will see you now," said one of his researchers. Glacia stood up at once and entered the office. There was Mr. Joseph Stone, waiting in his chair to see who the next applicant would be. Glacia had seen him once or twice outside the building, and she was always polite to him and offered a brief greeting before leaving to train. She actually saw his wife Ruby more often. Glacia brought fresh berries to every now and then. They were grown from the plants outside the shop Roccara worked in.

"Ms. Frost," Mr. Stone greeted warmly. "Come in, come in. Have a seat. How's your sister?"

Glacia smiled and sat across from him. "She's doing well, thank you."

Mr. Stone scanned over Glacia's application. "When I heard you wanted this position, I have to admit I was a little caught off-guard. I thought you were interested in training your Pokemon? I understand you go to Shoal Cave often. Ice-types, you like. My wife has told me." On top of giving the woman berries, Glacia occasionally had tea with her.

"I am interested in training my Pokemon, which I precisely why I want to hone my skills and work for you," said Glacia. Mr. Stone frowned deeply. Glacia tried not to wince and further explained herself, "I mean, being from Galar, I know a thing or two about Pokemon training. Their inventions aren't like yours, of course - but I think bringing in some fresh ideas for further inventions, derived from my time in Galar, would be useful. I understand Hoenn's looking for some more insight on outsider regions, kind of like how Kanto's Silph Co served as some inspiration for the Devon Corporation."

Mr. Stone let out a non-committal hum. "I've talked to some of the teachers at Rustburo City's school. You've battled with them several times and beaten every single one of them, and these are the finest educators that Rustburo has to offer. It's clear that your passions are battling-centric, rather than the process of inventions themselves."

Glacia raised an eyebrow. "Um..." She had no idea how to respond.

"It's nothing personal, Ms. Frost," Mr. Stone told her. "But I find it odd, rather strange, that instead of battling you want to work as an assistant."

"To hone my skills," Glacia pressed urgently.

Mr. Stone gave her one long look. "But if you had to choose, would you rather get a high ranking job in battling or being an assistant?" Glacia stared at Mr. Stone, struck completely speechless. This must've shown what Glacia's choice would be, because Mr. Stone's expression was entirely unreadable.

"I could use the pay," Glacia admitted.

Beat.

"...I'm going to make a phone call, wait here," said Mr. Stone. Glacia watched as Mr. Stone pressed a button on the phone - clearly on speed dial. He held the phone connected to the answering machine. "Hello, this is Joseph Stone. Hi, Janice, how are you? Is Hal Hemsworth facing any challengers at the moment?"

Glacia's eyes grew wide at the name. He was the ice-type elite of Hoenn's elite four.

"He's not facing any challengers? Good. Can you connect me to him, it's kind of urgent? Thank you, thank you - oh, hello Hal. Oh, don't go all grouchy on me because you're doing paperwork. How are you, my friend?" Joseph stone paused for a few seconds, and then he let out a bark of laughter. "That's what you get for drinking appletini's. Yes, yes Ruby's fine, thank you. Listen, I need to ask you for a favor. And I know you've had an eye out for a new apprentice, so you can't act too surprised that I called you."

Glacia's breath was caught in her throat.

"I have this nineteen-year-old girl here, great with ice-types, and she came from the Galar region a little over a year ago... yes, she's great. She has her Hoennian citizenship, yes. Defeated all of Rustburo's teachers... oh, not everyone can do that, Hal, and you know it... right... right... okay. Thank you, Hal, thank you. I'll send her over."

Then Mr. Stone hung up. Glacia's jaw dropped in utter bewilderment. At this, he smiled. "Go to Ever Grande City. Hal would like to have a word with you. He already notified Barty that you would be coming, so you don't have to worry about security. Have your Pokemon on you."

...What?

"What are you waiting for, girl, fly out to Ever Grande!"

Glacia didn't need to be told twice. In the Pokemon league building in Ever Grande City, it didn't just host the chamber rooms of the champion and the elite four where challengers would face them. Like most league buildings, there were offices assigned to a league member for paperwork and other responsibilities they had outside of battles. Glacia heard a rumor that Agatha of the Indigo League had five jars of tears separated by region from challengers that had lost against her on her office desk for aspiration.

"Don't stand outside, come in."

Hal.

Glacia entered Hal's office and bit her lower lip. "Um, hello. My name's-"

"I know who you are. Follow me to my chamber room," Hal told her, rising from his chair. The pair walked to his chamber room, and Glacia tried to ignore the stares from the other trainers looking to challenge the league.

They arrived shortly. "I hope you're ready for battle," said Hal. "My colleagues will be watching you via camera. Do you know why we have these cameras?" Glacia shook her head. "It's because if we lost against a challenger, we study their battle techniques so we know where we went wrong. Every chamber room from all over the leagues has one."

"...Oh."

"This is also your evaluation to see if you're worth being an apprentice of mine."

"Okay."

Hal grinned. "Let the battle begin. Beartic, let's go!" The ice-elite threw out a pokeball and the Pokemon relative to Unova let out a cry. Glacia entered her Glalie into the battle, the spheral Pokemon letting out a roar of its own. "Beartic, icicle crash!"

"Dodge it and produce a hailstorm!" Glacia immediately regretted the command as soon as it left her mouth. Her Glalie's health would heal during a hailstorm, however...

"My Beartic's speed gets faster in a hailstorm due to its-"

"Slush rush ability, I know," scowled Glacia. But what was done was done. Glalie evaded the Beartic's icicle crash and produced its hailstorm. Her Glalie moved fast, there was no doubt in her mind about that, but was it faster than Hal's Beartic? Glacia found out approximately two seconds later as Hal commanded his Beartic to use another icicle crash and her Glalie had gotten hit, but it remained able to fight. This earned raised eyebrows from the elite. "Shadow ball." His eyebrows went up further when it managed to hit.

"Use icicle crash again." Glacia watched as her Glalie, this time, went down to the Beartic's attack. Glacia recalled her fallen Pokemon and sent out her second Glalie, and she didn't think that an elite could raise their eyebrows further up, but she was proven wrong. "Beartic, use superpower."

"Not a chance. Glalie, dodge it and use icy wind to slow it down!" Hal's eyes went wide; not only did her second Glalie avoid the super-effective attack, but Glalie managed to get a critical hit on his Beartic, which lead Glacia to believe that this was something that did not happen often. Out of the corner of her eye, Glacia saw Drake enter the room - apparently he wanted to see the battle up close rather than via camera. She tried not to think about it.

"Beartic, snap out of it and use superpower again-"

"Counter it with another icy wind."

But Hal's Beartic wasn't going down so easily, and after the third command of the move superpower, did Glacia's second Glalie faint. Glacia shook her head at the current state, losing two Pokemon while Hal had five leftover, and then sent out her Sealeo. Recoil damage be damned, Glacia ordered the seal Pokemon to use double edge, and finally, finally did Hal's Beartic faint. Hal grinned at her and called out his Mamoswine.

"Have any ice-types from here?" Glacia couldn't help but quip, grinning back. "What happened to Hoennian pride?" She may have just imagined it, but she swore she heard Drake snort in amusement.

"I am a man who enjoys many cultures. Mamoswine, use earthquake-"

"Sealeo, attract!" Glacia had gotten lucky; the tusk Pokemon had a snow cloak or thick fat ability instead of being oblivious - and now it was infatuated with Sealeo.

Hal crossed his arms. "You would think you wouldn't take that gamble trying to figure out Pokemon abilities because of Beartic."

Glacia smiled. "I've taken a lot of risks in my life. More than you know. Sealeo, body slam!" Mamoswine didn't faint - not yet - but it had been paralyzed. However - it had gotten over its infatuation rather quickly. That was evident on the way it was trying to fight through the paralysis.

"Mamoswine, use earthquake." Glacia's luck had run out, and the ground started to shake. Sealeo went down in one-hit, and never had Glacia ever felt so ashamed. She shook her head once more and sent out her fourth Pokemon, which was another Sealeo. She couldn't very well use an ice-type move on the Mamoswine, because if it wasn't oblivious then there was a chance of it having thick fat. For once, Glacia wasn't going to take that gamble. "Sealeo, use water pulse!" Mamoswine let out a roar of pain, and went down.

"You want a Hoennian ice-type?" marveled Hal rhetorically, and sent out a Walrein. Glacia snorted at this; she had one too, and she hoped that she didn't have to bring it out after this battle. But the odds weren't exactly in her favor. Case and point, Hal ordered his Walrein to use a body slam, and Glacia's Sealeo was paralyzed. Unluckily. Damn it. Glacia's Sealeo couldn't break out of the paralysis, and was subjected to a surf attack that made Glacia down to her last Pokemon."

Hal quirked an eyebrow. "Walrein versus Walrein. Fascinating. Walrein, use body slam again."

"Dodge it, and use surf!"

"Slow it down with icy wind."

"Body slam."

"Surf."

"Body slam."

Walrein went down. Glacia's Walrein went down.

Glacia had never felt such shame in her entire life, sighed, and called back her Walrein. She had failed. Her evaluation to potentially become Hal's apprentice had failed, and it was quite possible if she hadn't caused that hailstorm to happen - stupid, stupid move, on her part - then she would've had more of a chance.

"I like her," Drake said, letting out a hearty laugh. "She's got spunk."

Glacia's head snapped to attention, furrowing her brows. "Huh?"

Hal rolled his eyes fondly. "The observation room wasn't good enough for you, Drake?"

Drake leaned against the threshold. "It's not everyday you see someone from Galar come over here."

"Drake," Hal started, with a sigh. "Go back to your chamber room. I need to have a word with Glacia." Drake rolled his eyes, just as fondly, and left. Glacia got the impression that it was all good-natured between them; far different than what she heard about other league's region's elites.

It's too bad, Glacia thought, that she had failed her chance.

"Why have you come to Hoenn?"

Glacia felt her blood run cold. "I'm sorry?"

"Well if I'm going to groom my replacement of Hoenn's elite four one day, I would like to know their story," said Hal.

Glacia blinked. "My story?" Then she processed what he said prior and her eyes grew wide as saucers. "And wait a minute, your replacement?"

"Usually our champion, Barty, is supposed to dictate who gets a position in the elite four," Hal explained. "While yes, the elite who is being replaced has a special say in who gets to replace them, usually it's the champion who's word is law. But Barty and I - we've worked together for many years. He trusts my judgment. If I were to say I would like you to replace me in a year's time, then he would permit it. So I ask again, why have you come to Hoenn? People don't come from the upper echelon of Galar to Hoenn."

Glacia looked at him hesitantly. "I..."

"There's no sound from the cameras."

And then she said it.

"My name was Gillian Cervera," whispered Glacia. "I know for a fact that there are people with a lot of money in Galar that would do anything for that information."

"Cervera," Hal echoed. Then it hit him. "Oh yes. We heard about what happened to Wilfred Cervera. We hadn't a clue that he had a daughter, though."

"Two," Glacia corrected, with a smile. "My sister and I came to Hoenn for protection."

"You'll get that while you train under me. No one is going to touch you or your sister once they know you're working for the Hoenn League."

Oh.

Okay.

"Here's what you're going to do," began Hal. "Swap out those two Sealeo or evolve them. The fact that you've gotten as far as you did with unevolved Pokemon, taking out two of my Pokemon that I've had for over thirty years, is impressive. Swap them with two Froslass if you won't evolve them. I have two Dawn stones that I can lend you. I'd say, give-or-take, in two year's time, you'll take over my position. Yes?" Glacia could only nod. Hal gave her a genuine smile. "An early welcome to the Hoenn League, Glacia Frost."

Glacia Frost.

Member of the Hoenn League.

Well, not now. But she would be.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14- Brycen

The war between Kanto and Sinnoh was just between those two differing regions at first. Both of their militaries and weapons were of the same strength, and while Kanto had the upper hand in Pokemon battles part of the reason the war started was because of the current Champion of Sinnoh rising to power in that aspect which passed down to its trainers. The beginning of the war was of an even playing field between the two.

That was, until, Johto started to come into the picture. It's been said countless times that Johto's military was no joke, and that's when Sinnoh needed allies. At first, the champion of Sinnoh issued a draft - those that evaded the draft were found out and forced into labor camps and potentially killed anyway. Kanto didn't want to kill its own people, but Sinnoh had no issue doing so which was likely the region's true downfall.

Unova knew that this wasn't entirely Sinnoh's fault. Kanto was no saint either as much as Kanto's champion at the time liked to pretend he was. At least Sinnoh's champion at the time knew he was a tyrant and had no problem saying so. Kanto wanted to dominate Unova's education system at one point in history and Unovians said no. Sinnoh's champion offered protection if Kanto kept persisting with it. That's why Unova agreed to join the war to assist Sinnoh.

Johto didn't take kindly to that and crushed them the moment they heard the news. The moment Johto's military went all-out, was when Unova backed out of the agreement with Sinnoh. Unova's champion had heard about the atrocities Kanto was committing in Sinnoh, how they were being wiped out, experimented on, tortured; he was not going to let his region suffer the same fate. In case Kanto, Johto, or Sinnoh retaliated against them from backing out, Unova practiced air-raid drills. Neither region attacked them.

Was it cowardly? Oh absolutely, no question about it.

However it was too risky for Unova to push forward with. Even decades after the Indigo League's attack and the war ended, Unova was still in an economic depression. Of course they weren't suffering as say, the Sinnohnians were - but there were some children in Unova that would have to skip dinner every once in a while. There were more frowns rather than smiles in the streets of Unova. That was an aftereffect of war, so it wasn't too surprising.

The first thing little six-year-old Brycen Abagnale noticed was that in the theaters citizens were happy, but as soon as they walked out, their happiness faded. His mother and father explained to him that he made them happy. For a cheap price, Unovians could go see a film of him singing, dancing, or acting - and their troubles melted away.

Brycen's mother was a dancer in her early years before she settled on being a housewife, and his father was in real estate. Compared to most people, Brycen lived comfortably middle-class for the first four years of his life. They wouldn't have to worry about missing a meal. They paid their bills on time. Brycen's mother had expressed a desire for Brycen to be trained in the arts, like she was, and they most certainly could afford it. Singing lessons, dance lessons, acting lessons - Brycen did it all.

Brycen always obeyed his mother. So when Brycen's mother told him when he was four that she wanted him to be an actor, he said that he would be an actor. It wasn't like his mother had to force him to do it, because Brycen loved every second of it. The entertainment industry had fascinated him ever since he was three, and his very first memory would be when he saw a film for the first time. Brycen wanted to be like those actors. His mother would give him cues off-camera, hand signals, and Brycen knew what to do.

As Unova started to build itself economically over the years, Brycen was building his reputation in the film industry. Every single Unovian knew the name Brycen Abagnale. Many  could tell you what films he was in, what year they premiered, and how much money it made. Unlike most child stars, Brycen would continue to act as he got older. Romance films, action films, drama films - Brycen immersed himself in every entertainment genre that he could. Brycen didn't mind that he was no longer as famous as he was when he was a child star or being known as a teenage heartthrob. It wasn't about the fame he had, it was about the art of acting. While he got old, his love for the craft did not.

Brycen had his most serious role when he was just sixteen. At age sixteen, Brycen stared in one of the most political films of the century. Because of the nature of the film, it had sparked outrage. It was an anti-war film that depicted drafted soldiers as young as fifteen, Brycen being one of them as a medical doctor, witnessing the deaths of his comrades. It ended with Brycen's character committing suicide. It was clear on what this represented without explicitly saying it.

This was the first political film that touched upon the war that wasn't banned in all of the regions. Had this been made over fifty years ago, the film would've been banned in Kanto, Johto, and Sinnoh without a second thought. When people expressed their outrage of the violent nature of the film, specifically the ending, Brycen privately wondered if presently the Indigo and Sinnoh league had considered having the film banned in their regions.

In later years, it would turn out that Brycen was entirely correct on this thought, which ended in the regions saying no as it would make it obvious about their displeasure.

Needless to say, Brycen had to steer clear from the public eye for four years, and returned to acting when he was twenty. Action films were his favorite. He starred in a few when he was a teenager, and as Brycen took on more serious roles it usually was action-packed. Brycen wanted more. He had nothing against the stunt doubles of course, but Brycen wanted to expand his horizons. When Brycen was twenty-six, he had a desire to do his own stunts. This was practically unheard of in any film industry, not just Unova's.

"There's a reason we have stunt doubles," the director argued. "It's too risky."

Brycen stared him down. "I can handle it."

He could. After that movie came out, Brycen was back in the limelight again. The idea of a famous actor doing his own stunts had received national attention. It seemed like Unovians had forgotten about the anti-war film he had done all those years ago. Brycen doing his own stunts in his film had earned him an award, with Alder congratulating him personally. A renowned movie star was in the same room with the Champion of Unova. The media was going insane. The two became fast friends since the two of them were both the most well-known figures in Unova. Brycen showed up at Alder's complex and shared a drink with him.

"And to think..." slurred Alder, with a chuckle. "...you starred in a controversial war film, with murder, horror, and suicide."

"I've had many friends that died," said Brycen. "My age. That were in the film industry. Drug overdose, alcohol poisoning, suicide, all the sort. How the hell did I not fall for it?"

"Because you have a good head on your shoulders," replied Alder. Brycen could only snort. "No, I'm serious. All those others had to have been dragged down to the studio by their parents. You'd be the first one to arrive at a set and the last to leave." At this, Brycen had shrugged. Even if it was true.

Brycen was twenty-nine years old, having been in the entertainment industry for a quarter of a century, and was set to star in one of the biggest action-packed films of the century. Everyone was raving all about it before they even started filming it. When the Unovians got word about this film, it was all anyone could talk about. All they knew was that Brycen Abagnale was going to star in a film with the top director, the top screenwriter, the top costume designer, the top everything. A huge blockbuster. Brycen was filming the last scene, where he was propelled into the air due to an explosion. Brycen was attached to a cable, which was supposed to pull him imitating being launched into the air.

No one knew what exactly happened behind the accident. Some say behind-the-scenes the man operating the cable was jealous of Brycen's fame and sabotaged him. Some say it was because he was outraged over that political film Brycen did. No one was certain, and they might never be certain. Though it was likely because the man behind the cable was an amateur and had no business having such an important task. Whatever it was, it costed the man's career and for him to be vilified until the day he died.

Brycen himself didn't know what happened until he woke up in the hospital with his head aching like hell. Alder had graciously welcomed him back to the land of the living, and it was very likely that Brycen could've died that day. Brycen learned that the cable pushed him forward with too much force and hit the wall. He needed several stitches.

Brycen learned a lesson that day. Stunt doubles were valuable. There was a reason they existed. It's how they made their living. Stunt doubles were aware of the danger they were in and sometimes they weren't so lucky. Brycen thought he was invincible like those heroes he portrayed, until he wasn't. He got out of the hospital when he turned thirty.

Brycen was thirty-years-old, retired from acting, and had no other aspirations and goals. He concealed himself from the public-eye entirely, and no one knew where he had gone for the first six months after he was released from the hospital. When his agent tried to call him for the twentieth time, Brycen threw his phone into the sea. Being in the spotlight prepared Brycen on how to properly disguise himself so no one would recognize him. Part of him seriously considered moving to an outsider region.

One day, Brycen was walking in Nimbasa City past a news station that discussed him. They referenced his first film from when he was four-years-old, and recalled the accident with the cable and how the ending of the film had to be rewritten due to Brycen's accident.

Everyone was replaceable in the film industry, Brycen knew that, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. That night, Brycen opened an old bottle of whiskey. He wasn't a heavy drinker by any means, but because of today he suddenly understood why most child stars never made it past the age of thirty. He downed the entire bottle in one go and smashed the glass on the ground. He felt woozy and felt his body go heavy. Drinking too much and too fast probably wasn't a good idea, but Brycen found that he didn't care.

He had nothing. Well, he had plenty of money, but that didn't mean shit to Brycen because it was never about the money. He had nothing.

If this was going to be his way out, then so be it.

Brycen woke up with his head pounding, lying down on a sofa that wasn't his own. He scanned the area, realizing it looked a lot like Alder's living room, and resisted the urge to groan when Alder appeared confirming Brycen's suspicions. "Oh fuck..."

"Yes, 'Oh fuck,' indeed," Alder marveled, taking a seat in the chair beside the sofa.

"...What happened?"

"I found you in an alley of Nimbasa," Alder explained. He handed Brycen the glass of water that was in his hand. Brycen gulped half the glass in one go. "Drink, don't chug. I found you in an alley passed out drunk on your ass and used my Beheeyem to teleport us back to my home."

Brycen snorted. "Since when do you have a Beheeyem?"

"Sometimes I like being versatile with my Pokemon, sue me," said Alder. As he continued to speak, his voice grew with frustration and worry. "The hell were you thinking, Brycen? If you're going to drink to excess, do it carefully. You're lucky that you didn't die. Again. Do you have a death wish? I want to know!"

Brycen didn't answer for several seconds.

"...There's nothing left for me to do," Brycen admitted. Alder frowned as though he didn't understand. "I'm serious. What's left of my life? I'm... forgotten in the film industry. I doubt anyone would be willing to hire me again because of my incident. I can't just... stop working. I need to do things. To be kept busy. Or else I'll go mad."

Alder looked at him. "You already have gone mad."

"Don't remind me."

"I am reminding you, because you seem to think life isn't worth living anymore. Don't give me that look, Brycen, I know that's what you're thinking and that scares the hell out of me. Now, logically, if someone in my position thinks someone's a danger to themselves, then I'd have to put them on suicide watch."

Brycen already knew what this implied. "And why aren't you going to do that?"

"Because I have a solution to your problem, and I don't want to send you to the loony bin," answered Alder. "The solution is to become a Pokemon trainer full-time and train hard. You still have those ice-types you caught when we went to Twist Mountain, right?"

"I caught those just so I could experience catching Pokemon," scowled Brycen. "Being a Pokemon trainer isn't my thing."

"Weren't you just complaining that you had nothing left in your life? Well here's something. Train for three years, and then talk to me. It'll fix both of our problems."

"And how would that fix whatever problem you have?" Brycen wanted to know.

Alder was quiet, then: "What I'm about to tell you, is something that no one in the league knows. Not even my elites. Clay and Drayden are unaware as well. So you cannot breathe another word of this to anyone, understand?" Brycen's eyes grew wide, and nodded. He knew this was of importance the moment he mentioned that Clay and Drayden were unaware, and everyone in Unova knew Alder told those two everything. Brycen took a sip of water as Alder revealed: "Isabella Del Rio is retiring."

Brycen spat out the water immediately. "What?"

"You can't be so surprised, Brycen. Isabella has been the gym leader of Icirrus City for a long, long time." Brycen knew that. Everyone knew that. In fact, she was one of the few gym leaders that gave a positive review of his anti-war film. The others had been frightened. Her response was to invite him over for a cup of tea. She told him stories, stories about how she was a young girl practicing air drills in an orphanage because her parents had been killed in the explosion Johto planted. "She said it's time for her to go."

"Is she dying?"

"No, she's simply had enough," Alder told him. "Sometimes, people just had enough. Especially at her age. Arceus..."

"Now what does that have to do with me training?"

"You would replace her, of course. She's willing to stick it out for three more years while you train and when that's over, you'll take her position as the new ice-type gym leader. She's quite found of you, you know."

Beat.

"You're actually insane," Brycen blurted. And, naturally, Alder laughed at that. "No, I mean it. You're crazy. There are several others that could take that spot right now. Some people that have been training for years would sell their souls to Unova for a job as a gym leader."

"Well, if Unovians are willing to sell their souls for a post as a gym leader then I would worry about their mental health."

"This isn't a time for jokes, Alder."

"I'm not smiling, Brycen, does it look like I'm joking?"

"Alder," Brycen began sharply, through clenched teeth. "You're asking me to get back in the public-eye again. People will know who I am if I become a gym leader in three years. They wouldn't take me seriously."

"You're kidding, right?" scoffed Alder. "If they know Isabella Del Rio personally handpicked you, they'll take you seriously."

"I had tea with her once and she thinks I'm gym leader material. How odd is that?"

"People thought Pryce from Johto wasn't gym leader material either, but he prevailed."

"Pryce is a grade-A asshole."

"That I will not deny. But you can be great. Just start training, and I mean start now. Get your ice-types, make something better of yourself, or else you'll go off the deep-end. I don't wish for that to happen to a friend of mine. I refuse to have you turn into someone tinged with bitterness. No way, no how."

A few hours later, Brycen went into an icy cave. It was a secluded area, where he wouldn't be bothered (not like they could, since Brycen had a master of disguise, anyway) and would train his Pokemon here. His Beartic beside him made a curious sound, looking at him.

"Three years," Brycen told him, then let out a mix of a laugh and a scoff. "Three years of this, and we get a gym. Can you believe it?" Beartic let out a roar. "Didn't think so."

Beartic was Brycen's best friend. Only around him would his icy mask break. No really, Beartic was a life-saver. It was so strange, with the way the Pokemon could almost sense if Brycen was having doubts. Whenever those self-deprecating thoughts came, Beartic would literally wrap Brycen in a hug. Even though Brycen knew Beartic wasn't a psychic, it sometimes sure felt that way. Beartic did not know its own strength sometimes, but he meant well. Those nights where he would wonder aloud if he should've ended it, he's grateful that Beartic would be there as a reminder to stay. To keep going. Brycen cried into his Beartic's fur once.

"...Thank you," Brycen had muttered, sniffling. He felt Beartic's paw gently rest on his head, "...Thank you."

Not that Brycen would dare tell anyone that.

Three years later, Brycen was handed the keys to Icirrus City's gym. There are cameras and reporters swarming him like the rats they were, asking if this meant that he was officially retiring from acting all together. Brycen, honestly, didn't have an answer for that. For now, he supposed. Perhaps one day he could return, that is, if the entertainment industry would let him. He doesn't see how he could, however, given that he's an official league member. He'll have a lot on his plate.

Brycen was realizing this as he groaned at the league paperwork on a Saturday night in his office in the back of the gym. Political affairs of Unova was not Brycen's forte, no matter how much Unova emphasized on the importance of it. Just because Brycen did a political film it didn't mean he knew all things politics. Other than the anti-war picture, he couldn't make heads-or-tails of the political climate. Leave that shit to Drayden Mcleoud, or Alder, or even Clay Wesley, for Arceus' sake. This wasn't him.

But the paycheck was good, he liked battling with ice-types, and most people left him alone.

Most people. Speaking of the three people listed above, they had entered his room without knocking. Therefore, this meant Brycen Abagnale was no longer alone. Alder, Drayden Mcleoud, and Clay Wesley were right there, in the flesh, for some Arceus forsaken reason.

"Gentlemen," Brycen greeted. "Is there something I could do for you?"

Alder, Clay, and Drayden grinned. "It's Saturday night," Alder told him, still grinning. "Let's hope you won't drink to excess this time, yeah?"

Brycen snorted. "What are you on about?"

A businessman, a politician, a champion, and a movie star walked into a bar. The usual patrons turned away once they saw the former three as they usually did, but then they did a double take to see that there was a newcomer among their group. They began to whisper amongst one another, but like last time, Alder bought them a round and the whispers stopped. The quad that was once a trio downed three shots of whiskey like it was nothing, and they began to talk. Then they started to laugh.

"I like you, Brycen," hiccuped Clay. He gave him a friendly cuff on the shoulder. Brycen couldn't help but grin. "Always thought movie stars were a punch of pansies... you're not. You're real. You're so fucking real. How the hell you could do all that? Incredible, just incredible. You're alright."

"Done it since I was four-years-old," Brycen told him. His words were slurring slightly. "Mom and dad wanted me in the business. Didn't have to force me or nothin', 'cause I loved every second of it. I made people happy, they said. 'Cause of our depression due... due to the war, and how those scars exist even decades later... that's still kinda fucked up, though, putting pressure on a little kid to make Unova happy. What the fuck? I mean, I could handle it... but what if some other little kid couldn't?"

Drayden nodded in agreement. "Mm, you think that's why the others killed 'emselves?"

"Yes!" Brycen exclaimed. "Oh, thank you for acknowledging that. Entertainment industry can be so fucked up sometimes." It was the first time he really admitted such a thing aloud, and while the alcohol certainly helped, it was still a little surreal to say that considering who he was.

"I liked the anti-war film," Alder added. "Really hope that we won't end up in one again." At this, Drayden snorted. "What?"

"'S possible," Drayden told him. "You... you think that the system's fucked up?" Brycen blinked at this.

"Ah, the LNS," said Clay. "I don't know. But probably."

"Was created by a man named Martello Wright," Drayden replied knowingly. He took another shot of whiskey. "Champion of Indigo at the time. Had all the elites, gym leaders, and champion from Sinnoh replaced due to the Sinnoh champion's tyranny and didn't want any repeat offenders. Revenge because Sinnoh's champion at the time had all four of Indigo's elites killed, which started the war. Fucker was bent in the mind, thinking those elites were plotting to assassinate him."

"Were they?" Brycen pressed.

"Who knows? Sinnoh's champion, as awful as he was, turned the region into a superpower. Immediately went to shit once he started a war though. Johto joining in made it worse. When the champion vanished, Indigo went ape shit and tore Sinnoh to bits in order to track him. They eventually did, and that was the end. Martello Wright dropped dead three years after the creation of the system, and even then, Unova and Hoenn still joined them. We did it because we thought it would bring good revenue, while Hoenn did it because they thought it would be fun. Sinnoh, however, Sinnoh was kind of pushed into it by Martello Wright, and after he died - they just kept it I think to redeem themselves."

"Drayden has a theory that Sinnoh will use the system to make their comeback," Alder explained to Brycen. "Not with a war, though. The LNS. I don't see how they're going to do that with their oaf of a champion. Spyro, his name is. He's kind of an idiot." At this, Clay laughed and laughed and laughed. "Met with their elites too. They're all stupid."

"Not Bertha," cut in Drayden seriously. He repeated it again, "Not Bertha."

"Fair enough. But she's no Agatha. That woman gives me nightmares," chuckled Alder. "Scary as hell, she definitely has killed a man."

"I heard that she laid out a hit on Oak."

"That's just a rumor, Clay."

"I know, Drayden, but it's still fucking funny."

"...What about us?" Brycen suddenly asked. The other three men stared at him. "Us. In the LNS. What do we do?"

"Keep doing what we're always doing," said Alder. "Laying low, be friendly, and minding our own business. We have nothing to worry about."

Brycen let out a hum at this. Unova was second in the LNS, something that Unova was proud of considering they weren't Hoenn or Sinnoh, but perhaps Drayden had some valid concerns. But Brycen was drunk and happy, so he didn't have to worry about that right now. Neither of them did, and were just focused on getting another round of shots. The "Whiskey League Quad," abbreviated as the "WLQ," was now complete.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15- Lance

From the moment he was born, Lance Arrax was destined for greatness.

At least that's what everyone in Blackthorn City said.

From his parents, his grandparents, to the other Elders that resided in the Dragon's Den. Lance was an Arrax, for goodness sake. That surname belonged to only the toughest of dragon tamers, and he was their first son in a long time. The Arrax bloodline was in danger of going extinct, and according to the citizens of Blackthorn City, that meant doom for everyone else - especially for the dragon tamers in the den. Lance's parents, Claudia and Shenron, had been trying for years to have a child, and the pressure to have a child (at this point, a girl would've been fine) was becoming too much for them to handle. Blackthorn City had its eyes on them. So when Lance was born, he was the city's saving grace.

For those raised in Blackthorn City, it was drilled into their heads that dragon-types are superior to all Pokemon, and Lance especially was no exception to the rule. It's what his father and grandfather told him. It was rumored that when Lance was a baby his first word was "teeny," which people thought was a reference to the Pokemon Dratini, so this only exemplified people's expectations of him. His first two syllable word was "dragon."

The elders were not kind. One would think they would be, considering that this boy would be destined for greatness and should've spoiled him rotten. This was not the case at all; quite the contrary. The elders were strict and had a no-nonsense attitude about battling. Lance suspected that they were especially harsh on him. His mother and father were on edge. The entire city was on edge. Lance wanted to know why, and that was what he asked his father one day after receiving his first Pokemon at age ten - a Dratini.

"Are you dense?" his father had snapped. "You're an Arrax. Your destiny lies with being a dragon-tamer. Do you ever wonder why the people of Blackthorn look at you with hope? Because you are their last hope, and you've been nothing but a disappointment thus far. Now don't talk to me again unless you have something useful to say." After stating that, Lance's father left the den - and the faint smell of whiskey lingered. Lance didn't say a word for two days.

That's when it clicked in Lance's brain, because he was taught to have pride in his city, pride in dragon-types, and pride in battling. The last thing Lance wanted to be was a disappointment to his father, his mother, and to his grandparents and ancestors.

Lance followed the rules to the best of his ability. Lance took those lashings from the elders, his grandfather, and his own father, blinking back the tears - because Lance was an Arrax, and other than being dragon-tamers, they did not cry. He cried once, and his father told him to save those tears for the pillow. Because Lance didn't want to disappoint his father, he did just that. Months later, Lance didn't have the energy to cry anymore.

The comfort he had, other than battling with dragons, was watching the baby Dratini hatch. Dratini were fussy the first month after they hatched and constantly needed to be rocked to sleep. Lance was always the first to volunteer for that duty which raised eyebrows from the other elders, and scowling from his father. His father complained that his kid was too damn soft, and he needed to toughen him up a little. Teach him a lesson. That usually involved bringing out the whip, especially when Lance would sometimes sneak from his training to play with the baby Dratini. When he was finally caught, the lashings Lance had gotten was nothing he had ever experienced before.

"You're an Arrax," his father snapped, putting the object away. "Stop sniveling and shaking like a little shit. When the elders say you train, you train. Not sneak off to 'play' with the Pokemon like you're its goddamn mommy. You hear?"

Lance shut up and nodded. He learned when to speak, and when to listen.

When Lance was twelve, another Arrax was born - but she was a girl. Not that it really mattered in battles, but according to Blackthorn citizens, it did. The people of Blackthorn were very much traditional in that sense. She was Lance's cousin, and she too would later be subjected to the same treatment as Lance in the Dragon's Den, but that is a story for another time. The outcome was much different. Other than his Pokemon, Lance decided his cousin Clair was the world to him, and when she was born, he felt sorry for her.

He tried not to let it show in the hospital. Lance smiled, and the parental nature that his father tried desperately to whip out of him only stirred upon sight of his baby cousin. When she stared up at him with her bright blue curious eyes and he held her, Lance had an overwhelming surge of protectiveness wash over him. One minute she looked at him, the next she reached up and yanked his hair. Not that Lance minded. In his eyes, this meant that this was her way of saying she loved him, too.

As the years went by, Lance's Dratini became Dragonair, and Lance caught himself two more Dratini. He abstracted a fossil that would later become Aerodactyl, got a Charmander as a gift for years of hard work, and caught a Magikarp in the Dragon's Den that he wanted to evolve into a Gyarados. Raising these Pokemon would require a lot of discipline and patience, and Lance had both of that. The elders were mildly impressed that the boy was actually starting to make something of himself at the den, which did earn him no more lashings from them including his father, but there was just one thing.

The dragon's den shaped Lance into an upstanding dragon-tamer, but that parental nurturing attitude Lance possessed had never gone away. It wasn't that the elders hadn't softened up to him slightly since he actually started battling worth a damn, it's that Lance still had that gentleness about him, that warmth that the Elders saw whenever he went to look after Clair, or play with the baby Dratini, and when he was friendly and charismatic with the other trainers. It wasn't that the elders didn't value love and bonding with their Pokemon, but every now and then they worried that Lance was too soft to be a level-headed, cool dragon tamer.

"See?" Lance had asked his five-year-old cousin, pointing at the horde of Dratini with one hand. He was holding Clair's hand with the other, as it usually went. "And you see that Dragonair protective over them? That's because it's its young."

Clair cocked her head to the side. "Like you."

Lance's smile was strained. "Yes, like me." But he wouldn't be able to protect her from the elders. He tried, oh Arceus knew, he tried. The thing was, Clair had the defiance about her that Lance didn't have, and he was strangely jealous of his cousin. But the elders hated defiance more than anything else in the world. He felt more sorry for her than ever.

When Lance was eighteen, he had something to tell the Elders, his grandfather, and his father. Out of the corner of his eye of the Dragon's Den, he saw his six-year-old cousin spitting on the shoes of one the elders. Lance tried not to wince as the elder, predictably, retaliated. He could still hear Clair's screams as she was dragged away. It was also a reminder of why he insisted on having this meeting, as he needed to get away from the Dragon's Den to take on all eight gyms of Johto.

For the rest of his life, Lance would still feel guilty on his decision to not take his cousin with him.

"If you're going to take on the Indigo League," began Lance's father. "You better not disappoint me."

Lance nodded once. "I won't." He hadn't disappointed his father in a long time, Lance thought. But his father never seemed to be proud of him either. Compliments were not handed out in the Dragon's Den like cookies, and his father was not an exception to the rule.

"People are going to know who you are," his father went on, "They'll know your name. Your specialty. They'll look in your eyes and see an Arrax, and I'll be damned if an Arrax disgrace's Blackthorn City's name. Understand?"

Lance didn't need to be told twice.

...The gyms were laughably easy. Lance didn't know at the time if it was because of his training at Dragon's Den, or if the state of Johto's gym leaders were so awful that even he was able to get through most of them. There were two exceptions to this. Pryce Rimbach of Mahogany, arguably one of the most pessimistic men Lance had ever laid eyes upon, and of course - the Blackthorn City gym, which was run by his father.

It was by a narrow margin that Lance had defeated him; and he would never forget the look on his father's face when he surpassed him with his own Dragonite. There was a twinkle in the older man's eyes, that were usually bloodshot due to years of his own vices. In all nineteen years of Lance's life, he doesn't recall ever seeing his father smile. But this time, the corner's of his father's mouth twitch up slightly against his will; but it wasn't exactly a smile. Almost, but not quite. It was something.

"So..." his father told him, returning his own fallen Dragonite. "The next thing to do would be to challenge the Elite Four."

Lance planned on doing that. "Yes."

"And then what?"

Beat.

"Become the champion."

His father looked at him. "That'll do." And if his father said that, then Lance knew it was to be true.

It turns out, Lance didn't become the champion. Well, he did eventually - but that's also a story for another time.

Lance was sure that he was going to get past the Elite Four and defeat the current champion. All of his Pokemon were evolved, and he developed a stronger bond with all six of them to the point where the Dragon Den's Elders were jealous. Lance thought that they had the nerve to be jealous, because all that talk of him achieving greatness and how he was destined for it seemed to have finally sunk in. He didn't point this out to them, though. But Arceus, he damn well would've liked to...

The first three members of the Elite Four were a breeze. It's nothing against Gerald, Bolt, and Roland, they were good trainers (there's a reason that the Indigo League remained supreme in the LNS) but Lance was an Arrax, and they must've known a day like this would come. That an Arrax would eventually challenge the Indigo League and dethrone the Sergei who has held the position for over twenty years. Again, they must've known this would happen.

And then Lance forgot all about the last member, the ghost-type specialist: Agatha.

That's when he lost. And oh boy, did Agatha let him know it. She reminded Lance of the harsh Elders at the Dragon's Den, and Lance couldn't help but think of home.

"You're rather weak still," Agatha snapped. "It's almost pathetic, coming from an Arrax. Train more. Then come back."

Lance took her advice and came back after that, and he still fell to her Pokemon. And again. And again. The Indigo League was well acquainted with him by now on a first name basis, but none other than Agatha. The woman was cold, blunt, and direct - things that Lance was used to, so he didn't actually mind the woman's company. He did mind when she sent him home every single time he challenged the Elite Four.

"Whenever you challenge me," began Agatha stealthily, "You always fall. Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know."

Agatha scowled. "Foolish child. What's the definition of insanity?"

Lance blinked. "Um... being... mentally unwell?"

"Doing something over and over and over again and expecting a different result," Agatha answered, rolling her eyes. "Train more. Then come back."

Train more. Then come back.

After many years of holding back his tears, Lance cried in the Pokemon League's Pokemon Center. He was thankful no one was around. He must've sobbed for what, forty-five minutes? Lance was beginning to lose hope. Apparently being an Arrax didn't mean anything, because he was still getting his ass handed to him over and over. Greatness, they said. What a load of shit. He was twenty-one years old, having a huge identity crisis, all because he couldn't defeat Agatha of the elite four. He had challenged the Indigo League well over ten times at this point. If Lance couldn't defeat Agatha, then there was no way he could defeat Sergei. He might as well should stop now.

His Dragonite beside him cooed. Lance's tears subsided, and glanced up at his dragon, whose eyes were wide with concern. That's when Lance smacked himself in the face. Literally. It was rumored that Agatha had kept trying to take Sergei's spot as the champion for many, many years. If she could continue fighting, then so could he.

Agatha paid no mind to her fellow elites as they ranted and raved at her over one of their usual challengers that she always sent home. They had screamed, shouted, and swore so many profanities that was already apart of Agatha's colorful vocabulary. Agatha couldn't help but marvel that for the most powerful trainers in the world that were slightly older than her, they acted like the sorriest collection of immature children she had ever seen. The children at the trainer's schools Agatha occasionally gave lectures at behaved better than them. The ranting was finally over; with them awaiting her reaction when they stopped to catch their breaths.

Agatha looked at them.

Then she shrugged in disinterest and took a sip of coffee. Bolt's face was red with anger. "Agatha, Lance is becoming a problem! He's worse than you! Seventeen times. Seventeen fucking times. He should call it quits!"

"Shut up," Agatha retorted. "You're just angry because he's beaten you seventeen times. Luckily for you, I've stopped him. It's hard doing all the dirty work. Think about how exhausted I am for a change. You want him to stop, defeat him. Get better. It seems as though you're angry that a mere twenty-one year old is destroying your team."

"You call him weak to his face every single time," Gerald argued. "Therefore you're calling us weak."

"Oh no, Lance is a great battler. Very talented," waved off Agatha. Gerald, Bolt, and Roland watched in bewilderment as Agatha casually took another sip of coffee. She didn't understand as to why they were staring at her in such a way. "What?"

Roland sighed. "Why haven't you told him that?"

"Don't you know? He's an Arrax. It's how they train their children."

"Their Pokemon."

"I meant what I said," Agatha replied to Roland. "It is said that the nastier you are to an Arrax, the harder they'll train. He's actually improved each time he's battled me, but I don't think I'm going to tell him that yet. I for one can't believe he hasn't mentioned that he's gotten closer and closer to beating me."

"Because you probably terrify him!" exclaimed Bolt.

The thought made her cheer up immensely. She's still got it.

"Agatha, are you listen- oh, she's smiling. Of course she's fucking smiling after being told that."

Still, Agatha would have to work to get that fight out of Lance. She wanted to see him snap a little. Because if she managed to push him just enough, then she could potentially find Gerald's replacement. Gerald's good at what he does, there was no question as much as Agatha hated to admit it - but Gerald had been going on and on about retirement, and frankly, she was tired of hearing about it. Agatha knew that she would have to take note on their complaints about Lance. The boy had swept through their teams seventeen times without breaking a sweat and you didn't do that if you didn't have some level of talent. So maybe, just maybe, Lance could become an elite.

It would also piss Bolt off, and that was an opportunity Agatha would never pass up.

"...What's going on?" A new voice emerged into Agatha's office, belonging to none other than the champion himself. Sergei looked between his elites, and sighed. "If this is about Lance again-"

"Oh it is," Agatha cut in. "They've whined like babies for, what was it? Ten minutes this time? I swear you're all no better than the male Sinnoh elites. I couldn't tell you their names, but Arceus, do they complain whenever we have meetings with them. Now, what do you expect me to do about Lance?"

"Tell him to stop trying," Bolt barked. "He knows all my Pokemon's nicknames by now!"

"Arceus, I still can't believe you nickname your Pokemon."

"Leave Cruella alone!"

"Of course you choose the worst offender, out of all of them," Agatha swiftly replied. She turned away from Bolt's reddened face and looked at Sergei. "Let me handle this. I know what I'm doing here. So he defeats them several times, and I stop him. He'll eventually get tired for a while and train longer."

"...Agatha?" That was Roland, always so afraid of upsetting her with every word chosen carefully. She loved every second of taking advantage of that fear. "Do you think he could defeat you the next time he comes in?"

"Not likely." But did she see him as future elite material? Absolutely. "Now get out of my office. You and Bolt. I want to speak to Sergei and Gerald only." Bolt stormed out. Roland hurried out. Gerald and Sergei exchanged an odd look. She first looked to Gerald. "I know you've been talking about retirement, so here's what I have in mind..."

Lance was twenty-two years old, and he was more ready than ever. He would walk into Agatha's chamber room, obliterate her entire team, and finally he would earn her approval. Finally she wouldn't say that he was weak, that she would finally have to acknowledge that he was strong, and then he would finally face off with Sergei and finally become the champion. He was going to win this whole thing once and for all, and become the new Indigo League champion. The highest in the LNS. A great honor.

Lance Arrax would achieve that greatness that his family had always talked about.

"Oh Lance, you're finally here," marveled Agatha, with a grin. "I was wondering if I'd ever see you again."

He had to fight back a smile. "Ready when you are."

Agatha opened up with Arbok. In the past, Lance would use Gyarados first. But when that happened, Agatha had detected his Gyarados' uneasiness toward her Pokemon's poison which usually was what knocked Gyarados down. It was never her Pokemon being ghosts that alarmed his team, but the poison. Lance would say that she was just as much of a poison-type specialist as she was a ghost-type specialist. Fitting.

"Aerodactyl, come on out!" Lance called, throwing out his pokeball. This earned an amused quirk of the brow from Agatha. Lance didn't know whether or not to be afraid.

"Arbok, toxic." Afraid.

Afraid was always the right answer in regards to Agatha.

"Dodge it, and use rock slide!" While Aerodactyl was able to hit Agatha's Arbok, her Arbok managed to shoot some poison at the fossil Pokemon. Damn it. Lance refused to have a repeat of the last time, and the time before that, and before that... "Aerodactyl, fight through it. Use rock slide again."

"Evade it, and screech." Aerodactyl let out a cry of distress as Arbok screeched. Despite Lance's efforts to get Aerodactyl to attack, he wouldn't budge. Agatha made her next move without even blinking. "Now get up close and bite." Aerodactyl flinched, and the poison certainly wasn't helping. "Finish it off with an acid attack."

Aerodactyl fainted. Lance had to send out one of his Dragonair. The shed skin ability it had would, at least, have some chance of getting rid of the poison Agatha had up her sleeve. At least his Aerodactyl had gotten out some damage on the Arbok. "Dragonair, use your agility." Agatha's Arbok wasn't the fastest. If he could have Dragonair out speed the snake and then have Dragonair use a hyper beam, then it would surely knock it out. Case and point, Arbok appeared mildly overwhelmed. "Hyper beam!"

Ah, he would never get tired of ordering that. Always brought him joy when his Pokemon would let out that magnificent energy, and this time was no exception as his Dragonair had taken out Agatha's Arbok. Her expression was unreadable as she called back her Pokemon, and sent out her Haunter.

The downside was his Pokemon having to recharge. That's when Agatha pounced. "Use hypnosis." Predictably since Dragonair was unable to move, his Dragonair fell asleep. But his Dragonair had shed skin, so maybe, just maybe there was a chance of it waking up earlier before... "Dream Eater."

Fuck.

Thankfully after that, Dragonair was jolted out of its sleep. It still took a considerable amount of damage. "Dragonair, use dragon rage."

"Confuse ray."

Double fuck.

His Dragonair was hurting itself. His Dragonair knocked itself out.

Triple fuck.

Lance sent out his Gyarados. He refused to let Agatha have a clean sweep with a Haunter, no way. Not like last time. "Use bite." Haunter was fast, but not fast enough. Haunter was not used to being frightened, usually Haunter did the frightening itself, but this big bad water Pokemon made it apprehensive, Lance could tell. When the super-effective move hit Haunter, it flinched. "Bite it again!" Maybe he would get lucky with two attacks in a row.

Luck was not on Lance's side. Agatha had snapped to the Haunter to move out of the way in time, which it did. Then she ordered her Haunter to use night shade, which managed to make Gyarados roar in pain. "Gyarados, use bite again!" Finally, finally did that blasted Haunter get a taste of its own medicine as it went down.

Agatha sent out her first Gengar. That's when Lance knew the real fun was about to begin. He had a plan to dismantle her Gengar, by having his Gyarados use twister repeatedly in hopes of getting it to flinch, making it so dizzy to the point where it can't attack, and Gyarados would knock it down with multiple bites. It was going to be glorious.

Agatha ordered her Gengar to use hypnosis, and Lance's plan immediately went to shit. He watched as Agatha ordered her Gengar to use dream eater over and over and over, chopping away at her Gyarados' health and his Gyarados wouldn't wake up and fainted while it was asleep. It was quite a mortifying way to go.

Lance sent out his second Dragonair and wasted no time. He taught this Dragonair safeguard specifically for facing Agatha, and Lance thought then and there that he should consider teaching his first Dragonair the same thing. "Safeguard." Agatha looked at him, with that same unreadable expression that drove him up a wall.

"Night shade." Ah, right. This Gengar had hypnosis, dream eater, and confuse ray. All moves that were useless against his Dragonair. That didn't change the fact that Gengar could still hit Dragonair with night shade, which was exactly what she did.

"Outrage," Lance ordered. Safeguard would not protect Dragonair's confusion later, but confused be damned. Dragonair had shed skin. At least Gengar wouldn't be able to put it to sleep with that damned hypnosis and dream eater combination. Gengar let out a cry at the powerful dragon move and that it was hit with it. Agatha wasn't give up so easily.

"Night shade, once more!" she barked. Gengar managed to get to Dragonair, very much so, but Gengar was standing on its last leg. It wasn't going to be much longer. Gengar fainted, leaving behind a Dragonair that was going to shed off its confusion status in a matter of seconds. This time, Agatha sent out her Golbat.

"Wing attack!" She got a critical hit, and Dragonair went down. Of course it did. Lance frowned and sent out his Charizard. Still, though, this was the closest he had ever gotten into defeating Agatha. The closest. He wasn't going to let this get away from him. "Flamethrower!"

"Evade it, and use poison fang!" The two Pokemon were flying in the air, and as Charizard omitted the flame from its snout, Golbat swiftly swooped away from it and sunk its fangs into Charizard's arm. The fire-type Pokemon let out a wail in pain, undoubtedly poisoned by the bat, and tried to hit Golbat with another flamethrower. It was weakened. Charizard was unable to attack. Agatha took this as an opportunity to order her Golbat to use poison fang again, and then Charizard couldn't battle anymore.

Lance was down to his last Pokemon. He was too damn close to let Agatha win again. Lance called out his Dragonite. He ordered his Dragonite to use safeguard, and Agatha commanding her Golbat to use poison fang does hit his Dragonite, but it did not poison her target. "Dragonite, hyper beam!" His Dragonite let out a war cry and let out a ray of destruction, knocking Agatha's Golbat out cold. Lance tried to hide his grin; finally he had the woman down to her last Pokemon.

Which was her second Gengar. Lance seemed to have forgotten all about hyper beam needing to recharge (which happened more often than it should've) and Gengar made the next move. Lance recognized that this Gengar was much faster than the other, using shadow ball and lowered his Dragonite's special defenses. "Dragonite, use outrage!"

"Shadow ball!"

Both moves were released at the same time, with Dragonite's outrage trying to push through the shadow ball that Gengar omitted. But unfortunately, the shadow ball overpowered the dragon and hit it in the stomach, letting out a wail of pain. It trembled as it tried to get up again, but it was no use, and landed on the ground with a thud.

Dragonite was unable to battle.

Lance expected to be berated. He had grown used to it, and was trying not to cry in front of the older woman because nothing was working. Strategy be damned, this woman was seemingly invincible. Agatha said nothing at first, tapping her cane harshly against the floor that Lance briefly thought that she was going to hit him with it.

"Don't start crying," Agatha ordered instead. "You improved."

What?

"You managed to take out four of my Pokemon," Agatha told him.

Oh.

"You're very interesting, Lance Arrax."

Lance stared blankly at her. "Interesting good, or interesting bad?"

Agatha looked at him, giving him a once over, and nodded. "I've spoken to the Champion about you." This could mean many things, and Lance didn't want to ask. "He is rather interested as well. He had been watching your battles with the other elites and myself." This vagueness from the older woman was making Lance's head swirl.

"Now tell me," Agatha continued, unaware of Lance's internal mental dilemma, or was perhaps choosing to ignore it: "You're an Arrax. Trained at the Dragon's Den. Your father is the gym leader of Blackthorn City. They say you are destined for greatness."

"...It's all everyone's ever told me."

Agatha's expression was unreadable. "What do you plan on doing with your life? Take over your father's gym one day? That is, if you don't become the champion." Lance's brows furrowed together in bewilderment. "Talk, child."

"Possibly one day, yes," allowed Lance, almost frantically.

"You don't seem sure," was Agatha's cool, even retort.

Lance bit his tongue harshly. He has been on the planet for twenty-two years at this point, and within those years, he learned to keep himself at bay due to the strict rules of the Dragon's Den. Do not speak unless you are spoken to, respect your elders, train hard, and you'll achieve the greatness you were destined to have. Lance looked at Agatha, and something inside him snapped - he realized that maybe he didn't care anymore.

"Because I was planning on defeating the champion to become the champion," Lance said sharply, his hands shaking at his sides. "But you kept getting in the way."

Agatha was intrigued. "And why do you think that is?"

"Because I'm weak," snapped Lance.

"No you are not, do not be an idiot."

Lance blinked and his hands stopped shaking. "...I'm not?"

"No," repeated Agatha. "You're a child that has ways to go."

"I'm twenty-two."

"Still a child in my eyes," waved off Agatha, with a huff. "The Indigo League has grown very used to you by now, and at this rate, you might as well live here."

Whatever Lance was expecting, it was not that. "Pardon me?"

"Our third slot in the Indigo Elite Four is retiring," went on Agatha. "Cowardice. I've spoken to our Champion, and I need to have an Elite that'll scare them off before facing me." This time, Agatha let out the tiniest of grins. Lance thought it was rather unnerving. "You'll do very nicely." Lance could only stare. "You'll face off with the top trainers of Kanto and Johto, get stronger, and maybe one day you'll be tough enough to take my fourth slot - or you could even become the Champion."

"Are you..." Lance started off, still unable to believe his own ears. "...offering me a job as a member of the Elite Four?"

Agatha scowled. "Don't look so incredulous. You're Lance Arrax. You're destined for greatness, aren't you?" Lance considered this, and nodded, his eyes hardening in determination. If Agatha was saying this, then it must be true. "Right. Are you going to take the offer? I do not like to be kept waiting!"

"Yes," Lance told her, unable to contain his victorious grin, despite losing the battle. "I'll be an elite." Because finally, Lance understood what that greatness meant.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16- Byron

He had a son. Of course everyone knew that. Byron Doyle had a son that would eventually follow in his father's footsteps of becoming a gym leader and fellow miner. Byron had a beautiful wife, Selene, who was one of the few female miners in Orebourgh City. Though Byron might be biased, he swore that she was one of the best ones he'd ever seen. People in Sinnoh knew Byron as the typical family man and gym leader, and while they wouldn't be wrong about that, he lead a very different life before his wife and child.

Byron had a reputation.

In his teen years, he shot his friend with a BB gun by accident. They were roaring drunk at the time. After Byron reached the legal drinking age he was officially banned from every single bar in Hoenn due to staging planned fights with his buddies so they'd get kicked out without having to pay for drinks. Byron had gotten arrested in Unova once and screamed at the guards that their region was full of chicken shit cowards that didn't have the guts to aid Sinnohnians during the war against Kanto and Johto. He and his buddies had once swam from Johto to Kanto after flipping a police car and were being chased. They made it without being caught. There were stories, many stories, about the reckless things he did in his youth. But once he met his beautiful honey, all of that stopped. He met Selene in the Orebourgh City Bar: Sebastian's, they called it – and it was love at first sight. However, that didn't change what Byron had done in the past, and there were – like it had been said – many things he had done.

None of which compared to the biggest discovery that he and his friends found in their mid-twenties upon returning to Sinnoh. What he and his friends found at the time would change the course of history in Sinnoh among trainers. A controversial place that could save Sinnoh as well as destroy it.

It started as an accident. You see, one of Byron's closest friends in his youth was a psychic Alolan refugee by the name of Caleb. He was older than Byron, and was master of teleportation – seriously, the man could teleport anywhere and anytime. He expressed interest in mining at Orebourgh, and Byron was happy to take him on.

Caleb intended on teleporting to Iron Island. He said that Iron Island reminded him of Alola in some ways, though Byron had no idea why. Instead - he had ended up beneath Sinnoh. It was far, far below Sinnoh. He was underground, there was no question, but in all his years of mining they had never gotten that deep. He wandered around for a little while, and saw that this would be the perfect place for mining some treasures and other goods. He was about to leave until he heard a roar from one of the areas.

A cavern. No, a hideaway.

It wasn't an ordinary underground.

He teleported back to the surface and told Byron about what he saw. Byron's first reaction? Well...

"Fucking bullshit," was what Byron thought was a classy reply. "Take me there."

Luckily, teleportation was Caleb's specialty. He could teleport himself and other people with him. It's how he and a few others escaped from the war in Alola. Byron was shocked to say the least; there wasn't just one hideaway full of Pokemon, but several. He and Caleb battled with some of them, and they were extremely aggressive - more so than usual. Byron couldn't help but marvel at how these Pokemon were harder to catch than the ones above this underground. Fortunately for them, Caleb and Byron were prepared to combat such things - it's no different from the things they did back in the early days. They've seen scarier. Iron Island had Pokemon that were similar in aggression.

"The caverns are dangerous," Byron told Caleb. "If we're going to mine here, we have to close up the caverns. It's too dangerous." Had this been just a year ago, then Byron would've paraded his discovery around and make it his personal goal to catch every single Pokemon in there and would risk several broken bones. But he's a grown man now, recently married and moved into a nice house in Orebourgh City, and they're hoping to have a little guy running around, so Byron couldn't afford to be so careless.

"Understood, boss."

It was supposed to be for the miners.

Just for the miners.

"Honey, what's wrong?" His wife asked him that same night, with a frown. Selene sat beside him on their bed. Byron continued to stare down at the floor. "If this is about your new underground discovery..."

"Not just me who discovered it," Byron reminded her. "Caleb did, really. This'll be great for us miners."

Selene's frown deepened. "Then what's the problem?"

Byron looked at her. "We're hiding this from Sinnoh's government."

"Dear, you hate Sinnoh's government."

"I do. But is this... something that you ought to tell them?" Bryon appeared unsure himself, and Selene matched his expression. "I mean, we're trying to have a kid, right? And what good will that be for the little guy if I'm in jail?"

Selene rolled her eyes. "You're not going to jail over something like that. Sinnoh's not like how it used to be. It's not a dictatorship. If anything, they should honor you. But if you want to tell the Sinnoh League about your discovery, then that's your choice."

Byron was weary of Sinnoh's government. It's not that he despised them, per se, but he definitely didn't trust them. A saving grace for Sinnoh was Bertha being a member of its elite four, and she had instilled some order and restoration of their region. Still, Byron doesn't know how long that would exactly last, and part of him wished that the woman would consider trying to take Spyro's spot as champion. If that happened, she would have a lot more power. Byron didn't trust the others as far as he could throw them.

Byron voiced these concerns to Caleb and the other miners in the pub two weeks later.

"Tell Bertha?!" Caleb nearly exclaimed. Jerry, another miner, appeared disgusted at the thought. "You want to tell Bertha?"

Byron sighed. "She's a ground-type specialist, she would know-"

"Bertha hasn't stepped foot in the mines," interrupted Jerry angrily. "She just specializes in type. Knows the Pokemon. I bet she hasn't even picked up a pickaxe in her entire life. Why the hell would you consider telling her something like that?" Byron said nothing as Jerry went on a drunken rant. "I know her. Don't think we all don't know her and where she came from. From Floaroma Town during that time, and when she becomes an elite the Arceonists magically disappear. Don't think we aren't blind." It was an open-secret that Bertha was a cult member as a child. Most people wouldn't dare speak it aloud. She never confirmed her association, but she didn't have to. Other regions were clueless.

Sinnohnians knew better.

"The Arceonists disappearing was a good thing," Byron pointed out.

"Yeah, no shit. That doesn't change that she was definitely one of them," scoffed Henri. "If she finds out about the underground, she'll use her power to have it ripped away from us miners. Fucking use your head, Byron. I'm sorry, boss, I mean no disrespect, but we've gotten more treasures and fossils out of there than in Orebourgh, and you know it!"

Byron's reaction to that outburst was to take a shot of vodka. Fuck the other elites and Spyro, in his mind, Bertha should at least know. He could tell that the woman couldn't stand her colleagues as much as she tried to hide it whenever they did interviews. Maybe it was possible that she would keep this from them. It wouldn't be the first time elites and champions hid stuff from one another, and he hoped Bertha was the same.

He was going to tell his wife tonight. That night he returned home to see his wife standing there with a wide-eyed look of excitement, her smile glowing as perfectly as it usually did. Bryon grinned at her. "I have something to tell you, a big decision I made."

"I have something to tell you, too." She was beaming with pride.

"I'm planning on telling Bertha about the underground," Byron confessed, and then he winked playfully. "Try to beat that." Selene let out a bark of laughter. Byron didn't know why, he's pretty sure that nothing she could say would be as exciting as potentially meeting an elite over something he discovered.

"I'm pregnant."

Except that.

Byron had two realizations at that moment. The first that he was not going to tell Bertha about the underground. It sunk in that if he was going to be a father, he had to stop with the bullshit, and actually be a responsible upstanding human being. Only a responsible human being cared for another human being, and he had to step up in more ways than one. No one in the Sinnoh League could know about the underground, because Arceus forbid they found out, Byron could be in serious trouble and away from his kid. It was a risk that he was not willing to take.

The second realization was holy fucking shit, he was going to be a dad. Byron, who once dropped acid with a gym leader from Unova and nearly fell off a bridge (it's a long, long story), was going to be tasked to take care of a tiny newborn. Byron, who could drink anybody under the table and had to be carried out of bars by his fellow miners, was going to be responsible for a whole kid. Byron, who- okay, there's a lot of things Byron had done, but the point remained - he was going to be a father.

"Well?" Selene's infectiously happy voice shook Byron out of his thoughts. "Aren't you going to say something?"

That's when Byron let out an exclaim of joy and reached over to bring his wife into his arms, hugging her tightly (but not too tightly), and repeating over and over that they were going to have their own family, and kissed her stomach, and then kissed her on the lips. All the guys and gals at work were thrilled. Byron couldn't wait for their kid.

At twenty weeks, they found out their baby was a boy. A boy. Of course Byron wouldn't have minded if it was a she, he would've loved to have a little girl to dote on, but Byron had told Selene that he was happy that he'd have a mini-Byron trotting around with a pickaxe.

That's when Selene smacked him. Byron knew why. Selene could handle a pickaxe better than any of her male counterparts, including himself.

Also: "No Byron, you are not taking our newborn son into the mines!" Well, it was worth a try.

At thirty-six weeks, Selene began having contractions. She wasn't due for another month, but apparently life had other plans. Byron knew that he had to remain as calm as possible, as rational as possible, because the baby was coming a month earlier and that was something Byron and Selene were told in advance could happen.

But neither of the two actually thought it would happen, therefore everything calm and rational went out the window. At the hospital when Selene was pushing the baby out, she was gripping Byron's hand so tightly that he thought he would faint from the pain. When Byron made the mistake of admitting this aloud, Selene screamed even more and the nurses at the scene paused their coaching just to look at him in utter disbelief. Okay, so maybe it wasn't the correct thing to say in the moment, but Selene had some upper arm strength from working in the mines, and it really, really hurt. When Byron had made yet another mistake of referring to that...

"Oh Byron I pray, I fucking pray that our son doesn't turn out like his dumbass daddy!" Byron hoped for the exact same thing.

That didn't matter hours after grueling labor later though, when a thankfully healthy premature baby boy was born.

The nurse asked if "dad" wanted to cut the umbilical chord. Byron was this close to crying. His hand shook as he did so. His wife was crying and muttering apologies about how she acted, but Byron didn't care because she was right, giving birth was possibly the worst pain one could go through, and she took it like a champ. When Selene cast eyes on their baby boy as she held him, she had said that the pain was absolutely worth it, and she would do it again as long as she could meet that chubby little face. Byron had promised a long time ago that he wouldn't cry at his son's birth, to be a man, but it's getting increasingly difficult to do so if she kept saying stuff like this.

Then Selene asked Byron to hold his son, and Byron didn't give a damn about his promise anymore. Byron knew his own father would be ashamed, and would probably smack him for getting emotional. Byron didn't care. From the moment she passed on their newborn to Byron, tears leaked out of his eyes and couldn't choke back a sob. He was so tiny, so wonderful, so precious, and he was theirs. The baby cooed in his arms, and Byron's heart swelled.

"Do we have a name?" the nurse asked. Byron and Selene exchanged a knowing look and smiled. They did.

For the next two years, Byron kept mining in the underground. He could sense his fellow miners were getting annoyed with all the pictures of his two-year-old son, Roark, that Byron insisted on showing them, but Byron didn't care. Yes, mining was fantastic, but his beautiful honey and Roark were the whole world to him. Byron simply didn't understand some of the guys at the mines that would complain about their wives and kids. It's almost like they hated them. Byron wouldn't have it. If they were going to bitch about their lives, then take that negative energy somewhere else. There was always another miner to take their place in the underground.

And Byron would go home, to see his lovely wife and his boy that was already growing up so fast before his very eyes. When Roark took his first steps Byron cried. When he spoke his first word Byron cried even harder. Once again Byron's own father would probably smack him for crying so much, rolling in his grave whenever he did, but Byron couldn't care less. There was nothing more manly than crying tears for his son, which was Byron's rationalization. One should never underestimate a father's love for his son.

Never.

A lot had changed in Bertha's life since she first started as an elite. Most of it being tragedy. Bertha was no stranger to tragedy, especially death, as she had heard the screams from her childhood of people being put down who dared to disobey her former church's teachings and how back then she couldn't have done a damn thing about.

Travis and Adelaide, two people Bertha regarded fondly, were dead. They were dead, and Bertha refused to talk about it.

Travis from an illness, an illness that had spread like wildfire throughout the world that was infecting his friends that had become Bertha's friends over the years. Bertha even worked together with Agatha where they fought tooth and nail for a cure, any cure, but there was none. At least the condition was manageable now, and not a death sentence like it was then.

It moved silently for such an illness. Silent, but deadly nonetheless. Bertha had held Travis's hand, that doctors and nurses back then refused to touch due to misinformation, as he went from one world to another. One second Bertha heard rumors of an illness starting to loom over Sinnoh, then in a blink of an eye, it took out most of her friends.

Bertha refused to talk about it.

Adelaide had become a renowned chess champion like she dreamed of. She died in a plane crash, the plane that was set to go to the Galar region. Her body was never found. Bertha had no way in getting in contact with her family, not knowing where they resided since Adelaide traveled so often and kept her life very, very private. There was a memorial service, and Bertha wasn't allowed to go because of it being a psychic's only funeral which had made Bertha's blood boil.

During those nights, Bertha would see their faces in her nightmares, all their beautiful faces, and would lose sleep over it. Nowadays, she didn't need her Pokemon to help her settle down, but Bertha refused to talk about it. But she's thankful for her team that were also her friends, because her Pokemon were the only true friends she had that weren't dead. Bertha didn't pray regularly, not since her Arceonist days, but she did pray that she wouldn't outlive her beloved ground-types. She would completely lose her sanity.

Bertha refused to talk about them. She wouldn't talk about Travis, and she wouldn't talk about Adelaide. She thought this about the latter person until it was found that the rumors of Adelaide having a secret son were true, having shown up in Bertha's chamber room all grown up, ready to battle.

But that's a story for another time. Right now, there's something suspicious going on in Orebourgh City.

Part of being an elite consisted of monthly gym checks, which was to see how the gym leaders were fairing in their region. This task usually fell to Bertha or Axel, and in some cases, the both of them. This time, it was just Bertha who went to check on the Orebourgh City gym, which was running smoothly (well, as smooth as any gym did in Sinnoh, which, wasn't up to par as Bertha would like it to be, but Spyro insisted that it'd be better) but the behavior from the gym leader, Henri, was a bit erratic, almost nervous, even. Bertha picked up on it right away. She didn't bring this up at the present time, and then decided to do the next best thing.

Bertha followed him afterwards without him noticing. Years of being on the run from the Arceonists in her youth had prepared her for being able to conceal herself from others. She watched as Henri went down to the Orebourgh mines, with a few other miners, and they teleported out of sight. Bertha pressed this matter to her colleagues in the Pokemon League after, to tell them what she had seen.

Her colleagues thought she was insane, because of course they did.

"And why..." interjected Spyro, rolling his eyes. "...should we believe there's anything suspicious going on?"

Bertha would never be able to fathom how other than Spyro's battling skills, what exactly qualified him for being the champion. You could saying battling was all that was needed, but that's how they got a tyrant of a champion in the past. Spyro wasn't a tyrant, not at all, but Bertha wished that Spyro had some common sense. Bertha knew that there was no chance at all for Ferro and Axel to agree with her, they were hopeless. There was a slim chance she could work with Pascal, he begrudgingly gave her more respect in comparison, but was often peer-pressured from the other two elites. What Bertha really needed was some backup from Spyro. A man who nowadays spent more afternoons drinking than not. She would usually have to nag him, such as those times when she pushed and pushed for trainer's schools to have free lunch programs. Bertha couldn't stand the thought of hungry children. She was adamant about this to the point where she would purposely bang on Spyro's door every single night until he said yes.

"I got some information from a friend in Orebourgh," Bertha pressed. She had all sorts of connections now due to her status, and she put it to good use. Like this one. "Miners in Orebourgh go down to the mines at night and teleport out of the blue. This has been going on for at least two years, maybe more. She doesn't know anything else, that's it."

Spyro hummed in thought. "Perhaps you may be right." Yes, Bertha knew she was right, thank you very much. When the hell was she not? "I'll tell you what, Bertha. Tomorrow, you can take my Alakazam with you. He'll be able to teleport wherever those miners go, and take you with him. There, you could investigate." Naturally, it came down to Bertha.

It always did.

The next night, Bertha followed three miners. As expected, they all huddled up at the same place, at the same time - the Orebourgh mines. This included the Orebourgh City gym leader. Even with Spyro's Alazakam by her side, the miners didn't see her. Just like Bertha had seen before, the three miners teleported out of the Orebourgh mines. Bertha turned to the Alakazam, and asked if they could take her to where they went. In all Bertha's years as a trainer, she had never, not once, discovered this part of Sinnoh.

But she knew she was underground. She may have not been a miner, or had any experience in such a field despite being a ground-type specialist, but she could feel that she was below Sinnoh. She glanced over to see barricaded entrances, where there were Pokemon's cries coming out of them, and her eyes widened. There were hidden Pokemon down here that she did not know about, but she connected the dots that the miners here must've discovered them and that the entrances were barricaded for a reason.

At least that's what Bertha figured. She turned the corner in the underground, and there she spotted four miners that gasped in fright upon seeing her. Bertha didn't know exactly why they were so afraid, she didn't think she gave off a frightening presence, really. But that gave Bertha the idea that they were doing something they shouldn't have been doing. Therefore, Bertha pounced on that insecurity. "Strange place, this is."

"...Fuck."

"Don't swear in front of me," Bertha told the miner with red hair. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to go back into the Sinnoh League, and you are going to talk to my colleagues and I about why you had the need to keep this place hidden. Neither of you are in trouble, we just have several questions."

Byron thought they were definitely in trouble.

He's sitting in an office in an uncomfortable Arceus-damned awful chair across from the champion and four elites of Sinnoh. It's almost funny, because when Byron was a small child he didn't possess any desire to meet a member of the elite four or champion due to how shameful each of them were at the time. That changed when Bertha became an elite, and he thought maybe, just maybe, Byron would like to meet her. Now he's meeting all five of them at once and they stared at him with calculating eyes.

Byron glared back at them. "Sinnohnians don't snitch."

And Bertha's Gliscor was out of her Pokeball, looking at Byron like she wanted to drain his blood. In fact, Gliscor turned to her trainer as if she were asking Bertha permission to do just that, and Byron was a little unnerved when Bertha shook her head no and said to leave Byron alone.

Gliscor appeared disappointed by this answer.

"Henri has already told us everything," Spyro snapped. Bertha seemed to be looking over at him in disapproval, but did not interfere. "Told us about Caleb who discovered this underground, and he's already resigning from gym leader due to the stress of keeping this secret." Fucking pansy. Byron always knew it. "Henri says that it was your idea to mine there and keep it secret, and it was your idea to barricade the entrances for the Pokemon. Now why is that?"

"The Pokemon there are highly dangerous," Byron told them, almost desperately. "I used to live on Iron Island. I'm used to aggressive Pokemon, but the ones in the underground... they're on another level. We tried catching some, and we did, but it was harder to tame them then you would from regular wild Pokemon."

Spyro's eyes gleamed with interest. "Dangerous, you say? How dangerous?"

"Very."

Then it fell quiet for several seconds.

That's when Selene burst through the doors, with their two-year-old son, Roark, holding his mother's hand. "What the hell is going on?" she snapped at the league members. "I just heard that my husband was being interrogated!"

Roark peered over to Bertha, eyeing the woman in a curious fashion. Then, he let go of his mother's hand and trotted his way over to Bertha, holding his arms up.

Selene bit her lower lip and her voice softened. "No, Roark, honey, don't bother-" But the ground-type elite didn't seem to mind, smiling warmly as she picked up the two-year-old and let him stay in her lap. He began to absentmindedly play with the woman's necklace. She let him. "I'm sorry, Bertha. Our son doesn't understand personal space yet."

Bertha waved it off. "It's not a problem, dear." The boy let out a yawn and snuggled closer. She ran a hand through the little hair he had. Byron could see his son visibly relax in the woman's hold. "He's adorable, how old?" She rolled her eyes when her colleagues began to groan.

"Just turned two," grinned Byron. He knew there was a reason he liked her. That was his boy. Always knew who to trust and gravitated toward them. A touch of pride entered his voice: "His name's Roark."

"Lovely name. I've always wanted my own."

"Oh Arceus, Bertha, can we get back to the issue here?" Axel asked bitterly.

Bertha shot a glare in his direction. "Keep that negative energy away when there's a child in the room." A child that was already beginning to fall asleep in the woman's arms. Byron couldn't help but think that was probably the fastest Roark had ever knocked out. He was always so restless as a baby. She spoke softer this time, "We have no issue with the underground, we would just like to be aware of these things, okay? You're not in trouble." Bertha got up, still holding a sleeping Roark in her arms, and handed him over to his mother. Selene let out a quiet thank you and that she would be right outside, and left the office. "In fact Byron, since Henri quit, do you think you can be the gym leader?"

Byron's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"Hold it, Bertha," interjected Spyro, holding his hand up. "He might be in trouble if he doesn't agree to this one condition."

Oh shit.

"I want those hideaways opened up," Spyro demanded of him. "And I want young trainers to go down there and train." Bertha turned to him like he was the most disgusting creature in the room, and Byron, well, didn't know what to say at all. "Bertha, do not look at me like that. For someone who's dream is to see Sinnoh reach the top of the LNS, you have the nerve to look so shocked. This underground is our chance."

"But Byron said it was dangerous."

"Of course, there will be certain conditions," Spyro told her. "I've already made up my mind about it. Trainer's schools would recommend two students per year to get transported down there, with Caleb's assistance, and they will battle it out with other trainers and the Pokemon there. It will be the best students, of course, so they will be prepared to deal with such Pokemon. If Byron agrees to do that, then he will not be in trouble and then he'll become the city's gym leader."

Bertha frowned. "This sounds an awful like those training centers I used to go to, it'll only create friction!"

"And then you destroyed them along with monuments of soldiers and replaced them with schools," Ferro pointed out snidely. "Arceus, Bertha, we've discovered something that no other region has, and you're prepared to take it away?" Byron stared between the bickering elites as if watching a tennis match. "Come on now. Don't be daft."

"I..." Byron began, rather hesitantly. "I'll do it. It's no problem, really. We can open it up."

Bertha looked between her elites and Byron, and then sighed. "Fine. But I get to pick the next elite, when the time comes."

Spyro scowled. "You have a deal, Bertha. None of us are going anywhere anytime soon, and you'll probably forget about it when the time comes." She wouldn't. "Now take us to the underground, and let's open up those hideaways."

Byron and Caleb watched as they along with the league members teleported to every single zone of the underground. Spyro had lead the pack, finding every single Pokemon hideaway, and took off the barricades off the entrances. Caleb had caught several Kadabra that would be stationed at every trainer's school in Sinnoh prepared to take the best students down there to prep them on taking on the LNS, because at this rate, they were on their way to beating out Hoenn so why not speed things up a little?

This was now known as the Grand Underground, or just the underground for short. Citizens of Sinnoh would later call it Spirit Breaker Below, which was not an exaggeration in the slightest. For the mythology fanatics, they called it Giratina's Playground. Oh it wasn't like that at all at first, not yet, but these things always started somewhere.

Byron returned home, to his wife, and his son. He was the newly appointed gym leader of Orebourgh City, and if you told a hungover sixteen-year-old Byron that he would be a married man with a kid of his own, and a gym leader due to the discovery of the Grand Underground, he would think you were fucking crazy.

Byron certainly thought so presently.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17- Sabrina

What would come to mind hearing the name Sabrina?

How would one even begin to describe such a legend not only in psychic circles, but all over the world?

Some would start by saying that Sabrina came from a long line of psychics, that she already had a great genetic lottery due to having such powerful parents and ancestors. But it wasn't just that because that would just be too easy. Psychics like Sabrina came once every hundred years. The citizens of Saffron City, which was the psychic capital of the world, would say that even she could compete with those in terms of ability. The psychic elders had never seen a girl like her.

In the future, a reporter would ask Lucian of Sinnoh's elite four what it was like being the most powerful psychic in the world. Lucian would reply that he didn't know and that they would have to ask Sabrina of Kanto. It wasn't tinged with bitterness, it was simply the truth. Sure, there were league rivalries and whatnot, but the level of respect Sabrina had received from her fellow psychics in the leagues was incomparable. Regional pride was one thing, but psychic blood was another, and blood-ties ran deep.

Before Sabrina's time, there were those that specialized in psychic-types in the leagues, but had no psychic powers whatsoever. Humans that were naturally psychic were so few and far between, and people had been fearful of those who possessed such powers. There was a certain level of prejudice amongst psychic humans, dubbed as the "cheaters of battling" and originally weren't permitted to become league members or even compete as trainers in the LNS due to their telepathic abilities with their Pokemon. When the ban was lifted in the LNS, there was pandemonium. Psychics were thrilled, because finally, finally they were going to have a seat at the table.

Sabrina Harlow was the first.

While psychics did have a neat set of abilities that didn't pertain to regular humans, they were unfortunately accompanied with headaches. These headaches usually started around the age of four when a psychic child's powers were going to set in. It was an awful time for all parties involved. There was medication that would keep the headaches at bay, specifically for psychic children, but barely. Due to the prejudice psychics faced, the medication cost more than regular aspirin would, much more. So if a child was psychic and came from a poor family, they were screwed. Luckily, or perhaps not, Sabrina was not one of those people. But she unintentionally opened up a new can of worms.

It all started when Sabrina was a few weeks old. She suffered horrible fits, where she would scream and scream for hours upon hours on end. Imagine how painful of a process it was when a baby's first tooth was coming in, and multiple that by one hundred. That's the average experience of a psychic's powers coming in. Her parents were helpless as to what was going on. The screaming thankfully stopped by six months. But Sabrina's parents worried when she would turn four, when a normal psychic's powers came in, that the headaches would start and Sabrina would scream again. Sabrina was not a normal psychic. The screaming fits when she was a few weeks old should've been the first clue.

Sabrina was only eighteen months old at the dinner table when her powers fully came into play. She wanted a toy to play with, but her parents said no because she was eating. Angry, she levitated a spoon within reach and bent it. Her mother was carrying a dish that fell to the floor once she saw what she saw. Her father simply stared, gaping in wonder. Children usually showed signs of telekinetic abilities by age five, at the earliest, but little Sabrina hadn't even reached age two.

When Sabrina turned five, she had full telekinetic control of her powers that rivaled her family's and the elders. At age seven, she saw a problem in her city that not many children at her age would think of. Saffron City was the psychic capital of the world, and they didn't even have a gym leader that was psychic. Her parents were working hard to have the LNS reconsider their issue. Now that, Sabrina didn't understand too well. Her parents were psychic activists that believed that psychics should have just as much of a place in the league as other trainers and should be treated as such.

When Sabrina turned eight, the regions in the LNS voted to lift the ban by a narrow margin. At age eight, Sabrina had learned just how much Kanto hated psychics. Which was a lot. She learned this when older trainers stormed into Saffron City, her home, and snapped both of her parents' necks with a swift brute force of their hands. Sabrina had watched. She didn't do anything at the time. She wished she had. Perhaps it was the shock, that in just two seconds her parents were dead because of how physically strong those trainers were. Sabrina and her grandparents had to go into hiding until the police arrived.

It wasn't just her parents. Many psychics had gotten gravely injured due to anti-psychic radicals, aka dark-type specialists, and a good amount had been subjected to death. All of them died the same way as her mother and father with the snap of their necks. Apparently the trainers hated psychics so much they would take matters into their own hands.

Literally.

It was later known in history as the Saffron City Massacre. Ten dead, eighteen injured, and five crippled beyond function. Sabrina had seen several dead bodies in caskets and she hadn't even reached double digits in age. Vengeance riled up within her that no eight-year-old should have. She didn't cry at any of these funerals. Not one. She was angry. She thought that the other psychics should be angry too, but they're too busy wallowing in their grief to be angry. Sabrina didn't understand the sad emotions psychics were having, when they could use their grief and morph it into anger, for some way to fight back. What the hell was the point in crying about it, what were they going to do?

Apparently nothing. Sabrina's grandparents had full custody of her. Her grandparents along with the other psychic elders were worried and concerned that Sabrina hadn't cried at the funeral and asked why. Sabrina thought there was a perfectly acceptable reason for that. Sabrina was plotting her revenge and that it would take place in five years. She bluntly told them this. They brushed it off and thought she was bluffing. Sabrina Harlow did not bluff. This only encouraged her even more to focus on her powers, developing them to the point that she could blow up an entire town without breaking a sweat. Not that she was planning on doing that as her revenge, but it's a very, very close thing.

"Sabrina, dear," her grandmother pleaded. "Don't you think you could take a break?"

Sabrina slowly turned away from the broken set of utensils she herself caused and was about to cause more damage to. She faced her grandmother. She gave her one long look.

"No," was what Sabrina's reply was, and turned back to the equipment.

The older children in the Saffron Psychic Institute did not take too kindly that Sabrina was doing far better than they were. Three of the teenage psychics wanted to break into her dorm at night and attack her at once with their powers, while she was sleeping. She would never stand a chance with one against three, they said. She had no chance, none at all. The win was theirs, and the little devil would learn her place.

Sabrina showed up at the institute the next day with her hair perfectly in place with no sign of mental distress. The three psychics were shaking and trembling, as they tried to desperately to bend the spoons that would've been an easy task a day ago, as it was elementary school level at least according to Sabrina, but it was clearly a struggle for them.

Sabrina had no friends and was completely fine with that. Her face was always expressionless, without any sign of emotion, even when the older psychics were dim-witted enough to try to provoke her. One boy made the error of calling her an "ankle biter" and was levitated and hurled against the wall three times for his troubles. Maybe next time that teenage psychic girl wouldn't call her a devil spawn and take her set of utensils away. Her hair would grow back eventually. Sabrina was sure that the boy that snatched her beloved doll wouldn't bother her again. Not after she simply looked at him and described in graphic detail on how she would turn his mind into that of a two-year-old's and would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life if he didn't give the doll back.

The other psychics would agree that he got off the easiest.

People were afraid to say anything to her, for the fear that they would also be subjected to Sabrina's powers. But they couldn't have been more wrong about that. Sabrina didn't hurt people that were completely defenseless and did nothing to her, she wasn't evil, but she did have every right to defend herself. However the elders were apprehensive when approaching the girl, and for good reason. Sabrina was very much a menace to the other psychics that annoyed her, and they were already on edge due to the massacre, but everyone walked on eggshells with every interaction. One wrong move, and Sabrina would fight back, like she should've during the massacre.

One would think that it would finally hit Sabrina's grandparents that Sabrina was in fact serious about avenging her people.

Instead they gave her an Abra.

Truthfully, she didn't really care about the thing at first. She knew what the elders were trying to do. Sabrina thought the Pokemon was just a distraction from developing her powers, until she realized that Abra could be useful. You see, when you're plotting revenge, you had to see the world in terms of services. Anything that was thrown in your direction, there would be a way to make it beneficial. She could use some allies that would aid her in activating her revenge. Pokemon were susceptible like that. Always obeying their trainer. Especially psychic Pokemon that you could form a telepathic bond with.

Here's the funny thing, though. Sabrina rather grew... fond of the Abra that later became a Kadabra when she turned eleven. Sabrina didn't cry, but her Kadabra always knew when Sabrina was upset, or when she was thinking about her parents again, and it did offer soothing words. She supposed that was just the process of getting a telepathic bond with your Pokemon. Try as Sabrina might to push those feelings away, Kadabra was always there. Her Kadabra also encouraged her to turn those feelings back to her main goal - which was to get revenge. Oh yes, and by age twelve, she had a fully formed plan on just how to take out her frustration with those that held prejudice against psychics.

Humans are so simple, Sabrina. Make them weep for causing you pain.

That's the plan.

Do you suppose the other humans have figured out what your plans are?

They probably forgot.

Sabrina knew her grandparents had forgotten all about what she had said when she was eight. That's why her grandmother didn't even give it a second thought when Sabrina asked if she could trade her Kadabra and back so it would become an Alakazam. Her grandfather was happy to help and let her catch another Kadabra, along with a Venomoth and a Mr. Mime. She made them think that Sabrina had the desire to become a Pokemon trainer, when in reality, she couldn't care less. She needed allies. If she told her grandparents and the elders her true intentions, she was sure that they would've forbidden it.

Not that Sabrina would've really listened, and it's not like they could've really stopped her, because at this point Sabrina's powers were lethal. You know, like those brute madmen radicals that killed her parents. Nonetheless, Sabrina wasn't planning on telling them. They would find out on her thirteenth birthday.

At age thirteen, Sabrina levitated into Saffron City's fighting-type gym. She glanced around and saw there were no challengers, which was what she had wanted. Sabrina wasn't in the mood for causing collateral damage, it was just the three black belts and the gym leader that she had her calculative eyes on. Speaking of the black belts and gym leader, they stared at her as if she were an alien. Sabrina resisted the urge to roll her eyes; Saffron City was the psychic capital of the world, and they had the nerve to look so shocked.

That didn't matter though. Sabrina was ready.

"May I help you, young lady?" asked the gym leader.

Here we go...

"My name is Sabrina Harlow," Sabrina told him, along with the black-belt trainers. "My mother and father were killed with brute force by anti-psychic radicals. Many were injured. You have watched the massacre of my people happen and done nothing. Neutrality is just as bad. And for that, you will be sorry."

Sabrina's eyes began to turn red, and the morning went to hell.

The gym began to shake. The inhabitants of the gym tried to take her down all at once, oh, did they try. But it was useless. Sabrina had all four of her Pokemon out, each of them combating one member of Saffron City's gym. Her own Alakazam was facing off with the city's gym leader, and Sabrina's Mr. Mime, Venomoth, and Kadabra were taking on the black belts. Their Pokemon were ineffective against Sabrina's Pokemon, and Sabrina's psychic powers which consisted of telepathically communicating with her Pokemon made the fighting oafs unable to anticipate what would happen next. It didn't help that the gym was still quaking - only Sabrina's Pokemon and herself prepared for fighting in such a condition. Eventually, the five-way battle was over in ten minutes. Sabrina stopped the gym from shaking. That did not mean Sabrina was finished. Far from it.

The gym leader trembled, while the other black belts scattered out of the gym like the vermin they were. "Wh-what do you want?"

"When my people were killed," Sabrina went on, her eyes still glowing madly, "...you sat by and did nothing. You are a gym leader. Gym leaders of cities are supposed to help. To be there, to assist. You are a public servant. But I want to know why, is the reason you sat by and did nothing was because of my kind? Because we scare you?"

"N-no, I..."

"Stop stammering," Sabrina cut in, her voice dripping with venom. "And look me in the eyes. I want to see the reason my parents are dead, and my people. You may have not snapped the necks yourself, but you could've prevented such a tragedy. In my eyes, you are just as guilty. And that is treasonous. Tell me why you sat by and done nothing."

Just as the gym leader was about to give his answer, Sabrina's grandparents burst through the gym doors. "Sabrina, dear, what have you-"

"Get out," she ordered sharply. At this point in her life, her powers were well-beyond her grandparents' capabilities. They smartly exited the gym, not without giving a sympathetic look toward the gym leader. Sabrina turned back to him. "Answer, now."

"I... I wasn't thinking," the gym leader admitted. "There were so many, we... we didn't... I don't..."

"Do not treat me like a fool," Sabrina snapped impatiently. "You were angry that the ban was lifted in the LNS. In that case, you were concerned that psychics would take over your gym. So when trainers stormed into Saffron City, you thought it would take out some of the competition." The gym leader didn't deny it. "Unfortunately for you, you are correct. Here's what you're going to do. Unless you want me to reduce your mind to that of a vegetable, I suggest you get out of Saffron City. Get out of Kanto. Forever."

"Why... why should I..." The gym leader's voice was interrupted as he began to wince under Sabrina's glowing eyes, then it turned into full-blown screaming. It went on for roughly a minute that likely must've felt like an hour for a man. "What did you..."

"Personally, I think you're lucky that I'm giving you a chance to escape," Sabrina went on absentmindedly. "That's just a little touch of what you'll experience if you don't go."

The man didn't need to be told twice after. But even when the gym leader left, Sabrina was nowhere near finished with her goal. She briskly walked out of the Saffron City gym and paid no mind to the citizens of Saffron City staring no doubt having heard the screams of the gym leader, and how she was likely the cause of it. They were correct. Sabrina stood directly in front the gym even with an audience in mind. Her eyes went red, and gently placed her palm on the building. Little by little, the building began to crumble.

Her grandparents looked at her in horror. Sabrina didn't even blink. "Call up the league. One of you should be the new gym leader of Saffron City. We can use Saffron's Psychic Institute as the new gym - it'll work out just nicely." Sabrina could feel many pairs of eyes on her as she walked back into her home. Let them stare.

It's not like they had the power to do anything.

Word reached the Indigo League over the resignation and disappearance of Walter who was the gym leader of Saffron City. The reasoning behind it, however, they didn't find out until the Harlow family called them hours later shrieking apologies about how their granddaughter, a mere thirteen-year-old, had scared him out of town. Then the Indigo League learned that the girl, who's name they later learned was Sabrina, used her psychic powers to defeat every single black belt, including the gym leader, and destroyed the building.

Sergei was so pale he looked like death had swarmed over him. Bolt's face was red as a tomato, a walking advertisement of anger as per usual. Roland declared he was never stepping foot in Saffron City again, that Sergei couldn't pay him double to do a gym check depending on who would take over. Lance was hyperventilating in a brown paper bag, no doubt because he was still adjusting to the elite four and kept muttering what the hell he exactly signed up for.

Agatha was intrigued. Her Gengar beside her was giggling. No one appreciated this but Agatha. Gengar, her first one, was always up for mischief and all things sinister. It's probably why they got along so well... not that Gengar's primary purpose was for him and his trainer to get along of course, so Agatha thought. Gengar was fulfilling his duty to scare the piss out of challengers and make them sweat, so Agatha would insist.

But once every so often, Agatha would have to fight a little harder to hide an amused smile when Gengar laughed at her colleagues and their distress. More so that Agatha was completely calm in these dilemmas while everyone else wasn't. It's just... the mere thought of Gengar finding it funny was just hilarious. Terrible, but hilarious nonetheless.

...There was no sentiment behind it, Agatha would always insist. None whatsoever. Agatha didn't do sentiment.

"A thirteen-year-old girl," pressed Lance, for the twentieth time in a matter of five minutes. Agatha's eyes shifted away from the pacing dragon-tamer, because at this point, she was starting to get dizzy watching him in Sergei's office. Why Lance was panicking, Agatha had no idea. Panicking was a colossal waste of time in her opinion. "Thirteen-"

"You said that already," Agatha pointed out irritably. "Which is exactly why I don't know why you're so upset. She's a child."

"A child with detrimental psychic powers," snapped Sergei. "Arceus, Agatha, how the hell are you so calm?"

Agatha stared at him. "Because she's a child." Then took a sip of coffee like it was a regular damned Tuesday. She could feel multiple pairs of eyes on her staring in utter disbelief at her calmness, but it was true. Panicking about the situation would only dissolve into anarchy. Agatha refused to let the Indigo League dissolve into such barbarianism.

Lance finally stopped his pacing. "Agatha... she destroyed a gym."

"Powerful, isn't she? She defeated four trainers at once, including a gym leader."

"Agatha," interrupted Bolt, his eyes flaring angrily. "We need to host an emergency meeting with the LNS regions. Revoke the psychics from being able to be league members, or to compete. If this continues, there will be more disruption. More chaos. Who knows if this girl will take her anger out on the entire region? Then what? Call a meeting!"

Agatha was not going to do that. "Do you hear yourselves right now? Thinking that a thirteen-year-old girl will loom over Kanto? Yes, she has incredible powers. Prodigal, even. But she's still a teenage girl, and neither of you could ever understand what that's like. Let me handle this."

Quite a difficult concept to believe that Agatha was once a teenager. Well that was at least according to trainers all over the world. Rumors spread that Agatha simply spawned on earth as a grown woman and took an elite four position. She didn't deny these claims because she thought the scary rumors were entertaining and toughened her image. Her favorite one was that she crawled out of the depths of hell and possessed Sergei's spirit with her Gengar which was why she had much more influence nowadays.

"This is serious," Roland pressed desperately. "Not only that, but we're down a gym. That's not good."

"No we aren't," Agatha pointed out. "I'd like to have a word with the girl. Sabrina, is it? Tell her to meet me in my office in an hour."

Lance gaped in shock. "Agatha, you are not serious!"

"She's always pulling stuff like this," sighed Sergei. "She is very serious."

"Sergei can confirm that I am, in fact, serious," said Agatha, turning to Lance. "And you'll be there, as well. Oh, don't give me that look, Lance. I refuse to let you be scared of a mere child. It's frankly embarrassing and humiliating on your end. Bolt and Roland are hopeless, but you need to grow a backbone." Roland shrunk in his seat. Before Bolt could object, Agatha went on: "The LNS was wrong to not allow psychics. I've always said that. Going up against psychics takes skill, and you need to have skill in the LNS."

Bolt still appeared reluctant. "Nugget Bridgers are angry."

Nugget Bridgers were trainers that were primarily seen at the golden bridge, nicknamed the Nugget Bridge, on Route 24 in the Kanto region. It was always this way. Back during the war between Indigo and Sinnoh, Sinnohnians thought it would be funny to infiltrate the bridge and catch trainers off-guard before gleefully killing them. They killed a good amount of trainers, a far good amount. It was probably why nowadays the most aggressive trainers in Kanto went there to train and battle one another. To be prepared.

Agatha had turned it into her own personal lecture and demonstration area. In her opinion, she thought the bug and grass-type Pokemon that inhabited the area made for great target practice. Bug catchers too, if they were in the way. When rumors spread that Agatha would give a lecture, more trainers would show up. In the process, it had also become a place where league members would scout for potential successors or gym trainers.

"Oh when are they not?" retorted Agatha, with a roll of her eyes. "Tell them to get over it and train more. Stop whining." She had to tell them that more often than not. Ugh.

Meanwhile Lance was still panicking. "Agatha, you're asking me to be in the same room as..."

"Get. Over. It," Agatha articulated irritably. This boy needed to show more spine. For a strong dragon tamer, an Arrax, one would think he would have some more. Apparently not. Agatha would have to fix that. "Get your nerves out for the next hour, Lance, because if you break down in front of a little girl then I will lose a lot of respect for you."

Lance's face lit up. "You respect me?" Agatha blinked, then scowled. She didn't answer. At this point, she thought that she didn't have to. The answer was obvious, wasn't it?

Sabrina didn't need clairvoyance to know that the Indigo League wanted to speak with her personally. But what she didn't understand was why one of her grandparents wasn't immediately hired on the spot to be the first true psychic gym leader. They actually liked battling with psychic Pokemon, unlike Sabrina. Nor did Sabrina understand why she was redirected to go into Agatha's office, the ghost-type specialist, and when Sabrina entered it wasn't just Agatha that was there. The newer elite that specialized in dragons, Sabrina forgot his name, but he appeared to be very afraid of her. Agatha very much less so. In fact, she didn't appear to be afraid of her at all.

Sabrina didn't know how to feel.

"Sit," Agatha ordered, pointing to the chair across from her desk. Sabrina blinked slowly, but did as she was told. "I hope you don't mind, but I've brought Lance here with me today. The champion is busy with other duties, you could imagine how stressful the job could be." Strange. Agatha was talking to her like she was an adult. Fair enough, Sabrina thought, because she had always been an adult in a child's body. It's what her grandparents always told her. Lance shifted uncomfortably from his position against the wall.

Agatha sat at her desk, while Lance stood right behind her. "I want you to explain to me why you did what you did." Sabrina glared at the pair. Lance visibly shuddered under it, but Agatha did not. "Don't give me that look, girl, here I thought you weren't foolish." If possible, Lance grew paler.

"You know why I did it. My grandparents told you everything. Did they not?"

"That was your grandparents' perspective," Agatha told her. "I want to hear your side, and don't leave anything out. If you lie, or stretch the truth even a little, I'll know."

Sabrina's glare had morphed into something softer, more human perhaps. She thought of Agatha's inquires, that the older woman wanted to actually hear her side. Come to think of it, Agatha was the only one that seemed to want to understand her point of view. The elders and her grandparents had just been frightened over her actions. No one in Saffron City would look at her the same. It... admittedly made her uncomfortable. Did that mean Sabrina had regrets over what she did? Absolutely not.

And Sabrina was sure to tell her so. "Agatha, I know you've pushed over the years to have psychics be in the LNS. For that, I am thankful. Unfortunately, five years ago, this decision had caused a rift between my people and the brute, forceful nature of the fighting-type city gym. I was eight-years-old when I had seen my parents have their necks snapped by trainers, dark-type specialists. Some of my kind had been injured beyond function and won't use their powers ever again. Though this was not done by those from the fighting-type gym, they had sat by and done nothing and allowed the massacre. Though I am grateful that your league had arrested those trainers, it wasn't enough for me."

"Neutrality was just as bad," Sabrina continued, "I wanted revenge. I had planned this since I was eight and wanted to hone my powers for five years before going after the gym. I have no shame at all for admitting that I would've liked to have done more, but I didn't want to have murder charges, especially against the gym leader. After I destroyed each of the black belt's teams along with the gym leader's, I pressed this issue. He didn't deny that he was worried about the competition from psychics. I tore that gym apart afterwards and I have no regrets."

Agatha looked at her. "If murder was legal, would you have killed him?"

There was no hesitation from Sabrina's end. "Yes."

Lance was avoiding Sabrina's eyes, but Agatha was not. She was looking directly at Sabrina, analyzing her for several moments, then her gaze turned to her desk and specifically to one of the many drawers. In one of the drawers, Agatha pulled something out and handed it to the girl. Lance stood there, completely dumbfounded and bewildered at the sight, and Sabrina couldn't blame him in the slightest.

It was a chocolate bar.

Sabrina stared at the treat, and then back at Agatha who was unable to contain her grin. "Here, have it. It's yours." Hesitantly, Sabrina took the chocolate bar. "I never liked Walter anyway, so it wouldn't have been a loss. Too bad indeed that murder is illegal." Now, surely, Lance looked as though he was about to faint any second.

"I..." For once, Sabrina was struck speechless.

Luckily, Agatha took over. "Very admirable indeed, how much pride you have for your people. And you're very well articulated, too, for someone of your age." Sabrina slowly started to munch on the sweet. "But I have a problem here, you see. Neither of your grandparents want to take over as gym leader of Saffron City. None of the elders want the position either, and my first thought was well, why not have you be the gym leader-"

For the first time, Lance objected: "Agatha!"

"Be quiet," Agatha ordered sharply to her elite, then grinned at the young psychic. "Subordinates. It's always difficult to reprimand them, hurts my heart terribly so." Sabrina heard rumors from other psychics her age that Agatha's heart was frozen and stored in the depths of Icefall Cave. She managed to stay alive because she was simply Agatha.

"...I'm not a Pokemon trainer," admitted Sabrina.

"I was just getting to that. They told me that you weren't all that interested in Pokemon battles but here is my issue. I need someone to take over the Saffron City gym, and you would be the best option. Challengers won't be a problem; you can telepathically communicate with your Pokemon therefore trainers would have to skip your gym for the end in order to prepare. But you and I both know, the more you battle and communicate with your psychic Pokemon, the stronger your powers will be. That is what you want, correct?"

"Does Sergei know about this?" Lance interrupted.

"He will in about five minutes."

"Agatha."

"Okay, I can do that," Sabrina said, finishing the last bite of the chocolate bar. She threw the wrapper away in the trashcan beside her. She would never admit this to anyone, but it was really the chocolate bar that helped win her over. She had quite the sweet tooth, and she would never get tired of it - especially chocolate, Arceus, did she love chocolate.

When Sabrina returned to Saffron City, she was met with terrified stares from the citizens. The crowd smartly parted as she made her way back to the Saffron Psychic Institute, which was technically the new gym of the city. Let them stare. Sabrina had full complete control now. And there's nothing anyone could do to stop her. But she remained under the league's thumb, to ensure that she wouldn't go rogue and destroy Kanto, but that was not Sabrina's goal. She had no interest nor the desire to destroy her region. No, her goals were to ensure the Saffron City would never be harmed again. And they wouldn't. Not on her watch.

Sabrina dismissed the elders of the institute immediately. She told them their services were no longer required, and that she was taking over indefinitely. The elders were below her skill level anyway, so she felt it was only right if she were the new headmistress of the institute. No one dared to object, and it was a wise decision on their end. The elders had been helpless during the massacre of her people, and with Sabrina at the reins and teaching her fellow psychics the way of defense would ensure their survival. It was she that would foresee the studies of young psychics, and she would personally tutor only the cream of the crop.

They were also known as students that were worth Sabrina's time. It turns out, there were very few.

The first naturally psychic gym leader was a thirteen-year-old that destroyed a gym, ran its leader out of town, got a goddamn chocolate bar and replaced him as a reward.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18- Wake

In Pastoria City, there lived three brothers, a mother, and a father. The family was known as the Ferrara family, and it had been said that they were among one of the first settlers of the Sinnoh region. It was because no one could remember a time where the Ferrara family hadn't been in Sinnoh. So much as mentioning the surname would give you a look of recognition. There was a reason for that. The three brothers had a father, who was well into boxing, and their father's father was as well. It was in a Ferrara's blood.

The eldest of the three was Magnus, who looked to be a human embodiment of steroids and would be seen practicing his punches on a punching bag, imagining it to be his competition, which usually was his middle brother. The middle brother, Edward Ferrara, also had a muscular build and would also practice his punches, but usually was actually was his eldest brother - until Magnus threw him to the ground and told him to respect his elder by a mere year.

And then there was Wake Ferrara, the runt of the litter. Much smaller in comparison to his two older brothers. Edward was also only older than him by a year, but still - at least he had a growth spurt and whenever Wake tried to fight him Edward would slam him down to the ground and tell him to respect his elder by a mere year.

Citizens of Pastoria would talk. They loved to talk. Especially about the three brothers, and when you asked them about the third brother, they would reply something about him being a softie, quite gentle in comparison to the two ruthless, older brothers that could probably kill you with one punch if they tried hard enough. But not Wake. He was puny. Friendly, though. He was always friendly to the citizens of Pastoria, and would let the younger kids pet his Buizel and Wooper - gifts from his parents when he turned ten.

His father would host fighting matches between the brothers, acting as their own personal coach to get into the fighting industry. His father encouraged them to rip each other apart, and whenever his wife would object ("They're just boys, Arthur, you can't just have them fight each other!") he would brush her comments off. This was their game.

Wake always lost. He tried, he tried his absolute hardest, but asking a puny thirteen-year-old to fight his two experienced older brothers that already had their growth spurts put him at an unfair advantage. Of course Wake was going to lose, he had no chance, none at all.

And then Wake turned sixteen he grew seven inches seemingly overnight and had forty pounds on both his brothers. Still the baby of the group, but in size he outfoxed them. When the growth spurt hit him like a tidal wave, Wake had a chance to pound the snot out of them, especially since they had no problem doing the same when he was small.

"Hit him, Wake," his father would always order. "Hit him."

And yet Wake couldn't bring himself to hurt a fly. No. Not like this. He was forty pounds heavier, taller than the two brothers, and he could shatter their ribs if he did hit him. Wake didn't like the idea of boxing, or wrestling, not if it was possible someone could get seriously hurt. If only there was a way where it could be pretend, then it would be much more interesting. Truth of the matter was, Wake did enjoy wrestling. It was the theatrics he liked, the pageantry and spectacle of it all. Not the hurt. Never the hurt.

"That was just Wake, y'know? Used to be a wee thing, but then became big as a house. Was always afraid of hurting those smaller. Pick on someone your own size, he'd say."

He's twenty-two. Wake's Wooper and Buizel had long since evolved, and he had every intention to challenge the elite four, but then one day in the depths of the Great Marsh he spotted his brothers picking on a small boy. Wake didn't know what it was about, and he didn't bother to ask. That bruise that was forming on the preteen's cheek told Wake all he needed to know. Two against one wasn't fair, especially when it came to Magnus and Edward. For the first time, Wake felt rage swell within him.

One brother had four missing teeth. The other would have to spend a week on crutches. When his father found out, he grinned at Wake in approval. "You'll be a great wrestler."

That very same night, Wake cried. He didn't mean to hurt them. He felt guilty. He just saw that little boy look so scared and vulnerable and he knew exactly how that felt and he let his own emotions get the best of him. Even if his father said that he did good, it felt wrong.

It made Wake feel better that Quagsire was there, playfully butting his head against Wake, which the water-type did whenever Wake was upset. Because it would always make him laugh as a child, and at twenty-two things hadn't changed there. In Pastoria City, Wake was still known for having water-types that were very good with children. Perhaps they had taken note from their trainer. The thing was, despite Wake's large size, every child in Pastoria knew Wake couldn't hurt anyone.

Well, unless they deserved it. Like his brothers. People spectated of course, perhaps a few whispers about what caused one brother to have four missing teeth and another on crutches. No one would consider the truth that Wake Ferrara caused it, but if he did, folks would say they probably had it coming.

"There's a few scouts from the SWE that wants to see you," said his father, a month after the incident. "All three of you." The first brother had a new set of false teeth, and his second brother had just recovered from using crutches. To say that Wake was terrified would be the understatement of the century, because he knew he would crush them. He didn't want to hurt them. But this was a good opportunity. Wake knew so. The SWE was abbreviated as Sinnoh Wrestling Entertainment, and they only took on the best.

Still, Wake turned to his father and frowned. "I can't do it," he told him, right in front of the scouts and his brothers. "I could really hurt them." The scouts exchanged odd looks.

His father was appalled. "Boy, if you don't..." He trailed off, shaking his head and faced the scouts. "Sorry. He's always been the soft one. Can't hurt nobody. Rather play some damn hop-scotch with his Pokemon than fight." Wake didn't understand what his father meant. His Pokemon never played hop-scotch, they battled other trainers. It was all in good fun, though. He probably spent more time at Pokemon Centers than anything, wanting to make sure that they weren't hurt too badly. They never were.

"Luckily for you, we're introducing a new aspect of the SWE, which is why we're really here," said the scout. "Stage-fighting."

Wake blinked. "Stage-fighting?"

"Stage-fighting is used in theatre," the scout proceeded to explain. "It's an illusion in which wrestlers are trained to re-create actions in wrestling without causing serious damage. Choreographed would be the right word for it. It's a mix of wrestling and soap opera, followed by wild stunts. Some of the wrestling can be real, yes, but overall you're told in advance about what is going to happen in the ring, and the winner is pre-determined. It's mostly for drama, and do Sinnohnians love their drama." And violence. Sinnohnians loved violence. Wake didn't like that part at all, but playing pretend entertained Wake immensely.

"So you want my grown son to participate in a pansy theatre sport, if you could even call it a sport-"

"How do I learn?" Wake asked the scouts, interrupting his father. He didn't care what his dad had to say about what they were offering. This was what Wake had always wanted to do, something he had been praying for, and he was not a religious man.

The scouts took Wake to the center of the SWE, which was in Jublife City which was the entertainment capital of the Sinnoh region. Oh sure, it wasn't as grand as say, Nimbasa City of Unova, but over the years the city became more modernized. It was there Wake was brought into the stadium of other wrestlers, looking to be around his height and weight class, some a little bigger, which brought Wake a little more relief, especially considering what he was about to be asked to do. Taking down each and every one of them. They wanted to evaluate his skills. Wake was being watched by the SWE's CEO, Victor McLaughlin. Had never stepped foot in a ring. Wake was still holding back. Okay, yes, these wrestlers were his own size and they could probably handle his strength, but still. When Wake took out three, he always held a hand out for them to take.

The CEO raised his eyebrows. "He's soft," Wake overheard him say to one of the scouts. "He'll be good for stage fighting, no question, but some of the stunts we have in mind are outrageous. Can he handle it?" That's when Wake privately spoke to the biggest wrestler that was there, probably had thirty, maybe forty pounds on him? Plus, he had to be well over six feet. Wake explained to him what he wanted to do.

Wake grabbed his opponent and put them on the wires of the wrestling ring, and threw himself along with the wrestler, crashing into it.

Their combined weight broke the ring. That was not supposed to happen.

"Oh fuck..." Wake proceeded to mumble, shaking his head. He stared at the other wrestler, who was equally as wide-eyed. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..."

"You're hired," Victor McLaughlin said, with a hearty laugh. "You've captured the essence of what we're looking for. I'll ring up your contracts. Welcome to the SWE, son."

Oh.

Wake eventually got over his fear of potentially hurting someone. Well, in the case of another wrestler. The CEO had reassured Wake that these wrestlers, like him, knew what they were getting into. Wake got a handle of his own strength, was more fully aware of how strong he was so he wouldn't do too much. But what people didn't understand about what Wake did was that it was entertainment first, wrestling second. The results of the match were always predetermined. Above all else, this was about getting a reaction from the crowd. And did Wake get them.

They called him "Crasher Wake" because he would tackle his opponents into any object that was there. A table, a chair, a ladder - one time Wake suggested that they had a damn giant piñata filled with candy to crash into. No context at all. It was just there to the point of absurdity. The crowd loved it. He would always tell the other wrestlers what he wanted to do in advance. Always.

Wake was rising in fame. He had become a prominent voice and always listened to the fans to see what they wanted. In return, the fans adored him and cheered the most whenever "Crasher Wake" appeared on the stage. People called him insane when he said he wanted to throw himself fifteen stories down to crash into a table, and when he did do it, people in the stands thought he was dead. The referee was ready to start counting to three (Wake was planning on losing) he got right back up to tackle the referee. He was in on it.

"Oh my gosh! Crasher Wake just tackled an officiant of the match! Pandemonium!"

There were the silly dramas, too. Thresh Mesh was set to be married to Hilda the Shredder, until Crasher Wake swooped in to declare his love for her. They were in the wrestling ring - with Thresh Mesh in a tuxedo, and Hilda the Shredder in a wedding dress. It was Wake's idea entirely. Then it ended up with Thresh Mesh throwing Wake and himself into a kiddie pool that was conveniently placed outside the ring. People knew what was going to happen, but it was the anticipation and buildup that made it all the more exciting.

"Wake," said the CEO one day, in his office beside the stadium. "You have a fan that wants to meet you." Now, at this point in Wake's career, he was used to having fans. Usually little kids that didn't know that the wrestling matches were all staged, and of course Wake wouldn't say anything. He'd give the kid an autograph and that was the end.

So when Crasher Wake saw Byron Doyle, Orebourgh City's gym leader, walk into the office and reveal himself as the fan, needless to say he was surprised. "Byron Doyle?"

"The one and only," grinned Byron. It's funny because before Byron became a gym leader, Wake had already gotten a badge from that city's gym before he became a wrestler. Along with the one from Eterna, Veilstone, Pastoria, and well, basically all eight gyms. Wake never went further because he became a wrestler. Byron shook Wake's hand. "Nice to meet ya. Well, to be honest, it's my boy that's a big fan of yours. Roark, his name is. Loves the stunts, always giggling at it."

"I'd love to sign something for him," said Wake.

"I was thinking of something far more interesting," piped up McLaughlin. Byron and Wake turned to face him. "Think about it. A wrestler and a gym leader in a staged match. It's never been done before, and the ratings would be insane."

Wake knew this to be absolutely true. But would Byron be up to it?

"My kid would love it. Wake, don't hold back on me. Punch me as hard in the face as you can."

"Well it would be staged, nothing too crazy. You're not a wrestler, so I don't wanna-"

"None of that," interrupted Byron, still grinning and waving Wake's concerns off. "I've got upper body strength. The mines, you know. I've also done some crazy shit in my youth, I could tell you." Wake had heard rumors about that; the Orebourgh gym leader had gotten into many bars fights when he was younger without even taking a cigar out of his mouth and won. The man was evidently strong and muscular, but still, Byron had no experience in other areas in the SWE.

So that's how Wake and Byron giddily collaborated for the next few weeks about their staged match. The storyline was perfect - a muscular gym leader who's tough-as-nails with a cocky attitude determined to take down the esteemed wrestler. This was going to be sold as an intense rivalry, and they were going to have to sell it really well in order to punk Sinnoh. No one could know about it, not even members of the Sinnoh League would know about it. Within the process, the two of them became good friends.

"Oh Crasher Wake?" Byron had scowled to a reporter in front of his gym. He began to mock him, "Crasher Wake, from scary streets of Pastoria City with their very scary marshes, oh I'm shaking..." He returned to speaking in his normal voice, "I'm sure I can kick his ass in a wrestling match, no doubt about it. You know what? I'll go even one further." He looked directly at the camera, "I challenge you, Crasher Wake, to a match. Me and you. You and me. No Pokemon."

And then he called Wake a word associated with cats. People went hysterical. The champion of the Sinnoh League himself was even in disbelief and thought the animosity was entirely real. He had called Byron up to his office with the other elites present and yelled at him over potentially ruining his image, which he told Wake about later and laughed about it, though Byron remarked later that he suspected that Bertha knew it was all fake. Of course, in later years, this was proven to be true.

Wake played it up, too. Saying that he was going to tear the "snooty gym leader" from limb-to-limb, claiming that becoming a gym leader had gone to Byron's head entirely. People were on the edge of their seats, and they couldn't wait until the day came where they would finally face off with one another.

Show-time.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Orebourgh's gym leader, Byron Doyle!"

The stadium roared with delight as Byron mounted into the wrestling ring. He didn't smile, not at all, because Wake was nowhere to be seen. This was the plan, and what the crowd didn't know was that Byron was quite the actor. Byron was handed a microphone, and bellowed: "Well would you look at that, ref? Wakey-boy is too scared to show up!"

Some members of the crowd booed, while some cheered. Byron was told this would happen. In the SWE, you wanted either option, or both. All that mattered was that the stadium would react to you, whether it be good or bad wasn't the point.

Byron played it up even more, allowing a sinister grin. It was coming. "Wakey-boy! Come on out, now? You too scared to face a real man of the Orebourgh Mines?"

"What's this?! Is that Crasher Wake driving a front loader?"

Indeed it was.

Crasher Wake entered the stadium with a front loader, his face snarled in a rage as he drove fully aware eyes were on him, and stopped in front of the wrestling ring. He maneuvered the front loader to scoop Byron up eight feet in the air - and Byron gasped in fright as Crasher Wake lowered its hand so Byron was dangling from it.

Then Bryon seemingly had no choice but to fall into the ring with a hard thud.

The crowd went insane.

"Oh my god, Crasher Wake, has just thrown a league member, down to the ground!"

But Byron got back up. Crasher Wake got out of the front loader and into the ring, and was handed a microphone, and declared: "You messed with the wrong wrestler, Byron Doyle! I will smack you so hard that you'll meet Arceus himself."

"Oh yeah, oh yeah? Come on, then! What are you gonna do? Think you're all tough with a truck, huh?" Byron taunted, relishing in the crowd's reaction.

Crasher Wake attempted to 'tackle' him, but missed as he landed right into the wires of the ring. Byron took this opportunity to backslap him, and jumped out of the ring to get the fire extinguisher that was placed there intentionally and sprayed Crasher Wake with it. Crasher Wake got back up and held Byron on the wires of the ring, and threw his weight down into the table - crashing into it. The crowd went wild, and Byron was 'down,' and that was the end of the match. Like it was supposed to go.

Byron and Crasher Wake put on one of the most replayed shows in SWE history. Children in Sinnoh would remember Crasher Wake's entrance with a front loader and how he picked up a gym leader and threw him to the ground. They kept the feud going, with Byron and Wake coming up with more outrageous stunts within matches, at this point, some people had an idea that it was a bit but didn't comment on it. Crasher Wake and Byron once fought with beer cans. In another match, Byron shaved Crasher Wake's head. And in later years, a certain famous coordinator, would make her grand appearance by smashing fake glasses over both their heads.

People would call Wake's shows glorified trash television, and maybe they were right, but Wake's primary goal was to be entertaining. People could call it trash television all they wanted, but it kept people on the edge of their seats, wondering what Wake was going to do next, something spectacular and crazy and thrilling. It kept Wake's wallet fat and was able to earn a decent living when many Sinnohnians weren't so lucky. Indeed, that was probably why a lot of Wake's money was excess and donated to those in need.

Here's the issue with what Crasher Wake did for a living. There were certain things that you couldn't fake. You couldn't fake being thrown fifteen stories into a table. You couldn't fake being sprayed with a fire extinguisher. Of course, Crasher Wake was fully aware that he was sacrificing his body for the sake of the fans, but Crasher Wake was getting older now, and his body could only handle so much. That's the problem with the SWE, really, was that they had these wrestlers doing these dramatic stunts which came at a price.

Crasher Wake needed to slow down. He's famous, very much at the peak of his career, but he didn't want to be like one of those wrestlers that died before the age of sixty-five. He privately confessed to Byron about this, and strangely, the gym leader agreed with him. Maybe don't do as many shows, he had suggested. Crasher Wake would take that advice. It's the SWE that he would be letting down though, his fans would be let down too. Crasher Wake couldn't disappoint his fans. Crasher Wake gave a speech, saying that he wouldn't do as many shows because of health issues, and he expected backlash from them.

Quite the contrary. Crasher Wake learned just how much SWE fans cared about their wrestlers, and they wanted their favorites to be taken care of. No, it was the organization that was more upset about him making less appearances. The thing was, Crasher Wake had to keep working somehow. Just... not so much in the SWE.

One day, Crasher Wake was requested to meet with the elites and champion of the Sinnoh region. He sat there in an office with Byron, waiting to be reprimanded over the tomfoolery that they've been doing, and with Crasher Wake's speech prior they thought now would be the best time.

No one said a word for quite a while, the silence was thick and heavy.

And then Spyro asked with a grin: "...Do you two think that you can have a viewed Pokemon match?" It made sense that the champion requested this. Byron and Wake had done pretty much everything else, except have a Pokemon match. This time, the Sinnoh League was curious to see how this would fare. People assumed that there would be a clear winner, that it was planned ahead that Byron would win the match.

It was the first time they ever didn't plan an outcome. Whatever happened, happened.

Byron was going all out, and even then, Wake had gotten very close to beating him.

"Holding back on him, were you?" asked Bertha afterwards, with a chuckle.

Byron chuckled. "I wasn't at all."

Bertha was no longer smiling. "You weren't... letting him take out some of your Pokemon out on purpose?"

"Check his badge history," Byron told her. "I was using my eight badge team, with steel-types instead of rocks."

"...He's gotten all eight badges?"

"...Yes."

Beat.

"I'll make a note of that."

Crasher Wake didn't know any of this. He had no idea that Byron was speaking so highly of him, and would consistently bring up that Crasher Wake had gotten all eight badges of Sinnoh when he was younger. He had no idea that the gym leader of Pastoria was retiring, the one that Crasher Wake had defeated so long ago, and that they needed a replacement. It was Bertha and Spyro who had come up to Wake, asking if he could take over the gym with his water-types and work at the SWE part-time.

When Crasher Wake agreed to this, Spyro teleported away, leaving Wake and Bertha alone. Bertha looked at him, and then smiled. "I loved your shows with Byron," she said. "It was entertaining. A lot of people thought your feud was real. I knew, even then, it wasn't."

Of course Bertha was aware of that.

There was a lot of things Crasher Wake didn't know. He didn't know that the Grand Underground was working overtime, with its new trainers getting in tip-top shape to take on the LNS. He didn't know that when he was hired as a gym leader that Sinnoh was extremely close to overtaking Hoenn. That's when it clicked in Crasher Wake's brain. This was the competition that he yearned to be apart of, as well. The one thing he did know of from Byron was that it was his dream, along with Bertha's, to be the best region in battle.

All in all, Crasher Wake was happy about his decision. He was wrestling part-time, and he was going to be apart of the region with the best trainers. A win-win, for everyone.

A few weeks after Wake's hire, Bertha woke up to the sound of her PokeGear chiming. She glanced at the Caller ID and saw that it was Spyro and frowned. Normally, the man opted to send a quick text message instead of calling her, so she knew something drastic must've happened.

Bertha answered the device. "What is it, Spyro?"

"Bertha," Spyro spoke urgently, "Check the leaderboard, now! Arceus, hang up and check the leaderboard!" Bertha did just that, hanging up on Spyro to check the LNS leaderboard and nearly dropped the PokeGear in shock at what she was seeing, and almost wept with joy. Perhaps the decision to have the underground was the right one.

Because Sinnoh was no longer last place in the LNS.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19- Sidney

Dark-type specialists had a bit of a... reputation.

Not a good one, especially in today's climate where everyone suddenly decided that psychics were actually people, and not the dirt that got on the bottom of your shoe. Oh and that psychics deserved to be treated with decency and respect like everyone else in society. Some psychics preferred to be called "supernatural." Most dark-type specialists called them scum, a species lower than human, but barely more than animals. The more extreme dark-type specialists wouldn't even give them that, preferring to call them "mutts." Everyone's so goddamn politically correct nowadays, it made the Liston family hurl.

It turned out that even in Hoenn, one of the more friendly and progressive regions, had people who held such outdated opinions. The Liston family, which was a family of those who specialized in dark-types, were among those. The start of hatred between dark-type specialists and psychics were unknown, but when it came time to torture and experiment on psychics in war, dark-type specialists cheerfully volunteered for the duty. A lot of families, like the Liston's way back, took advantage of wartime to hunt down psychics for sport. You know, slaughter them like the psy-pigs they were. Indeed, it came as a surprise to absolutely no one that it was found out that trainers that specialized in dark-types had participated the most in the Saffron City Massacre.

It was in fact the Saffron City Massacre that made Sidney Liston's eyes open for the first time.

Before that though, Sidney was mostly painfully neutral toward the whole thing. It was more so that he didn't understand the hatred dark-type specialists and psychics had with one another, no matter how many times his father, mother, and older sister would explain it to him.

Psychics had read the minds of dark-type specialists and wiped their memories. Psychics could be running the world without us truly knowing it. Psychics could've put the whole world in an illusion. Psychics would reply that dark-type specialists, if they could, would awaken Darkrai and trap the world in a nightmare, so they could be quiet talking about "illusions." Dark-type specialists would say of course psychics would whine about myths, since they're myth believing fanatics, they'd never shut the fuck up about them.

Sidney's response would be the same to all these claims usually said over breakfast. He'd shrug, and then take a bite of oatmeal.

Here's the thing though. Sidney loved dark-type Pokemon. They could be nasty things, he's experienced that firsthand, but they were truly misunderstood. His Absol actually comforted him when he had nightmares. To be more specific, Sidney actually suffered from vivid night terrors as a child. It was Absol, one of his best friends, that would bring him back to earth. The low growling emitted from the so-called 'disaster' Pokemon would work as white noise to lure little Sidney back to sleep. It always, always worked.

His Mightyena was fiercely protective of him when some trainer was being an ass in his trainer's school. Sidney was used to people calling him odd, especially in his hometown of Fortree City, where birds were all the goddamn rage. Being the only dark-type specialist family in Fortree left them shunned and unwanted. The Liston family laid low, gathering in defeat once they realized that no one cared what they had to say. A few trainers would be ballsy and say something nasty to Sidney, and because of this, Mightyena became... well... Sidney would have to tell him to ease up a little.

"Mightyena, get back. He's just being dumb. Calm down. That's a good boy."

But in reality, like his Pokemon, he was misunderstood. Every now and then when Sidney would wonder if psychics were misunderstood, he would beat push those thoughts down. According to Sidney, he honestly did believe dark-types were superior to psychics, but that was mainly because psychic moves had no effect on a dark-type pokemon. That was it, really. That's all Sidney needed. None of that "psychic blood is tainted" nonsense.

Sidney got his first badge in Fortree City when he was sixteen years old. He couldn't look the gym leader in the eyes when she handed him the badge. It's not like anyone in Sidney's immediate family nowadays had done a lot of harm to psychics, they just talked. Talked about how much they hated them. That's why they specialized in what they specialized in, finding that dark was the only type that were immune to a psychic's attack. People in Fortree City were aware and avoided them. Those outside of Fortree City were hesitant. People outside the Hoenn region heard the name "Liston" and would be reminded of the war. Sidney thought it was all rubbish, and kept his head down.

Sidney went to Mauville City with the intention of getting his next badge. What he did not expect was a man who had retired from Hoenn's elite four to answer the gym doors. Not to mention that it was Elliot and, though he was not a psychic, specialized in the psychic-type. Sidney's family frowned upon people like that, calling them "psychic-sympathizers," but they were nowhere near hated as much as psychic humans.

"Oh sorry. Are you looking for the gym leader?" Sidney nodded. "Right, well, he had to step out for a moment - so I'm keeping an eye. Wattson's students, the gym trainers in there, are rather scatterbrained. He doesn't trust them as much yet. You can wait inside, if you'd like." So Sidney did. Elliot closed the door behind them. "What's your name?"

"Sidney." Sidney never gave out his surname to people he didn't know, especially given the circumstances. He glanced over to see a Chimecho floating above their trainer, chiming happily in delight over their latest guest. Sidney wondered how psychic Pokemon felt about psychic humans being disliked, if only for a moment.

"Don't worry about Chimecho, she's very friendly. My name's Elliot."

"I know." The words are out of Sidney's mouth before he could stop them, and winced. "I er... I mean, I know you were an elite but retired."

Elliot shrugged. "I wanted to get away from that LNS rubbish. Hoenn's going down anyway, I'm sure it won't be long until Sinnoh catches up. Don't get me wrong, I love my region and am proud of my Hoennian roots, but sometimes it's a bit much." Chimecho let out a cry in agreement. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Sidney?"

Sidney kind of did. The LNS made him uncomfortable, only because it reminded him of what his family had done during the war. Though Hoennians were the least harmed, the some of the Liston's did volunteer when Johtonians and Kantonians wanted to wipe out psychics from the Sinnoh region and vice-versa. No one cared what the side was, as long as it insisted the demise of psychics. Sidney wouldn't voice how unsettled he was.

Sometimes Sidney's roots were a bit much, too. He wouldn't voice this either.

"How come you trained psychic Pokemon?" Sidney couldn't help but ask instead.

Elliot barked out a laugh. "I was obsessed with learning psychology. I've always been fascinated by the mind. I suppose that translated to the Pokemon I liked. Oh, sure, I can't telepathically communicate with them, but I'd like to think we'd built a good bond regardless." Again, Chimecho cried in agreement.

But Sidney made a face. "Why would you want to telepathically communicate with them? That'd be cheating in battles. It's the reason the LNS doesn't permit psychics." Elliot was clearly caught off-guard by that comment. Most people were. "I..." Sidney couldn't stop himself. "It's what my family says."

Elliot visibly winced. "Are you a Liston by any chance?" Sidney didn't answer. He didn't have to. Elliot's face told him all he needed to know. "Okay, son, I have a thing or two to teach you, since your parents have clearly not-"

"I don't hate psychics, and don't call me son," Sidney cut in, almost desperately. "I just... I don't know if they should be able to be in the leagues. They have the ability to be telepathic with their Pokemon, and that would be an insult to you, wouldn't it?"

Elliot frowned. "How so?"

"Because you train psychic pokemon. Imagine a psychic took your job as an elite, that you worked so hard for."

"A psychic didn't take my job," Elliot told him. "Do you know Drake Wyvern?" Of course Sidney did. He was the dragon-type elite of the Hoenn league. "Let me tell you a story about good ol' Drake. One time, at sea, he had saved my life when he was a teenager. Did you know that I didn't hold dragon-tamers in the highest light prior to that? I always thought they were ruthless, callous, and cold-blooded. Drake's stern, no doubt about it, but a cold-blooded person wouldn't have done what he did. He didn't know it was me."

Silence thickened in the entire gym.

"My point is," Elliot continued, undaunted by Sidney's silence, "...my point is that one of my biggest fears was that if I became an elite, I worried that my successor would be some jerk of a dragon-tamer. For one thing, I, too, thought they had an unfair advantage. Dragon-tamer families usually had the option to start earlier with dragons and therefore have a full advantage in battling. Kind of like how you were taught to view psychics. The thing with being a good trainer, though, is to be good despite the disadvantage you might have. If you used a dark-type Pokemon, and your opponent had a fighting-type, you're just... going to give up? Just like that?"

"...No, I wouldn't. I'd try to win despite my disadvantage."

"Exactly. Now when it came time for me to leave the league, I wanted Drake to replace me. I counted on it," Elliot finished, with a smile. "Do you get it now?" Part of Sidney didn't, though it would be more accurate to say that he didn't want to understand it. But he would understand it in approximately two minutes.

"Where's Wattson? I need to face him," Sidney replied instead. Fate was wholly amusing at times, as well as mystifying, and in this case - terrifying. It was the reason that Wattson burst through the gym doors, not at all like his happy boisterous self that Sidney would occasional see on television. He looked terrified.

Elliot frowned at the man. "What's going on?"

"LNS elites and champions voted to allow psychics in the leagues." Sidney didn't understand why the man looked to be so upset by this. He was in favor of the psychics, after all. It's what his parents would complain about regarding Wattson. Sidney tried to not look uncomfortable when Elliot looked at him for a reaction.

"And?" Elliot pressed.

"Saffron City in Kanto is under attack." Something told Sidney that he wasn't going to get his match today, but in that moment, he realized that perhaps that was the least of his concerns right now. Wattson turned on his PokeNav and switched to its radio function where they were getting breaking news.

"This is breaking world region news. The League Numbering System has agreed to have psychics compete in the league, as well as potentially become gym leaders, elites, or become the champion of a region. This has earned backlash, as evidenced by the latest we've heard from the Saffron City Massacre."

Saffron City Massacre? Is that what they're calling it?

"Trainers had taken their anger out on Saffron City, psychic capital of the world, where its trainers had stormed in and attack psychics. We've reported seven fatalities so far, and several had been injured."

Seven deaths? Because... psychics get a chance in the league? Was it really that extreme?

"Children are forced into bunkers, many of them crying."

Oh... Young children, too? Was that really true?

"We've learned from police reports that many of the trainers specialized in dark-type Pokemon. Of course, we know about the usual rivalry between psychics and dark-type specialists, but this-"

Sidney didn't hear anything else afterwards because he felt his heart stop. Because he knew, he knew, that his family was celebrating over this. Sidney thought those days were over. He thought dark-type specialists wouldn't torture psychics, and while they would remain hostile to one another, there wouldn't be another actual attack. Not since the war...

"Sidney," Elliot's voice called out to him, "Breathe."

But Sidney couldn't, especially considering that he was receiving a phone call from his father. His father was happy. Sidney didn't want to hear his happiness over this. No... nothing like this was right. Let Sidney be clear, he still did think he was superior over psychics, but to glorify murder... Sidney had never been more ashamed of his specialty.

"...I understand it now," Sidney told Elliot quietly.

He was going to be put to the test on how much he understood, because a swarm of reporters with cameras suddenly showed up at the gym asking Wattson, Wattson about his thoughts on the attack considering he was quite vocal about the LNS allowing psychics. There was also the fact that Elliot, an ex-elite and psychic-type specialist, was there as well. And then there was Sidney, who not even ten minutes ago questioned the whole hostility between the two rivaling parties.

Wattson spoke first, and Sidney couldn't recall a moment where the man sounded so serious. "If there's anything the Indigo League needs, or Saffron City needs, then we Hoennians are happy to help. Hoenn is no stranger to tragedy. I remember when Pacifidlog Town had flooded and became nothing, until Hoennians came together as a community to build the place again. To say I'm disgusted by the attack on the psychics would be an understatement. Most sensible Hoennians would agree with me."

Then came Elliot. "Of course I would imagine the Hoenn elite four and their champion condemns the behavior of the trainers that stormed into Saffron City. Out of all the regions in the LNS, the Hoenn League was the only region to have four elites and the champion consistently vote unanimously on trying to allow psychics in the LNS. We've done this since the creation of the system, and it was only until recently that finally psychics have gotten their place at the table. People need to deal with it. Times are changing."

"And you, sir?" asked the reporter, to Sidney, shoving his microphone in the teenager's face.

This was going to be on television. He was going to be seen. His parents were going to know what he was about to say.

"...It's disgusting," Sidney answered, albeit a bit hesitantly. "No, it's disgraceful. It's disgraceful that trainers think that they could storm into one's territory like that. The murder of one's kind is deplorable. I'd like to think... think that maybe we've grown past the animosity, but apparently not. Saffron City is the home to psychics, and trainers are upset about... what, exactly? That they have to train a little harder? It's why we do what we do."

"You're a Pokemon trainer?"

"Yes I am. I specialize in dark-types." A hush fell over the reporters. Sidney had no idea where these words were coming from. Except he did. It's what he always wanted to say but was too scared to tell his family, so instead he decided to tell the entire region about it - which included his family. Great.

"And you... you sympathize with the psychics, despite the dark-type specialists were mostly seen at the event?"

Well, there's no going back now. Might as well. "I don't agree with the murder of innocent people," Sidney phrased. "And that's exactly what dark-type trainers did. They should be ashamed. I'm..." Sidney wanted to kick himself. Why the fuck couldn't he go challenge another gym instead? "...I'm ashamed of my type specialty today."

"What is your name?"

Oh, gods. "Sidney Liston." He could feel the burning, accusing eyes in his direction. He didn't blame them one bit.

"Thank you so much for your time, Sidney Liston."

A few questions and exchanges from Wattson and Elliot later, and then the reporters with the cameras left them alone. Sidney then realized that he was shaking. He doesn't suspect that Wattson and Elliot understood as to why, even if they were aware of his family and what that surname had done in the past.

Sidney got an angry phone call from his father to come home immediately. Sidney did so despite every instinct in his body telling him not to, and he proceeded to get the worst beatdown of his life. It wasn't just his father, but other dark-type specialists they associated with in Hoenn, the very few. It was nothing like Sidney could've ever imagined. His mother and sister watched as Sidney's father and his friends hurled words along with his fists, spitting out venom such as calling Sidney a psychic man's bitch, a fortune-fucker sympathizer, glow-eyed lover, and so on. Never had Sidney ever heard his father use so many slurs in one sitting, and there were many.

Sidney didn't say anything back at the time. He limped his way back to Mauville a week later to challenge Wattson. Sidney won, but he didn't feel as though he did. He ran into Elliot again, and the words of anger pour out. "You have no idea," he spat at him, leaning on his left foot. "What... repercussions I had to face at home."

Elliot looked at him with sympathy Sidney felt he didn't deserve. "You did a good thing. You're a good person." And it broke Sidney's heart because he knew Elliot was wrong.

Or maybe he wasn't. When he went to each of the gym leaders in Hoenn to obtain badges, each gym leader told him the same thing. That he was a good person. When Sidney went to buy Pokeballs or other items he needed from the markets, the cashiers smiled at him. People looked at him with a certain kind of warmth he wasn't used to. He obtained his seventh badge in Mossdeep City, which had a gym leader that specialized in psychic-types, and she took the time to have tea with him.

"The Hoenn elite four and champion are proud of you," she told him. "They knew you were coming to Mossdeep, that you were on a journey. They wanted to let you know."

And that's when Sidney had a epiphany. He knew what he wanted to do. Sure, Sidney wanted to be a Pokemon trainer - but he wanted to restore the reputation of dark-types. To show that not all of them held such disdain for psychics. For the next five years after obtaining all eight badges, Sidney did just that. He traveled with Elliot to the Johto region first to spread the message (and, in the meantime, Sidney took on the LNS).

He knew that if Hoenn had a gym leader or elite that was retiring that they would be replaced by a psychic, and would've been first to do so instead of that thirteen-year-old girl in Saffron City. Sidney's heard about what happened; the girl had driven away the fighting-type gym leader and destroyed their gym. The rumor was that Agatha gave her a chocolate bar when she first found out. Fitting, Sidney thought. Well, he wouldn't put it past the elite. 

Elite.

Sidney had yet another epiphany.

"Elliot," Sidney told him, after returning from Johto and are settled in Mauville City. Sidney was twenty-three years old now, and he's training his team to be in tip-top shape to face the Hoenn elite four and their champion. And he realized then and there, that maybe he would want to be apart of that league. "I want to be an elite four member."

Elliot looked at him strangely. "How come?"

"Because it would be the biggest 'fuck you' I could give to my parents," said Sidney. He hadn't spoken to his family in years. Oh no, not since that day when his father had beat him senseless while his mother and sister watched. Sidney cut ties with his family all together; it was Elliot that had become his family now. Elliot and Wattson.

"When an opening becomes available," started Elliot, "I'll recommend you."

Approximately a year after that, the Hoenn league woke up to a far different Hoenn.

"Huh," remarked Barty, staring at the LNS leaderboard in his office. Drake, Glacia, Jaden, and Ishmael watched as well. There's a new change, and one that neither of the five would've expected. Though it would be arguable to say that no one could've expected that, not just members of the Hoenn league. "Well would you look at that?"

Sinnoh was no longer last place. Hoenn was.

Barty asked his elites how they felt about that after league hours. Drake had responded asking if his paycheck would be the same. Glacia was just happy that she was no longer in the Galar region. Ishmael had stared down at the floor and shrugged. Jaden remarked that he was leaving in two weeks so it didn't really matter to him.

"It doesn't matter to me either," said Barty, taking a sip of wine. All of them had started drinking some at this point in the night. Alongside the wine, was a tray of muffins that Glacia had the gift of making. No one could resist them. It was once said that even Giovanni had a craving for them, and he was a man that didn't enjoy much of anything.

That was the thing outsiders would never understand about their kind. Hoennians didn't care, and it wasn't in the bitter way. They were a people that were carefree, preferring to have fun whenever and wherever they could. Why fight, when you could enjoy life to its fullest. They were a people that lived every day like it could be your last, and other than "water," that should be what came to mind when people thought of the Hoenn region.

"How on earth did they do that though?" Glacia mused, tapping her fingernails on the table.

Drake snorted. "I've heard rumors... that they have an underground, full of Pokemon."

"Rumors are true," said Barty, nodding. "Beneath Sinnoh. We spoke about it in last week's champions' meeting. It's only open to trainers that go to any of the Sinnoh's trainer's schools. Sergei tried to call foul, but Sinnoh is protected by law. They don't have to let any trainers outside their region into their underground program."

"Arceus damn it Spyro," hissed Ishmael, uttering his name as though it was a swear. "I don't know whether or not to be happy or sad that I don't go to champion's meetings."

Barty rolled his eyes, a very un-Barty-like thing to do. "You aren't missing much. The entire thing is just Sergei and Spyro making passive aggressive comments to each other while Alder and I exchange nervous glances, waiting for someone to shout. It never happens. But the tension is there, I have to tell you. In last week's meeting, Spyro had been noticeably upbeat and trying to input more. Usually we let Sergei run the champion's meetings, but Spyro had been trying to butt in."

Glacia's eyes grew wide. "He's... he's biding his time now, isn't he?"

"No. Spyro's an idiot," Drake replied, scowling. "If there's anyone in that league that we need to keep an eye on, it's Bertha. Maybe Axel, too." It was no secret that Drake held a lot of animosity toward the dragon-elite of Sinnoh. He was a slime ball. If Drake had to choose between Spyro and Axel as a champion, he'd go for Spyro without question.

"Bertha's a nice woman," Barty replied, frowning in disapproval.

"Oh she is, she's a wonderful lady," agreed Drake. "But she's smart. If anyone is biding their time, it's her. There's a reason that Sinnoh is moving up. It started with her."

Barty let out a hum. "Well now we can't focus on the system. Yes, we're last. But Jaden is leaving the Hoenn league, and we need someone to take over."

Ishmael, Glacia, and Jaden exchanged looks.

"Alright, I'll bite," sighed Drake. "I've gotten into contact with Elliot in Mauville. Do you all remember the name Sidney Liston?" They stared at him. "The boy who's gotten eight badges. Gotten eight badges from Johto, too. Accidental psychic activist despite his family being the way it is? Lost contact with them?"

"Go on..." pressed Barty.

"Elliot told me Sidney had a desire to be an elite in the Hoenn league," Drake went on. "But it's not for a 'battling reason' like it was for the rest of us. He could certainly be an elite, based on Elliot telling me Sidney had defeated him. But the reason behind it..."

"Why?" Barty pressed again.

"To give the final word against his parents," chuckled Drake. "It's silly. Almost immature, even. But Sidney does have the desire to show not all dark-type specialists are bad."

Barty shrugged. "All I heard was that Sidney defeated him. Whatever reasoning Sidney may have certainly doesn't matter to me. If he can battle, he can battle." He turned to Jaden for approval. "Do you mind if Sidney takes your spot?" Barty still wanted the person who was retiring to have their say in Hoenn. Always.

Jaden shook his head. "No, not really. And he's done a lot of good, too. It'd be right. If Elliot recommends him, then..." he trailed off. No one said anything for a few seconds.

"Well then," Barty said, getting ready to conclude their meeting. He took a final sip of wine. "Drake, call Elliot. We'll take on Sidney."

"Really now?" marveled Sidney in Elliot's home after he received a call, frowning deeply as he pet his Mightyena. The dark-type Pokemon curled up against Sidney's legs, lightly head-butting them. The canine purred softly. Sidney didn't understand people that said Mightyena were ferocious beasts. Sure, Mightyena could be aggressive at times, but his Mightyena was the biggest baby out of all of Sidney's Pokemon. Hell, there was a time where Mightyena was a Poochyena and was afraid of its own shadow. "They want me?"

Elliot shrugged. "You've made quite the impression."

"Because of my battling capabilities?"

"Well to be honest, it's probably because you wanted to give your family the giant middle finger," chuckled Wattson, who also accompanied Elliot. "But being a good battler helps. Being a good battler with dark-types helps. Being a dark-type specialist that doesn't want to smite psychics off the face of the earth also helps."

"You'll probably have to face off with Holland from Unova at those crummy LNS meetings, which is the only downside of taking this position," sighed Elliot. "Holland's a dark-type specialist that's getting more and more riled up with psychics, ever since Sabrina entered the picture."

Sidney smirked. "I fear terribly for whoever becomes the first psychic elite in a league, if that's the case."

This made Elliot laugh. "Let's not get too ahead of ourselves, alright? You're going to call up Barty himself and let him know, right? That you accept?"

"Of course," said Sidney, not even having to think about it.

"Wonderful. Now, as Hoenn's newest elite, care for a drink to celebrate as a final 'fuck you' to dear mom and dad?"

The new dark-type elite burst into laughter.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20- Lucian

If Bertha Morello was Sinnoh's shining beacon above the stormy seas, then Lucian Darrow was Sinnoh's Sharpedo lurking within them.

At least that was what people who interacted with him would say. A stern man, defined by his unyielding persona, occasionally cruel, and once every so often the word 'sociopath' would utter from mouths of those who vehemently despised him. His inner circle would disagree... at least when it came to the sociopathic comments. Lucian could certainly come across that way to those that didn't know him, but once you got past his barriers, he could be regarded as pleasant. Very few people managed to achieve this.

However that's not what's most remembered about Lucian. When people would read about Lucian Darrow in future history books, they would be reminded of how he was the first ever naturally psychic elite in the leagues and how he climbed his way up to being second-in-command to Sinnoh's champion. He was the first elite that Bertha had a say in picking. The first elite that Bertha had mentored herself. Because of this, it came as a surprise to no one that over the years, Lucian was one of the few people in the Sinnoh region that had the clout and influence as an elite that almost rivaled Bertha. This was also true as being a legend in psychic circles that almost rivaled Sabrina's status, not as much, but close. Lucian was known as Sinnoh's silver tongue, as well. A master of persuasion, a master of saying not too much, but enough. Others would say a master manipulator, and in Lucian's more callous moments he would agree with them. Indeed, there was a reason he was called a Sharpedo.

But, like Sabrina Harlow, such legends always started somewhere. And, like Sabrina Harlow, it wasn't pretty.

It first started at midnight, and Lucian wanted to go to bed. He couldn't though, because he's stuck after hours in the only psychic training center that Sinnoh had in Canalave City. Lucian had been living there all his life with his father – who had been running the center for years. Lucian was tired, he wanted to sleep for a decade, but his father had implemented techniques from Saffron City to his psychic training regiments, and Lucian was his father's personal guinea pig.

They called it the Canalave Psychic Conservatory - or the CPC, for short.

The Sinnoh League had yet to have a psychic-type specialist in it. Not even one that specialized in the typing and didn't have psychic powers. No champions. No elites. No gym leaders. It was embarrassing. Lucian's father's goal was to have a psychic, a full-blooded psychic since the ban in the LNS was lifted as a gym leader or even a member of the elite four, and he had failed. That was something he would bring up almost all the time like it was Lucian's fault.

"Sinnoh's numbers wouldn't be so low if we had a psychic. They'd sooner have someone who plays with plants or a sniveling little shit of a bug catcher as an elite. The latter's great for target-practice, nothing more."

Constantly.

A telepathic bond between psychic-type Pokemon and humans was something quite special. Lucian had yet to achieve that, which was why he was currently trembling on the floor as his body ached under a pair of glowing eyes that were not his own. His father didn't need to use fists to inflict pain.

Lucian couldn't tell you the precise moment when he no longer screamed for his father to stop. It was all a bit of a blur, and it's not like it would do him any good. His father was very much like Sabrina, and Lucian had heard the rumors about her – the most powerful psychic of her generation. Lucian knew this because it was another thing his father would bring up almost all the time like it was his fault.

When the pain stopped, Lucian collapsed against the ground with a heavy sigh.

"Do you know why I did that?" his father inquired coldly.

"Because I missed my deadline. I remember reading about it. You can't bond quickly when you are afraid. Is that not true?"

"I thought you weren't that stupid. You've proven me wrong. You're stupider than your mother used to be."

Lucian could tell you the precise moment he decided he despised his father however, and that was it. Because his father was wrong. His mother was intelligent, way smarter than him. She would take Lucian to Canalave Library after his psychic training to retreat to the safe space of books. She was a renowned chess player that traveled often so she was rarely home. Some of Lucian's earliest memories from childhood was her teaching him how to play the game, along with teaching him the importance of books whenever she was home.

"If your school ever bans a book," his mother would always say, "I want you to run to the Canalave Library, don't walk, you run - to find out what they don't want you reading."

Lucian would follow that advice for the rest of his life.

Then Lucian's mother died when he was seven and it was one of the worst days of his life, because that was his father's way of gaining permission to be harsher than ever. Case and point, Lucian's father levitated a book. Lucian recognized the title immediately. It was his mother's favorite. After she died it was Lucian's favorite, too. It was a rare edition, and she used to read it to him - it was a little advanced for kids his age, but Lucian adapted quickly to the world of books. He loved them.

His father ripped out every single page. Lucian had watched. His eyes were burning with hatred.

Lucian's father dropped dead from a heart attack when he was seventeen, and it's one of the best days of his life.

"I heard he died of a broken heart," was what Lucian overheard one of the other psychics say. Impossible. His father didn't have one.

It's also one of the best days of his life because at the same time he finally reached a telepathic bond with his Pokemon. Lucian couldn't stop smiling. People assumed that Bronzong was Lucian's ace, and they would be correct in terms of battling. It was actually Espeon though, who stole his snacks and warned him about an impending migraine, meowing frantically to prepare. Sometimes Lucian debated if his powers were a blessing or a curse. But then Lucian's Espeon communicated with him for the first time via telepathy, and he knew it was the former.

Are your thoughts normally this homicidal? Lucian's Espeon communicated, licking his paw.

Only when it pertains to my father.

Strange. I thought humans were attached to their parents.

Not him. His own body killed him before I could, what a shame.

It was a little unnerving when he told the other instructors that there would be no proper service like there was for his mother, not that it was a particularly big one since his father said it was a psychics-only funeral. They still wanted to do something. Lucian just scowled and said to put him in a casket, bury him in a cemetery, and call it a day. Away from his mother's. As his father was lowered into the ground, other psychics that were in attendance would swear in later years that Lucian had let out a chuckle.

And they would be correct.

His father's ashes were in a jar. Something the other psychics that worked with his father had done. They had done it for him.

At the time, Lucian had smiled. "Oh how wonderful. Can I take him now?"

They nodded. Lucian levitated the jar from the table. It was suspended in mid-air.

Lucian's mental hold released. The jar shattered against the cold hard floor. Ashes sprung up and fanned out into a smoky cloud. Lucian's smile grew considerably. He walked out without saying another word, ignoring the looks of the horrified psychics.

And yet for the rest of the day, Lucian's smile didn't waver.

Lucian was no longer smiling the day after, however. The CPC was in his possession, and he had to run it. He didn't want to. He had other goals and aspirations outside of the blasted training center that tortured the few psychics that were in the Sinnoh region. But Lucian did end up running it, because even though he hated his father more than anything, Lucian had the same desire to get a psychic in the Sinnoh League.

Lucian didn't torture them like his father did, and didn't resort to physical pain whenever his students did anything wrong. His students were appreciative of this. Did that mean that Lucian wasn't cold? Absolutely not. Lucian had garnered himself a reputation in the CPC for stringing up the most harsh, versatile, and eloquent insults one could ever hear in their lives - and that was arguably worse than what his father did. Lucian had the natural gift of using his words that would hit you harder than a psychic attack from him, and the fact that he could make his words sound so articulate, soft-spoken, and majestic without using a single swear was borderline criminal.

"I am nauseated and appalled. This is an example of intellectual cowardice, and your unoriginal bland stupidity has activated a migraine. It is not only disgraceful, but deplorable, and my migraine is increasing due to standing in front of such mediocrity. Now get out of my line of vision."

The apprentices knew who his father was, and were really just thankful that they aren't being tortured, so they scattered away. The interesting thing was, Lucian made the CPC better over time. His apprentices were making productive leaps. Surprisingly, Lucian hated this. He didn't want to teach in Canalave City for the rest of his life, because he wanted to achieve the dream his father couldn't to really stick it to him. He realized this in Canalave's Library presently.

"Hello?"

Lucian brought his book down to see a girl around twenty like him, with long blonde hair with accessorial hair clips and a friendly smile. "Is this seat taken?" She gestured to the evidently empty seat across from Lucian. He said nothing. She wasn't from Canalave City, because those who were knew better than to talk to the city's resident head-psychic.

Especially when he was reading.

She sat down anyway and smoothed out her hair. "I'm sorry. Everywhere else is full, and well, I wanted to check out this text - it's so lovely, I hear. I've read a lot about the Lake Guardians, it's quite compelling. And I wanted this edition in particular, and I've been traveling so much collecting badges that I needed a break. I started when I was ten, but I really didn't start collecting badges until this past year - I spent a lot of time before that researching, studying, training with my beloved Pokemon. This city is so beautiful. Of course not as beautiful as Celestic Town, but I have a bias since that's where I was born. Were you born here?"

Lucian blinked.

She cocked her head to the side. "Oh apologies. Are you hard of hearing? I know sign language." Before she could demonstrate, Lucian shook his head signaling to the woman that he heard her. "Mute, are you? That's okay. I can talk enough for the both of us."

Lucian was convinced she could.

"My name is Cynthia," she told him. "I like the book you're reading. I've always wanted to read about psychics, or meet one on my travels, but they're so hard to find in Sinnoh. I have a lot of questions." Lucian could only imagine. Her presence was warm, and oddly, it provided a bit of comfort to him. This was not something that happened often. He levitated the book in front of him to garner a reaction.

And what a reaction he got.

"That was wicked," marveled Cynthia, her eyes wide with excitement. "My, can you do it again please?" He did. "You're amazing."

"...My name is Lucian."

"Oh so you can talk," Cynthia said amusedly, leaning back in her chair. "You're quite the character, Lucian." That's one way of putting it. "Are you a trainer, too? On top of being a psychic? What Pokemon do you have?"

Over the years, Lucian had quite a bit of experience with all sorts of psychic Pokemon due to the CPC. There was his first one, his Alakazam, then there was his Espeon that helped him whenever he had nightmares about his father (which he did not tell Cynthia) then his Bronzong, Mr. Mime, and a Gallade - he's had these Pokemon for a decade.

When he's finished, Cynthia stared in disbelief. "How many badges have you gotten?"

"One, from here."

"One?" Cynthia squawked, nearly jumping out of her chair. "Are you mad? How do you not have more?"

"There's an institution in Canalave City for psychics, and I run it," explained Lucian. "I can't leave."

"Leave the place in charge of your least irritating instructor," shrugged Cynthia, and Lucian let out a genuine smile at that. It would be a very difficult decision. That is, if he followed her advice. "You've had your Pokemon for a decade, you're a psychic specialist - that's future gym leader material, or even... even an elite."

Lucian crossed his arms. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. You haven't seen me battle."

"I have a feeling you're good." When Cynthia then told Lucian her team, how long she had them for, Lucian's eyebrows rose in shock. He got a feeling that she was good, too - especially if she had a damned Garchomp. "But I'm not going to battle you right now, because I'm going to have that chance to battle you in the Sinnoh League. You'll be the first elite in the Sinnoh League that specializes in psychic-types."

Lucian rolled his eyes. "So you're saying you'll be facing off with me if, hypothetically, I'm an elite?" Why was she so positive about this?

"Precisely. You know why? Because I'm going to be the champion," Cynthia said with such certainty that Lucian couldn't help but believe her. "I have other things to do before I do that, however. Hm... I can trust you," Then she leaned in closer with a catlike grin, and Lucian could feel his face flush. "Would you like to know a secret?" He nodded.

She told him. She leaned in even closer and cupped his ear to whisper into it, her full plan, her full mapped out glorious plan on how to make a better Sinnoh, and how she would be the one to do it. At the details, Lucian couldn't help but grin. It would definitely take a while, and it would definitely cause quite a stir.

He was looking forward to it.

"In the meantime," Cynthia began, returning to her seat and speaking at a normal volume: "Take on the gyms, then the elite four. Maybe you can become the champion and take over - but don't be surprised if I come in and snatch your spot. You'll get a spot as an elite, I can feel it, like... fate, almost."

Lucian did not believe in fate, but perhaps he was reconsidering his preconceived notions.

Cynthia frowned. "Actually, do me a favor." Lucian was hanging onto every single word the woman said, "...only tell Bertha, about my plan. That is, when you get the elite position. She's the reason I'm doing this, you know - everything. She's brilliant."

"...Okay."

"I must be going now," Cynthia told him breezily, rising from her chair. She shot a smile in his direction. "I just realized I have to meet with my grandmother. Lucian, I look forward to working with you in the League." Then she departed the library. Lucian watched her go. Only when she was out of sight completely did Lucian reach his decision.

He went to Orebourgh first. Byron seemed like a nice gym leader overall, and asked how many badges he had. Lucian figured that most trainers that had gone up to him from Sinnoh had said none, so when Lucian said that he had a badge from Canalave - this made him raise his eyebrows.

Nonetheless, the match started after getting his one-badge team, and nearly fell over once his Pokemon were taken out in less than five minutes - courtesy of communicating telepathically to his Pokemon. It's a dirty trick. Lucian couldn't care less.

Byron handed him the badge, before stating in complete bewilderment: "I thought you had only one badge?" Lucian did. That wasn't a lie. Well maybe now that was a lie, as he earned his second badge.

Eterna followed after. They have a new leader this time, and it's not surprising considering that Eterna's gym was one of the more unstable ones out of the eight. It's also not shocking that the woman lost so quickly, due to her inexperience.

Veilstone was also one of those, and before he even fought him Lucian knew he was going to win. Terribly inexperienced and squeamish. Lucian had the advantage here against the fighting-type gym, and the gym leader goes down faster than the last one. A shame, really.

Pastoria provided a bit of a challenge. Originally, before Lucian entered, he thought how absurd it was the league hired a damn wrestler. Now, he understood why. Wake was good, no doubt about that, but it's still not close enough to beat Lucian.

Hearthrome was the home of Pokemon contests in Sinnoh, and everyone was kind of just going crazy over this coordinator named Fantina – so no one cared about the gym leader. Lucian didn't care either, even if the gym leader had an advantage against his Pokemon. A special and physical wall from Mr. Mime would do the trick, and his Alakazam switching out to use shadow ball earned Lucian his next badge. Snowpoint was challenging, as was Sunyshore, but before Lucian knew it he had all eight badges and was ready to take on the elite four.

Pascal's poison types were of no match against Lucian's psychic's, and the man watched helplessly as his beloved Crobat – the last of his five Pokemon – went down. Lucian tried not to roll his eyes, because the man could've at least tried to have a Skuntank on his team. Why didn't he have a Skuntank?

Ferro was... interesting, to say the least. The fire-type specialist seemed a little wired, not unlike those miscreants that roamed Sunyshore City high-as-a-kite. He, too, was reduced to having none of his Pokemon left.

That being said, Lucian moved onto the third room.

The Sinnoh League had received many calls from their gym leaders, informing the elites about a particularly strong psychic-type user that managed to wipe through their gyms with ease. A lot of them voiced their complaints to Bertha, because the boy started off with one badge and Byron had stated his team did not seem like a one gym badge. The boy had started his journey... rather late, Bertha thought. But because his Pokemon were so well trained that he was able to get through the Sinnoh League very quickly in a matter of a few months. He wasn't an underground trainer, so this raised even more questions.

Speaking of the Grand Underground, Byron voiced his complaints about the many trainer's schools grievances regarding the issue of having their trainers travel to the underground by each trainer school's signature Kadabra. The Kadabra tired out more easily in comparison to when they first started. Getting trainers to go back and forth was exhausting.

Bertha tried not to think about that presently, because she had a challenger to face standing in front of her.

They said his name was Lucian. He bore a certain resemblance to someone she once knew and cared for. Long purple wavy hair, violet eyes, the fact that she heard that he specialized in psychic Pokemon. And he looked so... so...

...Oh Arceus, there was a book tucked under his arm.

Bertha shook her head. It was merely a coincidence, surely. "Hello dear," she told him warmly. "I'm Bertha, of the Elite Four."

He didn't say anything back. Bertha frowned.

"I recognize that title," Bertha pointed out the book in Lucian's hands. Maybe this would get him to talk. He wasn't smiling, but Lucian's eyes – that were the spitting image of... her – lit up, the way that her old friend would get whenever she finished a novel and couldn't wait to tell Bertha about it, but it just couldn't be because there's no possible way...

And that's when he said it.

"I've just finished reading this book. It was quite a good read."

That was Adelaide's son, without a doubt.

Bertha tried her best not to let it show. Clearing her throat, she replied: "Let's start the battle, I hope you can handle the power of my ground-type Pokemon, young man."

The battle started with Bertha sending out her Quagsire, and just when she thought she was over this realization of hers, she saw what Pokemon Lucian opened the battle with and her heart nearly stopped. An Espeon. The boy had an – Bertha was surely about to have a stroke right now. He was communicating telepathically with his Pokemon, but Bertha knew how to combat such trainers. He put up a good fight, and Arceus, he battled just like her too. The battle ended with one trainer having two Pokemon remaining.

Bertha looked at him who appeared resigned. "Your league challenge ends here," she told him. Lucian nodded and mumbled his thanks, bowing slightly, and he was about to leave the room. The words are out of Bertha's mouth before she could help it.

"You are... so much like your mother."

Lucian halted his steps at the door.

First and foremost, Lucian was used to being compared to his father. The psychics would whisper that he was Lester Darrow incarnate, except without the violence and torture. Lucian knew he could be harsh, strict, and a totalitarian when it came to running the CPC. They despised him as much as they admired him.

Not once was Lucian told he was like his mother. Not even the librarians would remark that he took after her in reading ability, her love of knowledge and books, as well as enjoying a game of chess. No one would dare bring up Lucian's mother, as if it was an unspoken rule by the citizens and psychics of Canalave after she died. So no, people never told them that they were alike.

Until now. By a member of Sinnoh's elite four.

"...We have no more challengers coming in for the day," Bertha added, with a light smile. "Care to take a walk with me outside?" There was no way in hell Lucian was going to say no. Not after mentioning his mother. First they went to heal their Pokemon. Then they began their stroll outside the league. His Espeon spent the entire time on Lucian's shoulders, though occasionally glanced in Bertha's direction.

They walk was silent for about two minutes until Lucian broke it.

"You knew my mother?"

Bertha stopped and nodded, so Lucian stopped too. "When I was starting out as a trainer, Sinnohnian trainers were nasty even then. I was with her, we were partners, and we protected each other from those trainers. Then after a while, she left without a trace. I heard that she died in a plane crash. I wanted to go to the funeral, but..."

"My father wouldn't let anyone that wasn't a psychic in," Lucian cut in, with bitterness.

"Yes."

"And then he died when I was seventeen, but that's no loss," Lucian went on, uncertain as to why. There was just something about Bertha that made her easy to open up to. But he did leave out the part that he was dreaming for that day to come, for his father to die. The urge to pour oil on him and light a match and call it a day. "He left me the Canalave Psychic Conservatory. He ran it. It was terrible."

"I could imagine."

Lucian glared at her. "No, you can't. I was left the CPC when I was seventeen after both my parents died. What were you doing at seventeen?"

Something in Bertha's eyes flashed. "Seventeen, you say?" He didn't respond. Bertha let out an exhale. "I was set to be married to a man almost twice my age in The Original One's Church, found a history book and realized my whole life was a lie, and escaped with a few hundred pokedollars and two old balls while still being on the run."

Silence.

"You were an Arceonist?"

"There's a reason the Floaroma Raid was done shortly after I became an elite."

Lucian said nothing for a while, and diverted the topic. "...What was my mother like?"

Bertha told him. She told him how Adelaide was the first person she confessed to being an ex-Arceonist and never judged her for it. She told him that his mother had remarked that if any of them tried to find and hurt Bertha she would smite them down herself. She told him that it was she that opened up her world in education, that it was technically because of her that there were more books and schools scattered across Sinnoh. She loved reading. Always was reading. She loved chess more. She told him her fears, her dreams, and her aspirations. She was afraid of the dark and slept with a lit candle beside her. She wanted to be a chess champion. Bertha said she always lost when she played chess against her but always won in Pokemon battles. She told him how she was kind.

Lucian doesn't cry. He just had allergies, thank you very much. Stupid pollen.

You're warming up to her already, Espeon marveled.

Am not. I don't warm up to people.

...You just did.

"...I can fix the underground problem," Lucian revealed. Bertha's eyebrows shot up.

Espeon looked smug. Told you.

...No comment.

"Some of the teachers in Canalave's Trainer School filled me in. I have the ability to teleport from my current location to a specific place by touching an object via pattern. I inherited the ability from my father. My family escaped the war by specializing in teleportation, but the other psychic families in Sinnoh weren't so lucky because they couldn't. There's a reason the CPC curriculum places a heavy emphasis on teleportation. I could do it, if I get something in return."

Silence.

"The moment that an elite spot opens up," Bertha began calmly, "I'll push for you to get it." Lucian's eyes went wide. "And no, it isn't because of Adelaide. Sinnoh is due for a psychic elite since the ban was lifted, and I have invested too much into this dream of mine to build a better Sinnoh."

Bertha wasn't finished yet. "Do you know why I have that in mind?" Lucian shook his head. "Retribution. I am not interested in a war like the last one between our region and the Indigo league, but the LNS would give us a chance to redeem ourselves. If Kanto is going to set up a system like that, it would only be right if we had a seat at the table. I'm sure you've read all about the war, and the terrible things that had happened to our side, how we were hit the hardest."

Lucian did know. He heard stories. Read them, too. Terrible ones.

"Lucian, I have seen and heard many people die in my lifetime, I could tell you stories. I don't want anything like that to happen again in Sinnoh. The LNS is our only chance of retribution." Bertha looked at him. "Take that as you will, and I'm sure you can figure out what to next while you wait for a spot to open up."

Lucian took the hint.

They parted ways, and Lucian immediately traveled to take on Johto's gyms. Just to get slightly ahead of the curve before Bertha could get him into the league, and something strange happened when he stepped out of his own region for the first time. He felt anger. His father's voice echoed in his brain along with the text of the history books that he had read that discussed the war between the Indigo and Sinnoh League, and the horrible atrocities committed by the other side. He remembered Bertha's words, on why she was so adamant and invested so much into making the Sinnoh League the best it could be. He thought of Cynthia, who wanted the same.

Violet City was first, and the flying-type gym leader didn't stand a chance.

"Did you know," Lucian began to the gym leader, who was wide-eyed at how fast he was going to be beaten, down to his last Pokemon, "...in a book I read, that during the Indigo-Sinnoh war Johtonian soldiers ambushed Sinnohnians by burning down a hospital in Floaroma killing many women and children?"

"Wh...what?" Lucian commanded his Medicham to use fire punch, ending the match. The gym leader got the message.

Retribution.

Lucian stopped at Azalea Town next. Bug-types didn't scare him. Nothing did. Nothing ever since his father died.

"Did you know," Lucian started again, undaunted by the bug-specialist's utter disbelief at her about to lose, "...in a book I read, that during the Indigo-Sinnoh war, psychics in Sinnoh were held for ransom and had their eyes gouged to see if they were different from a Kantonian or Johtonian psychic's eyes?"

The gym leader's eyes went wide with fear, like those psychics were, back then. Lucian proceeded to order his Alakazam to use psychic, ending the match. She got the message.

Retribution.

Then it was Goldenrod City that had normal-types. At this point, Lucian was glad that Sinnoh's gym leaders were better because what the hell.

"Did you know," remarked Lucian, unaffected by the normal-type gym leader's look of shock, "...in a book I read, during the Indigo-Sinnoh war, Kantonians and Johtonians blew up Iron Island for the sole purpose of testing out their bomb – killing forty seven trainers?"

"...I... I didn't know that." Lucian told a Lunatone he had acquired in Lake Acuity to use an explosion attack, ending the match. She got the message.

Retribution.

Then Ecruteak's, then Cianwood's, and then Olivine's. Every single gym reminding Lucian of an atrocity, and how Lucian felt much better by defeating each gym in an ironic but symbolic way. By the time he was about to face off with the Icy Pryce bastard of Mahogany, did Lucian receive a phone call to come back to Sinnoh. And that was retribution.

Pascal had to step down to wouldn't be coming back due to health issues. It was sad, Bertha thought, considering Pascal was arguably the least awful in terms of personality in comparison to the other elites, though that wasn't saying much. She, along with Spyro, Pascal, Ferro, and Axel had to discuss on who Pascal's replacement would be.

The four men seemed to have forgotten about the deal they had made regarding when Byron was instated as the Orebourgh gym leader.

Bertha had not. She told them who she wanted.

"No," was what all four of them had said collectively.

"We need a psychic in the Sinnoh League."

"I agree, but not him," cut in Ferro.

"Really, now? Is it because he beat you?" inquired Bertha, with a cheeky grin. "We need younger blood in here, anyway."

"Is that your plan?" scoffed Axel. "Pick us apart, one-by-one, so you'll have younger elites that'll listen to you?"

...Pretty much, yes. That was what Bertha had in mind, but what they failed to realize was that she was right about ninety-nine percent of the time.

"For someone who goes on and on about the 'Sinnoh League Boys Club', it's strange you'd want the next elite to be a man," snapped Pascal.

"He's smarter than you lot put together," Bertha replied crossly.

Spyro scowled. "Insulting us is not going to get us on your side, Bertha. No matter how smart Lucian is."

"He ran the CPC," Bertha told him. "Starting at just seventeen. He's brilliant, and we're due for a psychic in the league. I know the LNS states that psychics must be in the third or fourth slot of an elite position as apart of our agreement to let them in, and I'll gladly move down to second."

Spyro's eyebrows shot up. "You'd be willing to move down a slot for him?"

"Yes."

He eyed her. "There's... something you aren't telling us." Bertha said nothing, so Spyro went on: "Something personal." Again, Bertha didn't reply. "How do you know him?"

"I knew his mother, I never knew him," Bertha told them. She was met with groans. "Be quiet. Like you haven't put your friends into the league. Besides, I haven't forgotten about our deal." This time, she let out a smile that almost matched Agatha's. Almost, though. "You four owe me, big time."

"It's not going to happen," pressed Ferro angrily. "No way, no how." In response, Bertha gave him a sharp look.

Approximately three hours later Pascal had left.

The psychic looked at his new co-workers with a tinge of apprehensiveness that only Bertha picked up on. Fair enough, because Lucian was the very first psychic elite ever, not just in Sinnoh's elite four. Bertha gave him an encouraging smile, which he returned lightly. She was happy, but the others were not.

"Don't think you've gotten out of whatever piteous sob-story life you had that Bertha bought into," Ferro snapped at him. "She may like you, but Axel and I have seniority over her. If you screw up even once we will alert Spyro and he will throw your ass back to the shithole you came from."

Bertha flashed him an angry look, and then looked back at Lucian. "Tell them what you told me."

"What?" squawked Ferro. Lucian furrowed his brows.

"About the underground issue, Lucian," pressed Bertha.

"Oh right. I can fix the problem with the Kadabra to get to the Grand Underground." The men stared at him. "I have the ability to teleport from my current location to a specific place by touching an object."

Spyro's eyebrows shot up in interest. Ferro and Axel leaned into their chairs, also intrigued. They called Byron up right away.

Lucian had requested that before Byron arrived in the league building to bring items that the miners used when they entered the Grand Underground. Byron brought him a map, a pickaxe, and a hammer. Lucian only had eyes for the map. He said that if he could get hundreds of copies of them, Lucian could use his powers to make sure that making a star pattern across the map by hand would transport you to the underground and in a zone based on your location above Sinnoh.

It would take a few months, but he could have the maps sent to every trainer's school to avoid straining the Kadabra. In the Grand Underground, these would be known as Explorer's Kits - and Lucian was credited with the invention. In Sinnoh, this would push the trainers to go into the Grand Underground far more often, and it was quicker too. Spirit Breaker Below now had a better access system.

Needless to say, Ferro, Axel, and Spyro respected him a little more after that.

Lucian and Bertha were left alone. That's when Lucian remembered Cynthia, who had predicted this moment of him becoming an elite. Perhaps she had some clairvoyance she wasn't aware of. "I have to tell you something," Lucian told her. "About a woman named Cynthia, she has a plan." Lucian repeated the plan to Bertha like Cynthia had requested. The older woman's eyes grew wide with every word, along with her smile.

That very day, something forged between Bertha and Lucian, something that others in the Sinnoh League in later years would cheekily refer to as a relationship being between the professionalism that came with being colleagues, yet had similarities that of mother and son.

A week later, Lucian stepped in front of his father's grave that was as far away from his mother's as possible. He let his stare linger on the grave; there would be no flowers for him. Lucian's psychic abilities did not consist of communicating to the dead. That was a myth, as psychics did not possess such abilities - he wasn't a medium of some sort.

But oh, if he was...

He spoke to the tombstone anyway. The first ever psychic elite crouched down, and leaned in: "I did it," he sneered, "I did what you never could."

Then Lucian spat on the grave and walked out of the cemetery.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21- Bruno

Bruno Hefner was at the right place at the right time, with the right drive.

He picked the right day to not be at the Saffron City fighting-gym. In fact, he told Walter after defeating him that he wanted to go on his own journey. Bruno was twenty-three years old at the time, and had been training under his thumb since he was a small child. Walter had been strict, but being an orphan had shaped Bruno for tougher roads ahead. It's not Bruno's fault that his parents had died when he was three leaving him in the ward of the state. There were plenty of orphanages in Kanto, and a lot of times gym leaders would handpick kids there to take in because even kids at young ages knew they weren't high hopes for them to do well in the future, so gym leaders were their saving graces.

Bruno picked the right time to be there, too. Bruno raised hell in that orphanage, and every now and then, he would have to take a beating. Those who ran the orphanage were far from friendly and cuddly. Walter had taken interest in the angry, young five-year-old orphan that had the desire to punch things. Usually the ones who ran the orphanage were great punching bags, according to the kid. Therefore, Walter told them he would take the furious child off their hands. They gladly complied. Bruno would take it to the grave that he hated how happy they sounded, but it was fine though. At least somebody wanted him. Walter saw potential in him. That was good enough for Bruno.

Fast forward sixteen years later, Bruno had defeated Walter, that morning, and left with the intention to defeat the other gym leaders in Kanto.

Not even three hours later, did Bruno find out that the gym was destroyed.

How did a thirteen-year-old girl make everything go to shit so quickly? The thing was, Bruno later learned, that it wasn't so quickly. Sabrina Harlow wanted vengeance for her people and planned it for five years, and Bruno could understand that. Back when the massacre happened, it was Bruno that tried to tell Walter that they should fight. To do something. To help the psychics. Walter wouldn't let him. Bruno was sixteen and was still under the karate master's thumb because that's all Bruno really knew what to do, and technically still a child. But in a way, Bruno felt he owed something to the man that had taken him in.

After the gym takeover, Bruno went to Johto for a bit and decided to steer clear from Kanto for the time being. It was arguably the best decision he had ever made. Of course, over the years, Walter had taught Bruno about the art of meditation - something to even out his temper, which had worked out mostly for the best. Every now and then however, Bruno would erupt - almost like that sad, abandoned little orphan boy. Bruno would flat-out deny that comparison if anyone were to bring it up, despite Bruno agreeing with it.

But Bruno's temper evened out fully when he was in Johto and gotten all eight badges. He didn't know exactly why that was, nor did he really care, but Bruno was the happiest he'd ever been in a while. Cianwood City was his favorite place to go to because he had fun sparring against some fighting-type trainers he ran into there. Bruno always won. To be fair though, Bruno had always regarded Johtonians as somewhat weak. But they nonetheless produced the greatness known as Lance Arrax, and Bruno was a person that admired strength more than anything else. Most Kantonians did. While other regions placed a value on education or tricks in Pokemon battles, Kantonians placed a value on sheer strength and persistence and that evidently paid off by being first place and undefeated in their system, as they have for years.

Bruno intended to go to take on the Indigo League. He spent a long time steering clear and remaining in Johto. Especially in Cianwood City. Oh, how he loved Cianwood City.

"Hey!"

But then an annoying beefy man ran up to him, though it would've been more accurate to say that he was a boy - his complexion bore some youth to it. He couldn't have been much younger than Bruno. Perhaps the boy was around fifteen, sixteen, maybe? Bruno hadn't a clue. Did they spar before? No, no Bruno would've remembered that.

"Hello," Bruno greeted. "Do I know you?"

"You do know me," pressed the kid, then he faltered. "Uh, I know you, actually. People in Cianwood say you have fighting type Pokemon that you spar with... and you win." The rumors were true. "Do you think..." Now, the boy almost looked downright afraid of him. "...you can take me on as your apprentice?"

Bruno stared. He hadn't had an apprentice before, really. In fact, Bruno just ended his own apprenticeship with Walter. Would it be strange to take on a student?

"What's your name?" Bruno asked.

"Chuck."

"Well, Chuck, I don't take just any student willy-nilly..." Okay, technically not a lie, though it would be accurate to say Bruno didn't take on students at all. "...I have to test their strengths. Their abilities." That was what Walter did, right? Honestly, Bruno didn't know what he was doing, and why he was entertaining the idea. "Then I make a decision."

Bruno asked Chuck to come at him with the intention to kill. It's what Walter had asked him to do back when he was a kid, and Bruno was glad at the time that for once, someone would give him a chance to fight without any repercussions. Bruno doesn't hold back, only because the kid had a large-build, and he had the feeling that the kid could spar well. Bruno was right. Chuck did exactly what Bruno asked, trying to hit him at every opportunity. Bruno easily blocked the kid's punches, but admittedly they hit a lot harder than Bruno expected them to. That alone helped Bruno reach his decision.

"Alright, I'll take you on." Chuck's face lit up with glee it was almost comical. "Though I have a condition, you have to do exactly what I say."

They went back to Saffron City, and to Bruno's surprise, the fighting-type gym seemed to be rebuilt. Except it wasn't a gym, but a dojo. Bruno requested a meeting with the teenage girl. Sabrina basically told Bruno that out of the goodness of her heart, she allowed fighting-type specialists to have their own dojo. Bruno really suspected that it was because Agatha had demanded her to allow black-belts to at least train.

"And who's this?" Sabrina asked, glancing over to Chuck. The teenager faltered. Sabrina's Alakazam's eyes were starting to glow from beside her, until Sabrina gave her Pokemon a simple look. The glowing eyes vanished after that. She turned to Bruno. "Please don't mind Alakazam, he's rather protective. Now who's this boy?"

"Ignore him. Just a student of mine," said Bruno. Chuck scoffed at this response. Sabrina stared at the older man, and Bruno couldn't help but feel a chill. He only got a chill like this twice in his life. Arceus, he picked the right day to leave Saffron City. "I want to assure that there's no bad blood between us. I can make sure that the dojo has no intention of taking over your gym, and that's a promise."

He held his hand out for the girl to shake.

Sabrina eyed it, then: "I know there won't be. Because you won't win even if you tried to take over." And Bruno believed her. "But my hatred no longer lies with you brutes, it is only toward those dark-type specialists. I don't care what that Sidney in Hoenn has to say. Him and his family, evil, the lot of them."

"Chuck, wait outside," Bruno ordered. And because Chuck followed that one condition, he left the gym. Sabrina raised an eyebrow. "I wanted to do something then. When I was here, in Saffron City, because I understand." Comprehension dawned on the psychic's face. "Please don't turn me into a doll, I've heard rumors."

"You... wanted to do something then," Sabrina reiterated. Bruno nodded. "And why didn't you?"

"Walter wouldn't let me, and I'm sorry."

It fell quiet.

The psychic watched him carefully. After a full minute, did she speak again: "You should have disobeyed him. But your words are genuine, I can feel it."

Bruno didn't want to ask how nor why. "I'd like to work with you. I can teach your psychic Pokemon fighting-type moves to combat dark-types. Are you interested?"

Sabrina's eyes gleamed. "Yes. If you can do that, I'll let you run the dojo."

"Who's running it now?"

Perhaps it was Bruno's imagination, but he swore he saw the girl give a hint of a smile. "You don't need to worry about that."

The man, like Walter, had mysteriously vanished a day later.

And so, Bruno ran the dojo in Saffron City while Sabrina remained as the gym leader in peace. Before Bruno's interference, the two places that co-existed next to each other had been tense, which in turn made the citizens of the city tense, as if war was about to break out between the two at any moment. Bruno was the one that put his foot forward to ensure that nothing bad would happen between the two areas. Sure, that technically meant Bruno had to listen to Sabrina talk about her disdain for dark-type specialists, and nod along despite not really caring for those trainers. The prejudice was set in stone, unsurprisingly due to her parents being murdered by two of them. Bruno could understand.

Bruno's students at the dojo were testing his patience. Except for Chuck. That was because he did exactly as Bruno said. Chuck had learned that the more you listened to Bruno, the more you would last longer in a spar. Bruno knew why the black belts were so disgruntled; he had replaced their old master. They could cry about it all they wanted, it was Bruno who had more skill, he was sure of it. It's not arrogance, not really, but how many trainers could spar against their own Machamp and win the battle? Turns out, not many.

Bruno grinned at his Machamp. "Good battle. You're getting stronger." His Machamp let out a roar of happiness. Bruno could always count on him. Always. Machamp was arguably the best sparrer out of all his fighting-types... likely due to his four arms. He kept Bruno sharp, focused, and alert.

When the other black belts would go to sleep, it was Bruno who was sparring until midnight. Bruno was always the first to rise, and the last to go to sleep. The others wondered how the man could survive with little to no rest. If Bruno wasn't sparring with his Pokemon, or his students, then he would be reading about Galar karate. Despite the stereotype about karate trainers being functionally illiterate baboons, Bruno immersed himself in any book about karate that Saffron's library would have to offer.

Sabrina was there frequently. While most trainers were petrified of her, Bruno was among the few that wasn't. At least, not completely. There was a part of Bruno that had a protectiveness over her not that she really needed it. He had told her that if any trainer gave her a hard time then to send them to his dojo, especially any dark-type trainers and that he had her back. It was mostly because he didn't want Sabrina to use her powers on a trainer and cause her gym leader status to be revoked. At first he only did this to ensure peace between the two areas, but in time, Bruno really did grow to care for her. He felt like an older sibling, and he had never had siblings before. He liked it.

"Are you going to Galar, then?" Sabrina mused in the library. Bruno peered from his book. "You're always reading about their techniques."

"Mm, no."

"Then what are you planning to do? Run the dojo forever?"

"Originally I wanted to see if I could become the champion."

"Originally. Now what?"

"Become a gym leader. Not here, not here," Bruno was quick to say under Sabrina's glare. See, he was still a bit afraid of her. "If a position in any of the other cities opens up. Or if an elite four position pops up. Then, I could have Chuck take over the dojo."

Sabrina raised an eyebrow. "You trust Chuck?"

"He's not as aloof as you think he is."

The psychic doesn't appear to be convinced. "Hm. Oh by the way, Agatha's stopping by tonight."

Bruno's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Why?"

"Gym checks."

"She warns you ahead of time?" Bruno asked, frowning. Usually Agatha's gym checks were an element of surprise. Bruno knew this firsthand whenever Agatha stopped by what was once the fighting-type gym of Saffron City.

"She thinks I have visions, so there's no point in hiding it from me." The psychic allowed a mischievous grin. "I don't specialize in clairvoyance. Well, I do have visions - just not in the way you think I do. It's always random and obscure, and sometimes it's not entirely accurate."

"Do you think you'll pass?" Bruno already knew the answer, despite inquiring this.

"Yes. She always lets me pass."

"Arceus, that woman is terrifying."

"...She can be," Sabrina agreed lightly.

"Let me know how it goes afterwards," Bruno told her before leaving the library.

Bruno was always at the right place at the right time, it seemed. It's why Walter had taken him in as a student after he had tried attacking the karate master with the intent to kill like he was told to. It's why he was able to escape Sabrina's wrath that very morning when he was eighteen. It's why Bruno was able to take on Chuck as a student and became his right hand man in time. It's why Bruno was able to even befriend Sabrina and have him run the dojo. The Butterfree Effect was an interesting phenomenon.

Bruno punching Walter when he was five-years-old lead to him to come face-to-face with Agatha of the Indigo league at twenty-five. It was after league hours and she showed up at his dojo. And she was accompanied by Sabrina. Funny thing, the Butterfree Effect.

Agatha didn't even look at him, instead, her eyes went to Sabrina. "So this is the one you've decided to have run the dojo without my consent?" Oh, fuck. "Sabrina, I told you countless times that if you're going to make these changes to Saffron City, then I'd like you to consult me first."

"He's not an idiot. The other one was an idiot."

"Whether or not the other one was an idiot, isn't necessarily up to you," Agatha scolded mildly. It was like Bruno wasn't even there. "Next time, let me know about these things. For now, I'll allow it - because it seems as though things are peaceful between the two areas."

"...So I'm guessing you passed?" inquired Bruno, to Sabrina. Agatha and Sabrina stared at him. To have two terrifying women glare at you like that was unnerving. Bruno wouldn't be surprised if these two were the most terrifying people in Kanto, maybe the world, if you believed the rumors.

"I did."

"That's good."

"...Bruno, is it?" Agatha inquired. Bruno could only nod. Agatha didn't respond for several seconds. "Let's have a word." Shit, shit, shit. What did he do? What didn't he do? Sabrina left the dojo, leaving Agatha and Bruno alone. "Sabrina speaks very highly of you." Bruno couldn't reply. He dare not breathe improperly, or breathe at all. "She says that you've taught her psychic-types some fighting-type moves to combat dark-types. You've been watching over her."

Bruno found his voice. "It's the least I could do."

"Because you feel guilty."

Beat.

"...Yes," admitted Bruno. "I feel guilty."

"Well, don't. Don't feel guilty. You have nothing to be guilty of. What you do have to be guilty of is explain how you've gotten eight badges from Johto and you have not once tried to challenge the Indigo League." Bruno stared at the woman, unable to form the words that he could say. First of all, how did she- "I've had Lance run your name through the database and your trainer ID had come up, revealing you had gotten eight badges from Johto." -oh. "And before you ask, yes. I do have Lance do most of the dirty work."

Ah.

"It's because I want a job as an elite or a gym leader," Bruno said. Because it would be easier to get a job as an elite and occasionally challenge the champion from there. Anyone who was good enough to become an elite could potentially become the champion. Bruno believed in working smart as well as working hard; and social climbing his way up in league status was the way to go. He's heard about gym leaders in the past that have been promoted to elites, and those elites would frequently challenge the champion.

"I know. Sabrina let that slip to me." Damn it, Sabrina. "Well... I have some good news and some bad news. Since I'm not a monster, I'll let you decide between which one you want to hear first."

"Uh... um..."

"Spit it out, or else I'll make that decision for you."

"Bad news."

"Okay. The bad news is that I don't have any openings right now for a gym leader or an elite." Just like that, Bruno's hopes shattered. "The good news is, an opening for an elite may be available in less than a year or so. Now..." Agatha's face turned more serious, as if that were possible. "...I'd like to see you challenge the Indigo League within that time before I could even consider you. Sabrina may speak highly of you, but you don't get extra points because of that. There are plenty of other trainers that Sergei could seek out to get that elite spot. So see how far you can get into the Pokemon League."

"So I am being considered?" Bruno asked hopefully.

"You child, listen when I talk. I said I would consider you if you challenged the league."

"...Okay. When could I challenge the league?"

"As soon as you can," Agatha cut in sternly, then she rolled her eyes. "Arceus, what kind of question is that?"

"...Not a smart one?"

"Right, right. I'm going to leave you now, and I expect to see you as soon as possible," said Agatha, then as she walked away she started to rant: "I swear, in all my years I never..." Bruno never heard the rest of that since she exited the dojo doors. He briefly wondered what the woman was saying, and then decided it would be best if he didn't ask.

"Hyper beam, Dragonite!" Lance ordered to Bruno's last Pokemon, which was a Machamp. Bruno fought hard, he really did fight hard, but it was no match against the superiority that was Lance's precious dragon-types. Okay, half of them weren't dragon-types, but not all dragon Pokemon were of the dragon-type. Yes, Lance knew it made no sense when explaining that to those Nugget Bridge trainers but to dragon-tamers it did. No one could understand the complexity of dragons, not even the Nugget Bridgers.

Still, Bruno was a strong trainer if he managed to get past Bolt and Roland, and if Bruno had taken out two of Lance's Pokemon. Then again, this was the fifth time Bruno had challenged the league - and each time, he was stopped by Lance. The dragon-elite picked up on Bruno's pushy style of battling - though it was forceful with brutal strength, it still had that calmness about him. Though Lance did sense some frustration on Bruno's end, he dare not show it.

"I'm sorry Bruno," Lance told him earnestly. He genuinely liked the fighting-type specialist. "But your league challenge ends here." Bruno gave him a slight bow (which, Lance thought was a bit excessive considering they had to be around the same age) before he left.

Lance turned to his Dragonite with a grin, petting his snout. "You did a good job today."

His Dragonite gave a cry of affirmation.

"Lance, get in here!"

Lance's ears perked up to Agatha's voice, one that he was accustomed to hearing since he started as an elite. She was calling from her chamber room, and she was probably doing that because they had no more challengers to face for the day. When this happened, Agatha would call Lance so they could discuss the latest challengers. This would include Bruno. In fact, he was the topic of interest of the day, like the other times Bruno had challenged them. Lance recalled his Dragonite and walked into Agatha's room.

Lance genuinely liked working with Agatha. Sure, sometimes he was annoyed with the tasks she threw in his direction, and sometimes her temper was a bit much (Lance got really lucky that one time he managed to dodge a book that she meant to aim at Bolt, but missed), but overall, the woman's strategic mind was something else. Not only did Agatha help him as a battler, but she was sure to help him with other duties surrounding being an elite. Which brought us to...

"Okay," started off Agatha, "You've watched me hire a gym leader before, and you managed not to faint on the spot, so I commend you for that." Lance tried not to roll his eyes, and it was a wise decision on his part. "So, now you get to learn about something else - hiring an elite."

Lance raised a brow. "Isn't that a champion thing?"

"It's complicated. Usually, like with gyms, it's the champion who has to approve who becomes a league member. Most of the time, it's the person who's leaving their post who gets to have the most say in who should replace them. That's the tradition. Most of the time."

"But you mostly decide everything."

"Because I know what's best for the Indigo League," Agatha replied crossly. Lance believed her. "I don't know what on earth is going on in Hoenn. How they let Sinnoh pass them, I will never know. Even with Sinnoh's Underground, it's still awful about how little Hoenn cares about battling that they let themselves get to last place, and I will not let Kanto and Johto fall into that trap. That's why we need to choose competent people for our league, because that's precisely what Bertha is doing."

Lance's eyebrows shot up. "You think that's how Lucian got hired?"

"Yes. I also think it's because they took inspiration from Sabrina. It doesn't matter though, because I'm sure that when it comes to their individual psychic powers, Sabrina would crush him like a bug. Anyway, between you and I - Sergei has no sense on who should be hired as an elite or gym leader, and usually leaves that task to me."

"Is that why you hate Giovanni?" Agatha blinked, and Lance was surprised she didn't kick him out on the spot. "I heard Sergei wanted to hire him. You don't speak to him in meetings, and you send me to do his gym checks. Oh, and you told me that if he tries to talk to me then I have your full permission to murder him. So I kind of just assumed."

"My point still stands, use context clues," scowled Agatha. "Now, Bolt is going to retire-"

"That explains why you're so upbeat lately," Lance pointed out. He could see Agatha holding back a grin, but her stare hardened. "Er, right. Sorry. Continue."

"-so we need to make a case for the person that's set to replace him. Now, Lance, is there anyone you have in mind? Because I most certainly do."

Lance furrowed his brows. "What's the point when it's probably going to go your way?"

"It'll be entertaining for me, now do tell."

"Bruno, actually."

"Funny, because that's who I have in mind as well," said Agatha, allowing herself to grin this time. "Now comes the hard part. Which is pushing forward to Sergei, Roland, and especially Bolt about Bruno taking over for him. In prior experience, Roland is the easiest to convince. Sergei is a little harder. Bolt will be the hardest."

"What the hell do you mean Bruno is taking over for me?!"

Lance nervously glanced over at Agatha who was now sighing. "Like I said..." Bolt and Roland entered Agatha's chamber room, the former looking less than pleased and Roland looking exasperated. So a normal day in the Indigo league. All that was missing was Sergei walking in lazily and wondering–

"What is all the noise about?" Ah, there we go. "Agatha, you're consulting Lance before me over making decisions?" Now Lance was a little insulted. Though he had a good relationship with the champion of the Indigo league, he was more than annoyed whenever he made little comments like these.

"I'm teaching him how to play the game," Agatha replied. "Lance and I would like Bruno to take over Bolt's position."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Bolt retorted.

"Okay, let's hear it then. Who would you like to replace you? Anyone you have in mind?" Agatha asked, as if knowing damn well Bolt did not. Case and point, Bolt didn't give an answer, instead staring at Agatha red-faced. "Oh come on. I could come up with an answer for you other than Bruno. Lt. Surge would be a decent pick."

Sergei frowned. "And why Bruno over Lt. Surge?"

"I have asked him a few times." Well, this was new information for Lance. "He doesn't want the position. Broke my heart, really."

"You don't have a heart to break," snapped Bolt. Uh-oh, Lance thought.

Agatha glared at the man. "I was so eager to get rid of you back then but Lt. Surge said no, and replacing you is one of the few joys I get in life. Lt. Surge doesn't have the drive to become a member of the elite four, and Bruno does."

"Um..." Roland's hand went up, albeit hesitantly. "...I'd like Bruno, too." Bolt looked at him in betrayal. "What? He's good! And anyone who has a good relationship with Sabrina and mend the relationship between the dojo and the gym in Saffron should get a position here."

Agatha looked at Lance. "It looks like Roland is making a case for Bruno, as well." Then, she faced the electric-type elite. "Bolt, but unless you have an adequate person you'd like to replace you that actually wants the position, then Bruno is getting the job."

"I'll look through the Kanto-Johto tournament logs, or take a trip to Nugget Bridge-"

"No you won't," Agatha cut in sternly. "You won't. Lance, people like Bolt bluff a lot. He won't do it, he's going to let us take Bruno because he knows he's outnumbered, and the benefits you get as a retired member of the Indigo league are so great that he'll let it happen." Bolt didn't deny it. "So, Lance, be sure to get Bruno for me." Lance nodded.

Bolt snorted. "Arceus, Agatha. You can ask Lance to jump and he'll reply 'How high?' I mean, really." Lance briefly wondered if Agatha was going to prove that then and there, and he was mentally prepared to say no, even though he knew that that's not what would happen in the moment if she did ask him.

But right now, Lance had Bruno to talk to.

Bruno was in the Saffron City dojo accompanied by Sabrina. She was talking to him about a few of her psychics at her institute wanting to take on Bruno's students sometime this week to hone their Pokemon battling skills. Her students at the institute were getting tired of facing psychic Pokemon, over and over, and wanted some variety. Something that the karate trainers at the Saffron City dojo would give them. Bruno could defeat Sabrina's students in a Pokemon battle, despite the latter's advantage. They still wanted to.

"I keep telling them there's no point," Sabrina said, sipping her tea. "You're going to win regardless. They can't even win against me. But alas, they insist."

Bruno let out a hearty chuckle. "So you're making them my problem now?"

Sabrina lifted an amused eyebrow. "Oh don't tell me you don't enjoy fighting your type specialty's weaknesses. This is a win-win, for all of us. And you know it."

The doors to Saffron City dojo opened, revealing Lance walking toward them, holding a folder. The dragon-tamer furrowed his brows in confusion once he saw that Bruno was joined by Sabrina, and swallowed a lump in his throat. Bruno was enthralled by the fact that the third most powerful trainer in the Indigo League was petrified of Sabrina.

"Is there something I can do for you, Lance?" Bruno asked.

"I know why," said Sabrina, looking at Bruno. "Lance is here to hire you. As an elite."

Lance paled. "How did you know I was going to hire Bruno? Is it your clairvoyance?"

Bruno looked at the psychic in complete awe, wondering why the girl hadn't mentioned this far earlier that Lance would be stopping by. Sabrina slowly turned her head from Bruno to face Lance. The dragon-tamer blanched more under her stare. Even Bruno felt a little nervous, anticipating the graphic vision she must've seen in order to have come to this conclusion, and would go into extremely vivid detail. She was well known for it. Had she finally had an accurate vision?

And then Sabrina Harlow said, "...The paper says 'Elite Contract' in bold letters."

Lance looked down at the paper that was sticking out of his folder. "Oh." Bruno held back a snort. "Well, yes. This is for Bruno."

"I would hope so. I have no interests in being an elite," shrugged Sabrina. "Bruno does, however."

"And you know this how?"

"Because I know Bruno. He wants it. He told me."

Lance turned to face Bruno. "You do want it, right? Because if not, I have to go through this whole process again-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll do it. I know Agatha makes you do a bunch of dirty work, and you could use a break," quipped Bruno.

"...He'll fit in nicely," said Sabrina, with a tiny smile. Bruno smiled back.

And so, Bruno went with Lance back to the Indigo Plateau, contract signed, to meet with his new colleagues. Bruno watched Sergei and Agatha whisper about him, in front of him, but Bruno didn't mind. Lance explained to Bruno on the way that Indigo elites had the tendency to do that, especially when it came to scouting new trainers. Indigo elites would go to Nugget Bridge to see potential hotshot trainers and talk about you, right in front of you, and it would take some getting used to.

"Okay," Agatha began, as Sergei tried to open his mouth. "Bruno, you're going to fit nicely in the second slot." Bruno's eyebrows shot up. Agatha allowed a hint of a smile. "Oh? Weren't expecting that, were you? Well, I have someone else in mind for the first slot. I've been reserving that spot for years."

Roland frowned. "I'm not leaving yet, Agatha. And she's not ready. Give the woman time."

"Lorelei's going to be more than ready, when the time comes," said Agatha, with a smirk. Lorelei Isbert? As in, the Lorelei Isbert? Agatha was close with the viral star? Actually no, this wasn't so surprising. This was Agatha, and Agatha scouted legends. Of course the woman would reserve an elite spot for another up and coming legend.

"A couple of things," said Sergei. "We need to ensure that the Saffron dojo and gym still remain in good relations with one another. Bruno, can you keep that us for us?"

"Of course."

Sergei let out a sigh of relief. "Good. Because I refuse to go down to Saffron City, terrifying place it is."

Agatha rolled her eyes. "Arceus, Sergei. Grow a spine. Bruno, as I've told Lance, you better grow a spine if you don't have one. If you don't have one in the Indigo league, you will be replaced so fast that you'll be wondering what the hell happened. Understand me?"

Bruno swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded.

"Well," piped up Lance, smiling. He put a friendly cuff on Bruno's shoulder. "Welcome to the Indigo League."

Chapter Text

Chapter 22- Lenora

Lenora Fentisette was ten-years-old when she realized that Patrat was the cutest Pokemon she laid her eyes on.

She didn't care what the others said. People that called Patrat a 'Rattata-dupe' didn't know what the hell they were talking about. The little Patrat would always show up on Lenora's doorstep since she was eight because she would always feed him bits of food despite her father's warnings that she would make his friends come along for the ride too. They never did. Her father told her that eventually that Patrat would snap and bite her without warning. He never did. Patrat could be temperamental, Lenora heard, but this little Patrat in particular always accepted pats on the head, as well as being pet. Lenora demanded to keep the Patrat, please just please, and after weeks her father relented.

Lenora left Nacrene City for a bit, just to go into the tall grass. There, a Lillipup, a rather temperamental and vicious one for such a cute Pokemon, charged toward her. Before the puppy Pokemon could bite Lenora, her Patrat that was on Lenora's shoulder jumped in front of her and bit the Pokemon first. Lenora's Patrat, that was only slightly bigger than the Lillipup, stood his ground and hissed at the puppy. Lillipup whimpered, and just before it could run away, Lenora called out to it.

"Wait!" Lenora exclaimed. The Lillipup stopped, and turned around to reveal a perplexed look. "You can come with me."

Now it was Patrat's turn to look confused.

"What?" Lenora told her Patrat, with a shrug. "That Lillipup looks strong!"

Lillipup and Patrat exchanged an odd look.

Only Lenora Fentisette would want to be friends with a Pokemon that almost bit her.

Lenora Fentisette was seventeen-years-old when she started to move up in the world.

She had a nice job as a tour guide in the Nacrene City museum that paid decently, a solid team of normal-type Pokemon, and a new apartment so her parents wouldn't annoy her anymore about having Watchog, Audino, and Briavary all over the house. Being a Pokemon trainer and trying to collect all eight badges in Unova was fun while it lasted, but perhaps more than anyone else alive, Lenora was made for the Nacrene City museum that her father directed. One would say that Lenora's research on fossils would be akin to someone that specialized in rock-type Pokemon. Of course Lenora thought that was absolutely preposterous. The love of fossils came from Lenora's father.

Lenora cultivated a reputation in the museum for the first two weeks. She was frequently visited by Clay Wesley, who occasionally tried to sell his common fossils and get a big payout in return, but Lenora could smell a snake oil salesmen from a mile away and would always send him home packing before one of the stupid kids that worked there accepted his offer. But Clay treated it like a game. So did Lenora. Catch him, before someone accepted his offer which was a steal on his end. Lenora always won.

"Do I have to defeat you in a battle like I did when I was fourteen?" Lenora asked Clay, crossing her arms.

Clay grinned. "You got lucky, girl."

Oh no. There was no animosity between them at all, like people thought there was. Clay may have been a greedy bastard, but he was always a gentleman. He wasn't fool enough to try and trick Lenora with his common fossils, but once every so often he would find something incredible and give it to Lenora as a gift. So yes, Lenora was starting to move up in the world. She could do this for the rest of her life, and very well be happy. Lenora wasn't going to let anything distract her. She decided this so.

And then one day a scrawny looking teenager walked into the museum as the new assistant director. Just like that, Lenora was distracted.

"Hi... are you Lenora? My names Hawes."

And then he spoke to her. Just like that, Lenora was more than distracted.

Lenora Fentisette was eighteen-years-old when she realized that she was in love.

Lenora couldn't look away from that assistant director of the Nacrene City museum. Everything Hawes did enthralled her; from the way he spoke about fossils with as much passion as she, from his smile, the way he moved his hands when he spoke in that lovely voice of his, and oh great heavens she could get lost in those mesmerizing eyes of his for hours. There was also his laugh, that would be strange to anyone else, but not Lenora. He had a wonderful laugh, energetic and bright. Lenora knew that she had a silly schoolgirl crush on him a year ago, when she first got a job as a tour guide at the museum her father directed and she met Hawes, but it blossomed into something more.

Did this mean Lenora said or did anything about this? Oh no. Absolutely not. They were the best of friends. Lenora didn't want to disrupt that.

"Lenora... can I ask you something?"

Lenora and Hawes are sitting in the break room. Her father definitely knew, because he purposely scheduled them to have their breaks around the same time. Her father's attempts to play 'match-maker' was downright embarrassing in Lenora's opinion, but at least she could take comfort that her father liked Hawes. But even if her father didn't like Hawes, Lenora would've pursued him anyway. She did what she wanted, whenever she wanted, which was why she had her own Pokemon since she was ten-years-old.

"Of course, Hawes," Lenora replied, giving him a gentle smile despite her heart thumping wildly out of her chest. "Is something wrong?" Because he normally didn't sound so nervous, to be frank, she couldn't recall a time where he did sound like that. Well, except when they first met. He was terrified of her, the eighteen-year-old had even scared some of the higher ups at the museum because she wouldn't take shit from anyone.

"We've been friends for a while now," began Hawes, fiddling with his fingers in such a cute way, Lenora thought. "And I was... I was wondering..."

Lenora decided to save him from passing out. "Are you asking me out, Hawes?"

Hawes' face turned red. "N-No. I mean, I am! But... but... Oh Arceus, I'm mucking this up, aren't I? I planned this whole thing in my head, about telling you how I really like you, and I want to take you out, and that your dad told me a few days ago that I should ask you out already-"

"The answer is yes, Hawes Ingram," Lenora cut in, still smiling. "I like you too, and..." she trailed off, once she processed the rest of what he said. "...you spoke to my dad, Hawes?" Oh Arceus, this was so humiliating, no wonder her dad had given her knowing looks whenever she spoke about her studies with Hawes.

"Of course, Lenora! I... oh, I should stop talking now, right?"

They went on their first date a few days later. It ended with a kiss. Others would say it was awkward, but Lenora wouldn't change a thing.

Lenora Fentisette was twenty years old when she realized that she was more than in love.

As time went by, everyone in Nacrene City knew about the cute nerdy museum couple. Lenora and Hawes would be seen holding hands after work hours in the streets of Nacrene. They explored fossils together, hell, they did everything together. When Lenora's father was stepping down as the director of the museum and wanted Hawes to take over, it was Hawes that said Lenora should be the one to do it.

Lenora was aghast. "But Hawes, you've been here longer than me! It should be you."

"Lenora dear, if there's anyone that's the most passionate about history, it's you."

And it was true. Nobody in Nacrene City dove into the historical events of Nacrene and the Unova region as a whole like Lenora did. With her boyfriend's support as the assistant director, Lenora was on a roll. She and Hawes were a dream team. The perfect couple. Some citizens spread rumors that they had already gotten married. When these rumors reached the ears of the couple after years of dating, it made the two think.

"What do you think, dear?" Hawes had asked one day, and Arceus, he always called her 'dear.' Lenora could never get tired of that. "About these rumors."

Lenora grinned. "I don't know. What do you think?"

"I think..." Hawes started off, and then he got down on one knee. There were alone, in their little apartment complex, and Lenora couldn't think of a more romantic place for him to propose. "...I think we should make those rumors come true. Lenora, will you marry me?"

She said yes. Of course Lenora said yes, because this was Hawes. They didn't need a super-duper romantic place to propose. In Lenora's opinion, these things were more romantic in private. He knew her that well to know that, which was why he did what he did, and why Lenora said yes. Hawes didn't even care that Lenora wasn't going to take his last name. They just wanted to be married; officially.

They embraced, kissing for Arceus-knows-how-long, and how they needed to plan this wedding quickly, and that they didn't need it to be some big fanciful affair that people would've expected. They told their respective families and they were unfathomably furious over the whole thing that it wasn't going to be the ultimate dream wedding. Lenora and Hawes didn't understand all the fuss; all they needed was someone in the marriage licensing department, a venue, a tuxedo and wedding dress, that's it.

They dated for three years and then got engaged. They married in less than a month since the engagement. Neither Lenora nor Hawes expressed any sort of desire for children. It's not like the two of them would have any time, considering the jobs that they had in the museum and searching for fossils. It didn't matter. Lenora couldn't be happier.

Lenora Fentisette was twenty-three years old when her life would go into a completely different direction.

The matter of Lenora wanting to consider seriously training her normal-type Pokemon was fuzzy. You see, normal-type Pokemon had a bad reputation in Unova for some reason, and Lenora wanted to make it perfectly clear that it was perfectly... normal to use normal-type Pokemon, and that they could be something else other than pets. Even top-notch trainers in Unova would make comments that they were better off not in battle. Clearly they haven't seen her Watchog in action.

Also, what people didn't understand was that normal-types were good by not being bad. In Lenora's opinion, a lot of Pokemon typings that were seen as 'good,' such as the dragon-type or the psychic-type, could be seen as a bit of a gamble. A lot of dragon-types had a dual flying-typing, so those dragons could easily go down to an ice move. Psychic-types did have a good special attack, but its' fragile defenses could ensure it could go down with one crunch if the psychic wasn't fast enough to attack first.

Normal-types were only weak to fighting, and had an immunity to ghosts, and had neutral coverages - with the exception of ghost, rock, and steel. Lenora studied normal-types long enough to know that their move-pools were huge and versatile to combat those typings. Normal-type probably had more versatility than any other typing, Lenora thought. She wondered why people wouldn't take advantage of that.

Very quickly, a word about the Nacrene City museum. The museum operated as the primary location of the city's gym as well, in the back of the museum. It was why it annoyed Lenora when a lot of trainers from other regions stormed in utterly clueless and itching to battle, not having done a hint of research if they were going to take on the LNS. Lenora knew the difference between an Unovian and an outsider, because a Unovian would at least take the time to ask questions about the museum's artifacts out of respect.

Lenora's just minding her own business working as the director. A lot of it involved paperwork of the sort, which did include business matters and was the reason why she often consulted the gym leader of Driftveil, Clay Wesley, for his opinions. Oh sure, the man was intimidating and apart of the WLQ everyone would squawk about so Lenora knew he could handle a drink, but if you spoke bluntly and direct to him he would respect you a tad more. So yes, Lenora was in the middle of her paperwork and about to call Clay until-

"Give me every single fucking artifact you have!"

A burglar showed up at the front desk with a handgun pointed in Lenora's direction. People began to scream, including Hawes', despite no gunfire omitting from the weapon. Several others began to hide under the desks as if practicing those air raid drills during wartime. Lenora made a mental note for this museum to get upgraded security, because now, Lenora was going to have to handle this herself. The gym leader was absent, and now Lenora had to protect the artifacts.

Lenora stared down the barrel. "Have you considered using your manners?" The burglar cocked the gun. "Would you put that thing down? You clearly don't know how to use it."

"Lenora, dear!" Hawes shrilled from under the desk. "Just give him the artifacts." She loved her husband, she really did, but he needed to grow some spine.

"I'd listen to him if I were you," sneered the burglar. "I could splatter your brains all over the floor, in front of everyone here." By that statement, people have started to cry.

Lenora let out a hum of indifference. "Well we can't have that, can we? The janitors work too hard to mop these floors and I'd hate to have them go through all the hassle." She was stalling. Biding her time. No one, not even her husband, was aware of what Lenora had up her sleeve.

"Yes, which is why you need to give me your most expensive artifacts!" the burglar roared.

"Wait hold on, I thought you wanted 'every single fucking artifact' we had?"

"There's no time, just give me the expensive ones!" Ah, the burglar had no idea how right he was.

Lenora held her hands up, presumably in defeat. "Alright, alright. You'll have to follow me though, because we have a lot to get through. As you can understand, this is a very prestigious building with a lot of artifacts of the highest quality." The burglar stared at her. Lenora tried not to roll her eyes. "In other words, they're worth a lot of money."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Okay." Lenora, once more, tried not to roll her eyes. The idiot. She purposely lead him to the back of the museum, well-aware of the end of the handgun pressed up against her back. There were no artifacts here, but there was Lenora's Watchog that always wandered in the back. "What is this? There's no-" But Lenora turned around, snatched the handgun out of his hands, and kicked him in the privates in just one second. "Ow, you crazy bitch!"

"How dare you try to take away this city's artifacts," snapped Lenora. "And I'm the crazy one? Showing up here with this toy that you can't even use?" She was referring to the instrument that was pressed against her back not even a minute ago.

"F-Fine! I surrender."

Lenora clicked her tongue along with shaking her head. "Mm... I don't think so. You're not getting away with this that easily. Watchog, Retaliate. Make sure he'll stay here until the police tries to pick him up." The Watchog snarled at the burglar, and then pounced on him.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow-"

"Are you crying?" chuckled Lenora, unable to believe her eyes. "You come into my museum, in my city, hold me up at gunpoint, and you're crying? Honestly, what kind of criminal are you? It's depressing. Watchog, keep him down." When she returned to the front of the museum alive and without a scratch on her, the occupants stared.

"Lenora... what did-"

"Watchog's got an eye on him, he's not going anywhere," Lenora waved off to her husband. Hawes stared at the handgun. "What? I disarmed him. My father taught me. And can you all get out from under the desks, for Arceus' sake, you're fine." She went back to her desk without a care in the world and dialed emergency services. "Hi, this is Lenora Fentisette - I need someone to report to the Nacrene Museum, we were nearly robbed... oh, the accused? Yeah, yeah. Had a gun and everything. No, no one's harmed - except the burglar. Watchog pinned him down, but I don't think he'll be able to have children, thank Arceus, oh what do I mean by that? I kicked him there, if you know what I mean."

Beat.

"...Yes. Yes, okay. Understood. Thank you." And she hung up.

Hawes jumped up and pointed at Lenora, positively beaming with pride. "That's my wife! Do you all hear that?! That's my wife! My wife, a total badass!" It was probably one of the few times Hawes didn't stammer in front of a crowd.

Not only did the police arrive and arrest the perp, but Lenora was surprised to see Clay making his way to the museum. "I was wondering why I haven't received a call from you and Hawes today," he said. "Then I heard what happened. Lenora, what were you thinking?" Lenora liked Clay, but he should know by now she could handle things like this.

But Lenora was relieved that now she could roll her eyes. "Idiot can't even rob a building right, I'm fine."

Clay snorted, but Lenora could tell he was impressed. "Don't do nothing stupid like that again, you hear? Alder and the elite four have been trying to keep tabs on this rat bastard for months. He was dangerous, Lenora."

Lenora grinned. "Are they worried I one upped them?"

"Lenora," Clay warned, but even he was fighting back a grin, Lenora could tell. "I get it. You're passionate about fossils. So am I. But when there's a criminal with a handgun... well let's just say it's possible this whole thing could've ended up very, very differently."

"But it didn't. And you would've done the same thing," said Lenora, knowing damn well.

Clay didn't deny it. "Just watch yourself, alright?"

"Buh-bye, Clay," Lenora marveled, waving at him. Clay scowled, but left the scene. Not long after, Hawes came running to her side and embraced her in a kiss. She laughed after they broke apart. "Well, well. We're very touchy-feely now, aren't we, Hawes?"

Hawes stared in disbelief. "Lenora, you could've died."

"Don't be so dramatic, sweetheart. You were the one that cheered for me. What happened to that energy?"

"I got caught up in the hysteria. And then, I realized just now, that you could've been shot. So you don't get to tell me that I'm dramatic."

Lenora blinked. "You realized that now?" Hawes let out a sigh of distress. "Hawes, dear, I'm alive. I'm alive and well. The perp is arrested. The artifacts are safe. This is a win."

"It's a win, but dear... please, please promise me that you won't endanger yourself like that again. We've only been married a few months, and... and..." Lenora's amusement had diminished once she saw tears in Hawes' eyes. "...sorry. So many things were running through my mind."

Lenora pulled her husband in for a hug. "I promise, okay? I promise." Hawes had a point. They were married. She had a husband. What on earth would've happened if things had gone wrong? Then she would leave Hawes here, and Arceus, she couldn't watch him destroy himself because she knew he very well would. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

The Unova League was having an issue two weeks after the Nacrene Museum incident. Alana, who was the city's gym leader, had been gone during that incident to see a few paintings done by a young art prodigy of some sort. Alder couldn't tell you the name of the boy, as he didn't care currently. The issue presently despite the criminal being caught was Alana's reaction to the incident. The woman was petrified. Just today, Alana handed in her resignation that was effective immediately - and she was going to Galar.

This was done at night. A Saturday night. Instead of joining Clay, Brycen, and Drayden at their usual bar - he was stuck here, with his elites having to address this problem.

Holland, Cecelia, Georg, and Dalton stared at the disgruntled champion, and the champion stared back and let out an exasperated sigh. "Alana has resigned."

"We know," said Georg. "If this an emergency placement issue, then why not get Marshal? He can take over as the gym leader before he replaces me." It's been well known that Marshal, Alder's protege that studied martial arts, was guaranteed a spot on the Unova elite four when the time would come, which would be when Georg left the post.

But Alder didn't think Marshal was the right fit for a gym leader in Nacrene. "No, no that's not an option."

Cecelia let out a hum. "Well, what would be the right option? I am rather tired at the moment. Can't we settle this tomorrow?"

Alder snorted. "I would like to, but it's best to get it out of the way."

Dalton rolled his eyes at the man. "Don't act all martyred then. Clay, Drayden, and Brycen were waiting at the front gates wondering where you are."

Alder shrugged. "I have someone picked out already. You all remember Lenora Fentisette?" The elites stared at him as though he had three heads. "What? She's actually a fair battler, too, other than stopping criminals. She had beaten Clay and Brycen a few times, and held her own against Drayden. You're all not going to overlook that, are you?"

"...She's scary," admitted Georg.

Alder scowled. "Lenora isn't scary. We have to find someone, and she's the director of the museum anyway, so it could be her until someone else is more suitable. Are you all in favor of her? Can I call her up and ask her to meet me here as soon as possible?" The elites exchanged looks amongst one another, and nodded. "Okay. You're all dismissed."

The elites shuffled out of the office, probably eager to get to sleep. Alder did make a mental note that if Lenora did say no to his offer, then it would be likely that Marshal would have to step in temporarily - though Alder really didn't want him to. He knew that Marshal would've done it. Marshal would've done anything Alder told him to do.

Lenora showed up, and predictably, with Hawes. The man looked at him with awe, and Alder could feel the giddiness radiating off him. "Oh my days! Alder, as I live and breathe! Lenora, can you believe we're standing with the champion of Unova? Fantastic, just fantastic."

Lenora remained composed. "What can I do for you, Alder?"

"There's a lot you can do for me actually. I have a bit of a dilemma. Alana sent her resignation to me today." Lenora and Hawes exchanged a wide-eyed look. "I know, I know. Shocking. Now my elites and I were having a discussion on who can take over her position, starting tomorrow. And we have decided you'd be an adequate replacement."

Beat.

"...Oh, it's Saturday," Lenora remarked knowingly. "Alder's missing a night with his drinking buddies, so he's a little desperate that he's willing to hire a woman who is hardly a Pokemon trainer." Alder stared at the woman in disbelief. "What? I talk to Clay almost all the time, you think he wouldn't bring up your little posse?"

"And because I talk to Clay, Brycen, and Drayden all the time, I heard that you've defeated Brycen and Clay, and have faired well against Drayden," Alder replied smoothly. "Not many people can do that, so don't go off saying that you're hardly a Pokemon trainer."

"Lenora, dear, this is such a good opportunity for you," Hawes pressed. "You're moving on up!"

"I'm a researcher."

"And a Pokemon trainer, please don't sell yourself short," Hawes went on, and turned to Alder. "She's brilliant. Completely brilliant! Great with normal-types, knows them so well! Lenora will take the position. She will, she absolutely will, without a doubt!"

"What about my position as the director of the museum? I can't possibly do both..."

"You can, and you will," said Hawes, crossing his arms. "Lenora, you can do anything you want to if you set your mind to it! You're Lenora Fentisette!" Lenora stared at her husband in awe. Alder couldn't help but privately marvel at how perfect the two were together.

"I'd listen to your husband if I were you," Alder said, with a grin. Also if Lenora said yes now, then it was entirely possible that he could meet up with the usuals before the bar closed for the night. "You can do both, Lenora. It doesn't have to be one or the other."

Lenora frowned deeply in thought. After a full minute, did she speak. "Fine. But those outer regions better learn some damn respect. I won't have them waltzing through the museum like some baboons, not taking a moment to respect the artifacts and the history behind them. Is that clear?"

Alder was still grinning. "I expect nothing less."

Chapter Text

Chapter 23- Fantina

It's been said countless times that Sinnoh was once the laughingstock of trainers, especially considering they had gotten creamed in war. That's how Sinnoh adapted a certain competitiveness that spread like poison. Trainers would be encouraged to fight each other with the intention of getting stronger, and that wasn't always healthy. When Sinnoh began to rise to the occasion, they developed a reputation among the others for being particularly unkind. While the elites and gym leaders had a certain roughness about them, they always kept up appearances and tried to at least appear friendly to the other regions. The trainers in Sinnoh, however, didn't have anything nice in particular to say about other trainers and league members from other regions.

Fantina was the exception to the rule.

The Sinnohnians were perplexed at first once Fantina entered their lives. They wondered why Fantina was so pleasant and elegant. She never swore, was polite, and charmed everyone within range. Fantina explained in an interview that she was Kalosian, as if her thick accent wasn't enough of a clue. But to the Sinnohnians, that explained a lot. Most Sinnohnian trainers weren't all that friendly, so her being Kalosian was an obvious explanation as to why she was so pleasant.

Sinnohnians were referred to once in a while as a ruthless people, occasionally without mercy even, but when the chips were down - you could count on them in your corner more than anyone. When they had your back, they had your back, and that was certainly the case when Fantina Dumont stepped into the Sinnoh region. Sinnohnians couldn't hate her. Sinnoh had knocked down on Kalos for being rather 'cowardly' as they put it, since they denied being apart of the LNS. But Fantina was not weak. Her ghost-type Pokemon were no laughing matter. While she was later known for being Hearthrome City's gym leader – she didn't have to be. Because Fantina was a global sensation.

When people would think of Fantina in years to come, they wouldn't necessarily think about her status as a gym leader. They would think of her grace, her elegance, donations to charities and those in need, and that she was a prodigious coordinator. You see, Pokemon Contests were where she truly shined. Before Fantina was even a gym leader, she did contests, and her raw power combined with her beauty and kindness made her reach a level of fame that no one could've predicted.

People went insane, especially in Sinnoh. Fantina's fame rivaled even that of the current champion, and even then, some people in regions outside the LNS would blank if you asked them if they knew who the current Sinnoh champion was. You could go to an island in Alola where there was no electricity, and the elders and their children knew the name Fantina Dumont. Juan Dubois was a famous coordinator in Hoenn, but Fantina Dumont was known all over the world. The mere presence of Fantina would send people into a wave of hysterics. If you were fortunate enough to afford a ticket to one of her shows, it would be filled with people screaming her name as she stepped into the stadium. There had to be paramedics on standby because when she sent out her Drifblim to compete, people passed out in awe. When Fantina had yet to get her citizenship in Sinnoh, rules were bended and she was rushed through the process so she could become a permanent citizen.

It was as if Sinnoh had basically unanimously said: "Fuck you, Kalos. Fantina is one of us now."

But Fantina never forgot where she came from. Never. That's just how Fantina was. Kalos had a large class divide, the rich were getting richer and the poor were getting poorer. Fantina's family was among one of the few that was getting by, but Fantina was the kind of person that would give up her bed so a poorer person could sleep there. Even as a child, if she had leftover change from buying her goods, she would pretend that it cost the exact amount so she could give money to those that needed it more.

For the first twenty years of Fantina's life in Kalos, things were decent. Fantina's gotten ghost-type Pokemon that she loved to play dress up with, because Fantina planned on becoming a tailor, a fashion designer, or anything relating to clothing. Fantina had known about this passion of hers since she was a small child, and her parents were supportive. Fantina was planning on become Kalos' next top fashion designer. It was her ultimate dream.

However, that was the first twenty years of Fantina's life. Then, one night, everything changed. As in, everything went to shit.

Fantina was twenty-years-old and crying into a pillow on a boat that was heading toward the Sinnoh region. Fantina had nothing against Sinnohnians, she really didn't, but it was the only place that would take Fantina and her parents since everywhere else was too expensive to live in. She didn't know exactly how her parents lost all their money, but she didn't care - because now she was being shipped off to a strange place where she didn't speak a word of the Sinnohnian language and it was all so different from Kalos. Kalos' language differed from the other regions she knew. Kanto, Johto, Unova, Sinnoh, and Hoenn had the same mother tongue, but Kalos was vastly different.

Her parents tried to reassure her that this was where they'd plan a new life. But nothing was better than the life she had before, and it made Fantina burst into tears again. Not even her Pokemon could comfort her. The shoddy little apartment they had gotten in Hearthrome made her home in Santalune look like a castle in comparison. Her parents tried to tell her, hey, it could be worse. They could end up in those gutter homes in Sunyshore. This didn't make Fantina feel better in the slightest.

For the first year in her life in Sinnoh, Fantina and her parents would try to find some work. Any kind of work. Fantina herself had gotten a job at a tailoring company a few blocks away from her apartment. There, she learned most of the language she'd pick up on. Little bits and chunks, enough in order make it in a strange region.

"Magnifique, Fantina! Good work," was what her boss would always say. Her boss was friendly to her, and Fantina knew why. Firstly, it paid nothing to be kind. Secondly, Fantina was good at what she did. It was her dream to be a fashion designer, after all.

When Fantina was twenty-two years old, she heard some of her co-workers speaking to each other. Fantina didn't understand much; but she heard the words 'Pokemon' and 'Contest' and her curiosity was piqued. Unable to help herself, she went over to them. "Excuse-Moi," she started off. The two stared at her. "Um..." Though over the past two years Fantina had practice in conversing with others in a different language, it was still hard, "...What is it you say, about contests?"

Fantina was as every bit annoyed as she was relieved when they responded in Kalosian. Annoyed because Fantina wanted to learn more about the language in Sinnoh, but relieved that she could understand what they were saying in its entirety: Pokemon are judged based on appearance and performance, other than strength like in battles.

"How do I enter?" Fantina asked, and she had no idea what she was getting herself into when she asked that question.

She entered her first contest in a dress she tailored herself, and she tried to ignore the whispers and giggles from her competitors when she walked into the stadium with that 'hideous dress' as they put it. Fantina may have not understood the language as well, but she could understand when people were talking badly about you.

Her Drifblim was always protective over Fantina, and more times than not did Fantina have to warn her beloved ghosts to not get too mischievous. Her ghosts went toward people that were talking badly about Fantina with the intention to spook them. It's also another way of Fantina learning when people were speaking ill of her. She almost cried on the spot, but she remembered what her parents told her. They came here for a new life. She wasn't going to let them make her cry like she did on the boat ride.

Their mocking smiles had vanished once Fantina won her first Pokemon contest.

The same thing happened with Fantina's second contest, and the third, along with the fourth, and the fifth. The result was always the same. Other competitors turned their noses up at her handmade dress and her usage of Ghost-Pokemon. They laughed and laughed and laughed and then they lost. But Fantina was always graceful, because she firmly believed in the phrase 'killing with kindness' and that's exactly what she did.

That's when Sinnohnians that were avid contest watchers became intrigued by the Kalosian woman. She had come out of the blue, and blown well known coordinators out of the water each time she competed. Money was starting to pour in with each contest Fantina won, and in turn, her fame began to rise. She had some fans, here and there, and Fantina was known for always, always stopping for pictures and autographs. Fantina had heard about her competitors spitting on their own headshots that fans wanted them to sign. It made no sense to Fantina; their own headshots! She thought it was absurd.

A few years went by, contests were becoming second-nature to Fantina and she had completely quit her job at the tailoring company. People were starting to know her name. Fantina and her parents were no longer in that shoddy apartment building wondering if they would have to go a day without dinner. She was able to get her parents that nice grand home in Hearthrome that her parents had been saving up for. She had more money than what to do with, so therefore, many of earnings that she'd won in contests went to charity. She visited children in hospitals, and offered to pay for their treatments. Some of them just wanted a glimpse of the woman, and their mood would increase.

This caught the interest of the Pastoria City gym leader, Crasher Wake, who also donated to those in need. He and Byron of Orebourgh showed up to Fantina's home. They asked if she wanted to make an appearance at one of Crasher Wake's shows, where she threw fake glass over his and Byron's heads. The money made for that show would go to charity. When word spread, the website to buy tickets to that show had briefly crashed. On television, it broke the record for the most viewed SWE show.

After the show, Fantina went out for drinks with them. She found she liked Byron and Wake. Byron spent ninety percent of the time talking about his son, Roark, who was growing up so fast, and Wake was talking about growing his hair long again so he could shave it to help kids with cancer. Fantina spoke a bit about herself. Not once did Wake and Byron grow impatient with her accent, or that she wasn't the strongest in their language. Fantina knew by now that it was difficult for her to be understood, but she tried.

It wasn't enough for one bar patron.

Fantina was trying to order another round of shots to the bartender. She could handle her liquor better than Byron and Wake evidently (thanks to being Kalosian, which the two found fascinating in that aspect) but the two gym leaders insisted for more shots despite being obviously hammered to the point where she had to speak for them. The bar patron was growing impatient unlike Byron and Wake. Fantina recognized him as one of her competitors that laughed at her then. Anyone could see he was drunk as a Skuntank.

He started to grumble for her to hurry up, and that she shouldn't even be in Sinnoh performing in Pokemon Contests because she could hardly speak the language. Fantina didn't understand. She may have not been able to speak the language well, but that did not effect her ability in coordinating or Pokemon battles alike. And then the man started to scream in her face. That's when Byron and Wake stepped in and pummeled the bastard to the ground.

Fantina rose from her seat, and felt hot angry tears forming in her eyes. "I speak it! It's not good, but I speak it! I came from nothing! I came here, for my family and a better life! And I try! How dare you?!"

That changed everything. The perception Sinnoh had of the Kalos region had turned into something of awe, a story about a Kalosian woman who had come to Sinnoh for a better life. She had come to Sinnoh, for a better life. Before Fantina knew it, she was entering Sinnoh's Grand Championship in coordinating.

And she won.

The reaction was nothing like Fantina had ever seen. The crowd screamed and chanted her name. They praised her like she was a goddess, unreal, and thanked her for blessing the Sinnoh motherland with her presence and generosity. Fantina stared at the crowd in complete shock, and then, something interesting happened within her. It made her burst into tears of ecstasy, because for the first time, she felt unbound. Free. Fantina was Sinnoh's gem, a darling of Sinnoh. It was Sinnoh that gave her this opportunity, that took her and her family in when no one else would. It was the Sinnohnians that cheered for her. To Fantina, it was Sinnoh that she would pledge her allegiance too, now and forever.

And yet, Fantina and her family weren't technically permanent Sinnoh citizens. The immigration process in Sinnoh was a tricky one; a lot of people waited years and years to become permanent ones. A lot of Alolans, some from Paldea that managed to escape, in other words, people with far worse situations than Fantina was in. Fantina had met with the champion of Sinnoh personally as he requested a meeting with the coordinating master. A day after the meeting, Fantina and her parents were naturalized citizens of Sinnoh.

When competition season was over, Fantina wanted to take a stab at battles. When she showed up at the Hearthrome City gym, the gym leader had asked for her autograph, and told her that he specialized in ghost-types. Fantina had marveled that this was great, since she too had her ghost-types since she was a child, and would love to learn under him. Given that this was Fantina Dumont, of course the gym leader wasn't going to say no. For the next three months, that's precisely what she did.

"Well, well, well..." Spyro marveled in delight with his elites in their usual meeting room. "Guess who I just got off the phone with." Lucian, Bertha, Axel, and Ferro looked at him expectantly, not verbally replying. "The champion of Kalos, Jacques."

This garnered everyone's attention. Even Lucian's Espeon, who was trotting around the room stopped in his tracks.

Axel quirked a brow. "What does he want with us?"

"A lot of Kalosians want to migrate on over," Spyro revealed. "He sees the potential we have as battlers, thanks to the underground moving us up." He took the time to glare at Bertha, which the elite returned. "And thanks to one Fantina Dumont. You know, she's been studying with Edgar in the Hearthrome gym lately, and has disappeared from contests for the time-being. She said this in an interview, and now Kalosians want in. Now how fast we can make these Kalosians citizens to fight for Sinnoh in the LNS?"

"What about the risks?" Axel pressed. Ferro nodded in agreement. "What if they're shitty battlers? I heard that their elites are jokes."

"I think that Kalosians coming in isn't too risky. If they want to participate under Sinnoh in the LNS, I don't see an issue."

"I second that, Bertha."

"Oh you are such a lapdog, Lucian! 'Yes, Bertha. Of course, Bertha. I'm sorry, Bertha. Thank you, Bertha.' It's no wonder why she keeps you around!"

Espeon glared at Ferro and hissed. Of course Lucian's Espeon detested anyone who wasn't Lucian or Bertha. Case and point, Bertha held her hand out to the cat to calm him down, and to everyone's relief that psychic cat followed her and jumped on her lap. Espeon began to purr once Bertha started to pet him.

"Remind me when you take down a cult, a criminal, build schools, and then we'll talk. Also, stop with the cocaine it's killing the few braincells you have left," said Lucian. Espeon suddenly hopped off Bertha's lap to make his way over to Lucian. He had a handful of treats waiting for him.

Ferro rolled his eyes. "Naturally you reward your Espeon for bad behavior."

"Oh am I? No. Rewarding bad behavior would be promoting you to champion status for snorting three grams of cocaine instead of two. And I do wonder, I really do wonder, if you have any braincells to begin with. Perhaps I've given you too much credit."

"Lucian," warned Spyro, trying to get back on topic. "...I happen to agree with Bertha and Lucian regarding Kalos, even if they do spend their time talking shit about us - oh don't look so shocked that I knew that."

Lucian immediately looked to Bertha, who waved Spyro's comment off and told Lucian that they'd talk later. Presumably to do just what Spyro said. Over the years, Spyro had to look over his shoulder because of Bertha's antics, but now with Lucian on her side, Spyro had his other shoulder to worry about. Spyro could only look one way at a time. He didn't have proof, but he knew that the two were collaborating something behind his back. Or at least they knew something he did not. The psychic had a lot of guts to be so confrontational, even when Spyro had allowed Lucian's psychics from the CPC to have guaranteed access to the underground. A foolish choice. Spyro thought he should've had Lucian begging on his hands and knees for it.

"Jacques would only send his best trainers. Ones that have defeated a few members of the elite four. There's also another matter of why he wants to work with us," Spyro went on. He cleared her throat and dropped the bombshell, "A woman from our region defeated him yesterday, but she declined the position saying her loyalty was with Sinnoh."

That caught Lucian and Bertha's attention. "Who?" they said at the same time.

"Cynthia Shirona. Blonde woman, probably around Lucian's age," Spyro answered. "Jacques said that Cynthia told him to tell us that taking on the Kalos league was 'just a warmup.' Whatever the hell that means, I have no idea. He said we would get it, but I haven't a clue, and I suspect neither of you do, either."

Lucian and Bertha exchanged a look.

Spyro pinched the bridge of his nose and continued, "But Cynthia also said that with Fantina's popularity booming, it might be a good idea to ally with Sinnoh. Kalos itself doesn't want anything to do with the LNS, but Jacques had remarked that the woman insisted that they ally with her region and let more Kalos citizens register for Sinnoh. There's nothing inherently wrong with that, people from Galar, Kalos, Alola, and a few escapees from Paldea try out all the time for the LNS."

Axel looked at Spyro. "So what you're suggesting, is that we get the Kalos citizens that want to battle for our region, faster on the immigration list?"

"Yes, we prioritize those more than anything."

Beat.

"If the Indigo League gets wind of this, they'll throw a fit at the next LNS meeting, I'm sure of it," said Axel.

"They don't have to know," said Spyro. "We don't have to tell them anything about prioritizing the toughest trainers of Kalos that had taken on their league. And it's not like Indigo league hadn't done anything suspicious over the years, so they have no room to talk."

Bertha looked at Lucian. "This Cynthia woman seems very smart now, doesn't she?" Lucian could only nod, and Spyro swore he was holding back a smile. "I'm fine with that. Lucian seems to be fine with that. Spyro, you seem to be fine with that, and now..." She turned to Axel and Ferro. "...well?"

"So we're basically following orders from some nobody in our region?" Ferro retorted. Lucian was ready to open his mouth, until Bertha held an arm out to stop him. "That's ridiculous. But hey, it's not my call. If you want to include Kalos that might hinder our chances, then so be it." They looked to Axel, who shrugged.

"Alright. That's that... I'll see you all in the morning," said Spyro. Ferro and Axel were the first to leave.

"Care for a game of a chess, Lucian?" Bertha asked the psychic. Spyro knew that this meant that they'd play while talking about what just happened. Lucian nodded, but before he could follow the ground-type specialist out of the room, he locked eyes with Espeon for a brief second, then departed with Bertha.

Espeon stayed behind. His tail swishing back and forth, watching Spyro curiously. Spyro stared back at Espeon that leapt up onto the table, stared at the neat collection of paperwork that took Spyro three hours to organize, and then looked back up at Spyro. The cat swatted the paperwork with his tail, leaving it all a jumbled mess, let out a meow, and went to find Lucian and Bertha. It took everything Spyro had within him not to swear aloud.

"Excuse-moi?!" Fantina shrilled at the Hearthrome City gym leader after gym hours, responding to him explaining why he was training her. "Me, take over your gym? Oh, but what about my contests? Does Spyro know about this? Does he even-"

"From the moment you stepped into my gym," started off Edgar, "I knew that I could find a potential replacement. I alerted Spyro that you wanted to train under me, and he saw this as an opportunity for you to be the new gym leader when I go. Also, I can't see why you can't do both."

"But... but..." Fantina was rendered speechless. "My viewers, in my contests, they'll be so upset..."

"No, they won't."

"Ah, but they will."

"Fantina, do you realize how popular you are right now? When you do a commercial for a product, the product is sold out the next day. When you do your charity work, you encourage others on the upper end of society to donate. If you become a gym leader..." he let it trail off from there, hoping Fantina will figure it out for herself.

The Kalosian woman did. "Many Kalosians are moving to Sinnoh right now... because they want to do the, the..." She struggled to find the right words. She gestured all around the gym, hoping that Edgar would get the picture. "Competition. For us."

"For you," Edgar corrected. "Think about how many people would become trainers, because you told them to. That it is your goal to see Sinnoh rise to the top. Spyro and I don't get along very well, between you and me, but this is one of the few things we agree on. You'd be a perfect replacement."

Fantina was speechless. She actually couldn't answer the man. Not right now. She needed advice. "Can you give me a day to think about it?"

She called up Byron and Wake. The trio had met at Wake's home, in Pastoria. Over the past few years, it was those two who became her closest companions. She told them things that she wouldn't dare tell anyone else in the Sinnoh region. Not yet, at least. Fantina had a well-kept secret that only her wonderful parents knew. She told the two gym leaders, and she had breathed a sigh of relief when Byron and Wake said that this 'secret' made no difference to them, or how they saw her as a friend. She was still Fantina.

Fantina explained to them the entire situation, that the Sinnoh league expected her to become Hearthrome's new gym leader.

"Do it," Wake told her, with a hearty laugh. "What is stopping you, Tina?" Byron and Wake always called her 'Tina.' Fantina liked that. "It's not like you're a shitty trainer."

"But I'm a coordinator, not a trainer."

"And I'm a wrestler, Byron's a miner. Really, Fantina. You should join our club, it's fun. Sinnoh's starting to get up there, you know."

Byron chuckled, tapping his cigarette on the ashtray beside him. "I still can't believe we took over from Hoenn. Though that'd never happen, but hey."

"...But what if I'm not good enough?"

"Tina, Tina, Tina... if Edgar wants you to replace him, then it should be you," Byron pressed. "Hell, I'll let some league info slip. The elite four and champion all agree that it should be you, and do you know why? Because you're influential. The league can hardly agree on anything nowadays, it's pretty polarized - oh, that means divided."

Fantina blinked. "So, they all agree?"

"My rule of thumb, is that if Lucian and Bertha agree, then take it from them. They're the smart ones, out of that lot. The trustworthy ones," said Byron. "Bertha was particularly inspired by your story. She said it reminded her of herself. Except she escaped from her family, I heard she left with a few Pokedollars to her name, and some pokeballs." Fantina also heard that Bertha allegedly castrated a criminal, but as you know, that was just a popular rumor.

"...I'm just thinking," Fantina said. "I'm thinking about Kalos, my region. My family and I, we came here with nothing. We were poor. Sinnoh welcomed us. Sinnoh took us in. The Sinnohnian people can be misunderstood. I thought you were all... uh, how..." Fantina snapped her fingers rapidly to think of the right word. "Um..."

"You can say we're 'assholes,' that's okay," Wake cut in bluntly. Fantina let out a nervous giggle. "Come on, Tina. Give it a go." Fantina had pledged her allegiance to the Sinnoh region. She heard Edgar talk about it, about the system they were in. It was their dream to reach the top. It was Sinnoh's ultimate goal. Fantina had wondered for a while now on how she could properly repay the region that fed her, clothed her, and made her famous and full of riches. If this was the way to do it, so be it.

It's almost funny. Funny where she ended up. A contest coordinator and a gym leader. Fantina thought back to her early childhood, back in Kalos, where she thought of her parents - her wonderful, supportive loving parents.

Fantina was thirteen-years-old when she walked up to her parents and said she wanted to be called Fantina. It was the name that she had chosen for herself, after looking at a list of baby names she thought would be most suitable. Fantina was just... Fantina. It was her. Her parents were confused by the name choice, considering it wasn't the most traditional of names for someone like her - but that's when Fantina explained a little more about herself. Then they understood and welcomed their daughter with open arms.

Fantina would come out as transgender eventually. When she would tell them, Sinnohnians only had two questions. "Okay, is she still going to be the gym leader?" and, "Is she still doing her contests? I sure as shit hope so." In other words, Sinnohnians didn't care at all about that - because she was goddamn Fantina Dumont, a treasure to the Sinnoh region. A gem who became a gym leader as well to help Sinnohnians attain their goal. Oh sure, there were a few prejudiced people, but they were a very loud minority. It didn't matter to most people. Fantina had come to dazzle Sinnoh, she chose them, as that was practically unheard of. Fantina was just yet another big step to making Sinnoh the best.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24- Lorelei

Agatha was the start. Lance was the destined. Bruno was the drive. Lorelei was the controversy.

She was controversial the second she had disobeyed her mother in her hometown of Four Island to go into Icefall Cave when she was ten, and caught herself a Lapras using one of her father's Pokeballs she stole. Lorelei, even at age ten, bore an expression that was serious as a forty-year-old. She learned how to perfect it from watching Agatha on television. Though it wasn't as deadly, it was still enough. She walked into Icefall Cave and paid no mind to the older trainers watching her. She only had eyes for the Lapras, held out a Pokeball, and threw it. She didn't have to say a word, she simply did it - and Lapras was caught. The older trainers were flabbergasted and recorded the exchange.

It went viral.

Not that Lorelei Isbert really cared about that like most ten-year-old girls would be, but it was the beginning of her journey. It was the reason that one day, while she was training Lapras up in Icefall Cave when she was thirteen, she was approached by the Agatha of the Elite Four - long before Bruno or Lance had joined the Indigo League.

"What do you think you're doing?" Agatha asked sternly.

Lorelei blinked at her idol standing before her; it was rather unsettling. "Um..." She was giving her the same glare that Lorelei had watched on television and learned to imitate, and Lorelei didn't know whether or not to be afraid or honored that Agatha was doing that. "Training?"

Agatha's expression was cold, then her eyes were cast on the Seel that had trotted toward them. "There's a Pokemon right there. Well go on, then," demanded Agatha. "Train."

Lorelei swallowed a lump in her throat. Averting her gaze away from Agatha, she turned to her Pokemon. "Okay Lapras," she started. "Body slam." Lapras used body slam on the rather meek looking Seel, which went down in one hit. Seconds later, a Dewgong appeared, and under Agatha's watch - Lorelei continued to order her Lapras to take out the other Pokemon. After facing off with another Seel, another Dewgong, two Zubat, and one Golbat did Agatha interject.

"Stop and recall your Pokemon," Agatha commanded. Lorelei obeyed, her Pokeball trembling in her hand as she did so. "Do you have any other Pokemon with you?"

"Yes," answered Lorelei.

"Which ones?"

"A Dewgong, a Slowbro..." Lorelei reiterated, briefly mentally blanking thinking of her team over the past year as the woman continued to glare at her: "...Um, I have a Shellder that's still a little new because my father just gave me a fishing rod..." She actually just stole it yesterday. "...that's it."

"Take them out, now."

Lorelei knew better than to argue with Agatha, and did just that. In that time, Agatha watched as Lorelei used her Pokemon to easily combat the others in the Icefall Cave without thinking twice about it, swiping through them like it was nothing. Even her Shellder stood a chance against some of the Pokemon that she was facing.

"Recall them," ordered Agatha, and Lorelei did. "And you've been training with your Pokemon here in Icefall Cave for how long?"

"About three years now."

"And you never left Four Island once?"

Lorelei paled. "No."

"Why?"

"Because my parents hate me," was Lorelei's bitter retort. Her parents didn't want her to start training with Pokemon so early. Her parents wanted her to go back to being the little girl that played with dolls. She still liked her dolls, but Lorelei spent more time in Icefall Cave rather than at home, and her parents were resentful over it.

"...You stupid, brainless child."

"Wh-what?"

"Your Pokemon are far too strong and used to this climate, and the Pokemon here are stronger than most of Kanto. Are you not aware of that?" Lorelei wasn't. She never considered it. She couldn't bring herself to answer Agatha, because she was still reeling over the fact that she called her stupid. "You specialize in water and ice types." Lorelei didn't think of herself as a specialist, but if Agatha said this with such certainty, then it must be true.

The pair departed the Icefall Cave and headed to Lorelei's home on Four Island. Agatha requested that she speak to the Lorelei's parents alone. Lorelei was huddled against Lapras, trying to ignore her mother's shrill voice screaming at the elite. Lorelei didn't understand why her mother would bother doing that, especially to Agatha. It was almost shameful. Lorelei would very much not want to be related to her.

Lorelei didn't know what exactly was said, but the results later spoke for itself. Lorelei was asked to come back in the living room, and learned that Agatha wanted to take her on the S.S Anne to Nugget Bridge in Route 24. Lorelei stared, wide-eyed, but nodded because she yearned for an opportunity to get out of Four Island.

"Arceus, you really needed to get away from that controlling mother of yours," Agatha scowled on the ship. Lorelei agreed, but she didn't voice this. "When we get to Nugget Bridge, do as I say. Understand?" Lorelei didn't dare disobey her idol. This was all so surreal, and part of Lorelei couldn't believe this was happening. Part of her wanted to ask the woman for her autograph, but remained silent.

At Nugget Bridge, there were dozens of trainers waiting for them.

"Does everyone know who this girl is from that video?" Agatha announced to the group, and they nodded, awestruck. "Right. Lorelei here, is going to demonstrate on how to effectively use her Pokemon."

She was? Oh, right. Do as Agatha said. Lorelei could do that.

Agatha snapped her finger once and pointed to a trainer that looked to be about twenty. "One-on-one. An all-out match. Go."

Lorelei defeated that trainer's Magmar using her Dewgong.

Agatha continued like this, pointing to various trainers in one-on-one matches, and Lorelei had defeated every single trainer, occasionally switching in for her Lapras which trainers couldn't help but groan at. Eventually, after five trainers, Agatha stopped Lorelei and told her to recall her Lapras. She addressed the group of trainers as a whole, "Do you see how she uses status moves? Do you see how a little girl who only started three years ago can calculate on what her Pokemon needs to do in order to win?"

Oh.

"She's thirteen," Agatha went on, almost in a snarl: "Some of you are almost twice her age. A thirteen-year-old girl has demonstrated more battling capability in five minutes more than I've seen from the lot of you in a few months. It's almost deplorable on your end."

Lorelei stared down at the ground and shuffled her feet, feeling the burning eyes of jealousy from the older trainers.

"Now all of you, get out of my sight and hit the Pokemon Center," Agatha barked at the trainers. The Nugget Bridgers fled the area immediately, and right before Lorelei could leave, an arm had reached over to stop her. "Not you, Lorelei. I have several words to share with you."

Lorelei blinked at the older woman. "Oh. Okay."

There was a twinkle in Agatha's eyes. It was rumored that Agatha had a soft side that was shown once every five years for approximately one second, and this appeared to be one of them. "I have a feeling we'll see more of each other. Keep specializing in those types."

Now Lorelei was confused. "What? I will."

"I know you will, but you won't do it in Four Island," Agatha cut in sharply. Lorelei stared blankly as Agatha barked what seemed like the fiftieth order today: "Take on all eight gyms of Kanto or Johto, I don't care which ones, your choice. Then you'll take on the LNS, and I want to keep track of your progress. I don't care which regions for that, either. Arceus, child, you catch a Lapras without a single Pokemon on you to weaken it, and you still waste your time in that cave? Do you not see your own potential? You stupid girl."

Trust Agatha to berate and compliment you in the same breath.

"How can I keep track?" Lorelei wanted to know.

"You're a 'viral' star, as the trainers call it," scoffed Agatha. "Make videos. Make sure trainers know your name. And when you take on the Kanto or Johto league, go to another region and make applesauce out of those trainers. When people find out who you are, they're going to want to take you down, so you best not let that happen."

Lorelei knew there was no other option. "...Okay. I'll start right away."

"Hello, this is Pryce," answered the ice-type specialist in his home after hours. In all his years as a gym leader, so much has changed since he first started. Still as cold as ever, but as the years went by he found himself answering to Agatha more than he found himself answering to Sergei. Case and point, Agatha was calling him.

"Pryce, this is Agatha. I need a favor to ask you."

Pryce braced himself. It's not like nowadays he would say no. He respected Agatha enough to do what she told him to do. Given that she also signed his fat league paychecks, Pryce knew the better choice was to listen.

"There's this girl. She must be what, fifteen now? And she'll be coming to challenge you tomorrow morning. Six badges, she's gotten. She's great. Specializes in ice-types." For Agatha to say someone was great meant that they were a prodigy, so this was a big deal.

Pryce frowned. Something about this was familiar. "Is this the same girl that got attention for-"

"Yes, yes. Lorelei Isbert. Now, I'm planning to have her take on the LNS, we've decided on Unova. But before she does that, I want her to train with you for a while."

"And how long is 'for a while,' exactly?" asked Pryce.

"Mmm... until she turns eighteen. She knows this, of course. I've been keeping in contact with the girl, and I told her to remember the name 'Pryce Rimbach.' She knows who you are. She'll ask to learn whatever she can from you."

Pryce scoffed. "Some of my gym trainers are terrified of me. What makes you think this fifteen-year-old will last that long?" Okay, most of the gym trainers were terrified of him. Except for one. The buffoon had the balls to ask where his Piloswine went, and Pryce dismissed him on the spot. Pryce got a shudder just thinking about that question.

"Because I told her to do exactly what I say," Agatha answered. "And if I say to work with Pryce, she will work with Pryce. Understand?"

The ice-gym leader almost let out a bitter chuckle. "Why the interest in the girl?"

"...Pryce. We've worked together for years. I trust that this phone call is a matter of discretion, which, includes not informing Sergei." Oh, it's one of those. "I'm molding her into a potential elite candidate." Pryce's eyebrows shot up. "It's important to start them young, so by the time Roland leaves, she'll be ready to take his position."

"Right at the front, I presume?"

"Right at the front."

And then it was quiet.

Then, Pryce remembered something, and was suddenly thankful Agatha decided to call. "Wait, Agatha. There's something I need to discuss with you. It's probably nothing, but it's something one of the gym trainers told me when she went to Sinnoh on vacation."

"What is it?"

Pryce pressed his lips together. "There's this trainer in Sinnoh that's really, really excellent in battle. Prodigious, even. She wiped the floor with several trainers - including my gym trainer - at once using only one Pokemon."

"From Sinnoh?"

"From Sinnoh. I know, it shocked me as well."

"...Did your trainer tell you what Pokemon it was?"

"It was a ghost-type, that's the interesting part. It was a Spiritomb. Have you ever seen one before?"

Beat.

"Not in person, no. What's the trainer's name?"

"She didn't tell them her name. Blonde long hair, grey eyes, freakishly tall. Never-mind, it's probably nothing-"

"This would've been nothing, Pryce, if you hadn't mentioned that she had a Spiritomb. I'll make a mental note of the girl's description. Now, in the meantime, take on Lorelei as your student."

"I will."

The next morning, Lorelei showed up at Pryce's gym and demanded a battle, but of course they both knew it was an evaluation of her skills. That's why Pryce sent out his strongest team up against her, and it came as a shock to neither of them that Lorelei had lost the battle. However it wasn't by much. The girl managed to take out half his team.

"Well then, girl," Pryce marveled, still mildly impressed, however. Agatha hadn't been kidding that the girl was good at what she did. "Let's get to work then."

Pryce was an asshole. Well, that's at least how Lorelei saw it. She didn't really care that the gym trainers told her that Pryce was burned as a teenager by a Magmar and abandoned by his Piloswine right after, which was why he was said asshole. In Lorelei's eyes, she didn't understand how a gym leader - no, a person - could be so cruel. He scowled and turned his nose up at Lorelei insisting that she gave her Lapras a hug after a battle. Lorelei straight up told Pryce that just because he didn't hug his Pokemon because he was icy-goddamn-Pryce didn't mean the rest of the world had to follow his example. She received a mouthful from Agatha after that. Still, Pryce was an asshole.

He was so, so bossy, too. Fill out paperwork that technically Pryce is supposed to do. Work with the gym-trainers who turned their noses up at her. Battle Pryce on the weekends so he can see her progress. Lorelei didn't know how much more she could take it, and told Agatha so, and each time Agatha would tell her to stick it out. Pryce's gym trainers were almost as cold as their boss, almost nasty even, yet it stopped once Lorelei became notorious in the gym for slapping the gym trainers that bothered her.

"Is this how you're going to continue acting?" Pryce snapped at her one day, crossing his arms sternly at the fifteen-year-old girl before him. "I don't find it funny. None of the gym trainers find it funny. No one does. Okay Agatha finds it funny, but she'll end up yelling at you anyway because you need to get your act together."

"I'm the best gym trainer you have."

Pryce didn't deny it. "Did I teach you to smack people?"

Lorelei simply looked at him. "It was a slap, not a smack. There's a difference. Maybe tell Rikki not to stare at my ass."

Rikki was later dismissed for inappropriate conduct. But Lorelei was bummed to find out that she was longer allowed to slap nor smack people.

"You are such a little snitch," hissed one of the other gym trainers the following day, named Meghan. "Rikki was the best gym trainer we had, and you go off calling him a perv."

"No, I'm the best gym trainer you have. You're just jealous because you have a crush on him, and he wouldn't look your way," was Lorelei's swift reply. Meghan turned a crimson shade of red, her fists balled up, and stalked over to make a complaint to Pryce.

Pryce showed up two hours later, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why do you intend on making my life difficult?"

Lorelei smirked and mock-saluted him. "Cut down on my paperwork and let me battle you three times a week instead of two, and you won't hear a peep out of me for the rest of my time spent here. I'll be on my best behavior."

Perhaps Lorelei was imagining it, but she saw Pryce hide a bit of a smile. "You drive a hard bargain, girl."

But Lorelei kept her word. For the next three years, Lorelei managed to get by in Pryce's gym without any incident. She didn't pick fights with the older gym trainers, bit her lip harshly when Pryce harshly criticized her, kept comments about Pryce being an asshole due to his Piloswine saying sayonara to him. Her efforts were rewarded with getting stronger, better. More often than not Lorelei was able to defeat Pryce's highest leveled team, and resisted the urge to tell him to count his days before she took over his position.

"Do you know why I was so hard on you?" Pryce asked eighteen-year-old Lorelei.

Lorelei scoffed and crossed her arms. "Because Agatha told you to."

"That, and she's preparing you for the trainers you face in other regions," Pryce told her. "People know you from those videos you make showing your battling techniques. They know that you sell those videos to make money, and you charge the other regions double." Ha, that was Agatha's idea. "Those trainers are looking to destroy you if they were lucky to cross paths with you. The idea of defeating that teenage girl with ice-types that has fame and recognition would make them look good. In turn, it makes you look bad."

Lorelei wasn't blind. She knew, at this point, that she was being molded into elite or gym leader material. She's learned a bit too much from watching Agatha over the years, which meant that she knew what it looked like when Agatha was scouting for potential colleagues. Perhaps it was Agatha that wanted her to replace Pryce. Lorelei had a theory that Agatha putting her forth to take on the LNS was a way of testing her to see if she was worth the time. Well, Lorelei's loyalty was to Agatha, so yes, it was worth it.

"...It was a pleasure working with you, Lorelei," Pryce said, with a heavy exaggerated sigh.

"How much did Agatha pay you to say that?" Lorelei couldn't help but quip.

"I have you know, despite your shenanigans, you're quite the talent."

Lorelei grinned. "I'll keep that compliment a secret Pryce, don't worry."

"Please do."

But Lorelei wanted to bide her time, as well. Once she left Johto, she returned to Kanto and cherry-picked the trainers that she wanted to battle at Nugget Bridge. The meanest, toughest looking ones that she could find. It was there where the trainers would rip you a new one, and show no mercy. Those were the ones that usually left for the LNS.

Lorelei recorded all of her battles. Every single one. This one was no different, so when Lorelei sent the trainers into tears after they lost, it made quite the embarrassing footage. Out of mercy, Lorelei would cut that part out. She very nearly did.

But then those Nugget Bridgers screamed and swore at her until they were blue. Lorelei made sure to emphasize and get a close up of the hot tears streaming down their faces, and how that was an example of how not to act in a battle. Lorelei had no regrets. She was positive that if it were Agatha, she would've paraded it on every channel. Agatha had told her that mercy was weakness, and that those trainers would look at you and see mincemeat, so why should you bother being so nice?

"She cheated!" several of the Nugget Bridgers whined. "That bitch is cheating!" Whatever. Lorelei enjoyed her winnings. She didn't believe in using her Pokemon in petty squabbles. Luckily, Pryce couldn't yell at her over smacking the trainers on Nugget Bridge. The Nugget Bridgers got the message after the seventh time, six times too many.

Lorelei spent a year at Nugget Bridge. When she was nineteen, Lorelei headed toward the Unova region. Hoenn was a waste of time, in Lorelei's opinion. Hoenn was long past caring about the LNS, and was just simply there for the hell of it. Sinnoh was about to pass them, and well, Sinnoh was the region Lorelei was planning on going to afterwards. After she took on the gym leaders from Unova, of course. Like Lorelei anticipated, the Sinnohnians overtook the Hoennians. And, like Lorelei expected, Hoenn didn't seem to care. Arceus, they never did. Lorelei would've checked to see what Sinnoh was like over moving up, but Lorelei vowed to Agatha that she would go to Unova first.

The Unovians were a strange group, Lorelei thought. Incredibly studious, not unlike her, but they weren't all that bloodthirsty like Lorelei expected them to be. Usually those two qualities went hand-in-hand. Oh sure, appearances were to be maintained, but Lorelei made sure to tread carefully when some Unovians asked for her autograph. They didn't comment on the doubled prices (in fact, Lorelei thought that Clay was amused by the whole thing, when she faced him in battle) and were always willing to learn, in any way. They also had a richer economy in comparison to other regions. Probably helpful because the political wits of Drayden, the businessman way of thinking from Clay, the entertainer mindset of Brycen, and having a competent champion by the name of Alder.

But within the four years she spent in Unova, Lorelei had gotten all eight badges, and was stopped by the first elite. The second time she faced the Unova elite four, she was stopped again. Then the third, then the fourth time - she was stopped by the second elite. She wasn't getting anywhere, so Lorelei decided to take on the Sinnoh league as well. See what Sinnoh was like after they won against Hoenn a few years after. From the moment Lorelei stepped off the boat into Canalave, she realized exactly what Pryce and Agatha were talking about.

The trainers there were angry. They always were, even if they went one ranking ahead. Bloodthirsty was an understatement. They booed and jeered at her, evidently pissed about her prices being doubled for them but regular for her precious Kanto region, along with Johto. Sinnoh's economy was lacking and couldn't afford them.

And the things they said...

Well...

"Bitch!"

"Hang the whore!"

"Fuck you, Lorelei!"

"Tramp!"

They hated her. Hated her. This, in turn, made Lorelei hate them right back. Quiet rage was not one thing Agatha was known for, but it was something Lorelei had adapted once one of those Sinnohnian shmucks spat on her shoes. Oh Arceus, she could not wait to take on their league, and then come back to Kanto and get a league position. When she got her first gym badge in Canalave, trainers were waiting at the front doors to throw toilet paper on her.

Possibly to their credit, the Sinnoh league stepped in when word spread about Lorelei's arrival. The champion and the elite four condemned the treatment against Lorelei, and that anyone who was caught harassing the trainer would suffer the consequences. After that, most trainers had left her alone. Still, the rage Lorelei felt was incomprehensible.

The gym leaders seemed friendly. Distant, but friendly. That didn't mean Lorelei wasn't planning on wiping the floor with them. Lorelei knew, she just knew that Hoennians hadn't technically gotten worse with battling, the LNS spoke for itself. Sinnohnians had gotten better. Not better enough to beat Lorelei, though. She had five gym badges in a year. She was just about ready to go for her sixth badge, until-

"Oh hello," the blonde woman greeted her in Mt. Coronet, with a catlike grin. "Lorelei Isbert is it? I'm a fan of your videos. May I have your autograph?"

Lorelei was skeptical. Warning bells began to ring in her head. "Who are you, where do I know you from?" She signed the slip of paper anyway.

The woman laughed and pocketed the paper. "Oh, no one important. My name is Cynthia. I'm a trainer, just like you."

Beat.

"A trainer? Here, in Sinnoh?"

"Yes, that's right. Loved to see you taking down the Unova league, by the way. Well, except for those first two elites. But the Unova elite four is very strong, I imagine. Well... I've read a bit about Unova. Beautiful region, I think. It's funny, though, I just came back from Kalos. I took a vacation there. It's also beautiful. The landscapes are so stunning that it makes you forget about the terrible poverty on the other side. I had to learn a bit of the language, and it's tricky. Beautiful, nonetheless."

"You've said 'beautiful' three times," Lorelei pointed out.

"Quite observant you are. I'm not surprised. Most Kantonians are," mused Cynthia. Her smile was fake as plastic, Lorelei thought. "I was hoping, that maybe, just maybe, you can entertain me for a battle?"

And maybe Lorelei was tired of the way Sinnohnians were treating her. The bloodthirstiness, the stupid pranks they'd play on her after defeating a gym, the nastiness and overall unwelcoming region they had toward Lorelei's arrival. Maybe that was why she laughed in Cynthia's face, and replied: "I don't think it would be right. I've taken on the trainers here, and no offense..." Full-on offense. "...but it was quite the fluke that Sinnoh moved on up, don't you think? If I defeat you, I'd feel terrible, because you seem nice."

For a moment, Cynthia's smile disappeared, but then it returned. Like a mask. "I don't think that'll be an issue." A Pokeball emerged from her belt, and threw it down on the ground. Lorelei stared at the purple creature.

"...is...is that a-"

"Spiritomb?" Cynthia filled in for Lorelei. "Yes, it is. Do you read a lot? I like to read too. I've read that it was said that Spiritomb's formed after a collection of 108 spirits, but I think it's actually 109. Well, it will be, after our battle." Lorelei stared at the blonde in horror. This made her playfully laugh. Of course, typical Sinnohnian humor. "I'm joking, Lorelei. Now, do you care for a battle?"

And then Lorelei laughed again. "Sure, I'll battle you."

The moment Lorelei sent out her Dewgong and the battle started, was when Cynthia's smile dropped completely. Lorelei knew why in about five minutes when she returned her fallen Cloyster. To call it a battle would be disgraceful. Lorelei had never been beaten down so badly in her entire life. Lorelei didn't even get to see what other Pokemon Cynthia had on her party, because her Spiritomb destroyed her entire team.

"It was nice battling you," Cynthia said sweetly. "Now I'm going to get ice cream." And Lorelei swore she saw her skip away. Two months after that, Agatha called Lorelei asking if she could take over Roland's position, starting as soon as possible. The Sinnohnians laughing at Lorelei was clear as day in her mind, so of course Lorelei said yes.

Besides Agatha, Lorelei wasn't acquainted with any of the elites present and champion. That apparently didn't matter; because all of them seemed to have known who she was. But what Lorelei would never know that if it was because of Agatha speaking of her or her videos that were popularized.

Sergei let out a little hum. "Interesting, Agatha. Here I thought you weren't interested in hiring celebrities for the league." Bruno, Lance, and Agatha rolled their eyes.

"There's a reason I'm well-known, and it's not because of wrestling, mining, or being some puffed-up fashionista from Kalos. It's because I'm a battler," Lorelei replied. Lance and Bruno exchanged impressed looks. Out of the corner of Lorelei's eye, she saw Agatha give her a little grin.

"Well, that's settled then," Agatha marveled. "We welcome you. I'm sure you'll fare well in the first slot, where there are a lot of challengers waiting. A lot of challengers waiting. A lot of challengers - get to your stations, there's a challenger waiting!"

Lorelei, Bruno, Lance, and even the champion scrambled out of Agatha's room after her barking order.

Lorelei was not even an elite two weeks, and there's a scandal. All battles in the Indigo League, along with Hoenn, Unova, and Sinnoh League, were put on hold on the day of the news leak. Lance came in, as frantic and disheveled as ever, saying that there was hidden information about Kalos' champion, and that he was defeated by a female trainer that rejected the position several months ago claiming that Kalos was 'just a warmup.' Lorelei immediately knew who the woman was before she saw her face in the papers.

"That's her!" Lorelei declared, pointing at the woman on the paper. "Cynthia! That's her. That's the woman who defeated me with her damn Spiritomb!" Agatha, Bruno, Lance, and Sergei stared at their newest hire in shock. Lorelei took a breath. "When I was in Sinnoh. I ran into her. She defeated my entire team using a Spiritomb."

"Kalos was just a warmup," Bruno repeated. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means..." Agatha started off, looking years older than she actually was, "...that she's not just going after the Kalos league. That she's very, very strong."

"Not strong enough," Sergei tried to insist. His elites looked at him. "What? You all seriously think Indigo is in jeopardy? One lone trainer isn't going to push the LNS in their favor, especially a trainer from Sinnoh."

Agatha shook her head. "Of course we know that."

Lorelei crossed her arms. "Boy, am I glad I'm in the first slot. I love facing a few crazy trainers from Sinnoh telling me how awful I am, before they spit out some nonsense about the war from long ago, how Kanto and Johto committed war crimes. That we're evil."

This was not mentioned up until now. It's the first the others were hearing of Lorelei's dilemma.

Agatha raised her eyebrows. "Really now?"

The other elites and Sergei waited as Agatha gathered her thoughts, "It's so funny, honestly. Sinnohnians are quick to point out and whine about what our region did long ago, and how it was unnecessary, but you never ever hear them mention their dictator at the time and what he was doing. They're too cowardly to even say his name aloud. Oh, it's a disgrace what Kanto and Johto did - ask those morons what they think about what their champion did to his own people. Ask what they think about that, but no... they don't want to hear it. It's easy to blame another region. He probably killed more of his own than Kanto and Johto did over the years. If he wasn't a paranoid madman with the endless destruction of Sinnohnian lives of his own accord, he could've won the war."

No one said a word. Agatha finished her rant with a snort. "Now that's a disgrace."

Lorelei intended on releasing the video of her battle with Cynthia. Usually Lorelei recorded videos that would be apart of a collection released to the public later. After that revelation, she smashed the tape to bits. That was one recorded battle that would never see the light of day. Her determination manifested into a full-blown blizzard. Lorelei wanted to make sure that just because of Cynthia's debacle with the Kalos league to remember who the latest elite added to the LNS was. For those trainers that laughed and jeered at her to know their place. Elites were instructed to go all out on trainers, even from their own region, but Lorelei did that and more. She wanted them to remember.

Trainers from all over watched with disbelieving eyes as Lorelei won against trainers from outer regions that she recorded that was played all over the networks. Many of the trainers happened to be from the Sinnoh region that she defeated. Wait no, perhaps defeated wasn't the right word. Lorelei slaughtered those trainer's teams, going unnecessarily harder than usual opposed to trainers from her own region, Johto, Unova, and Hoenn. People would say she was just going all out. Sinnohnians knew better.

They watched as Lorelei boasted that it was an honor to battle their teams and win to uphold their system, and she would continue to do so. It was for the pride of the Kanto region, for the Indigo League. And because of the mere mention of their system and regional pride, Sinnohnian trainers felt the stirrings of an emotion that they hadn't felt since the dark days of losing the war, a dangerous vengeful feeling. Because of Lorelei's words, the trainers' eyes were filled with one emotion when pertaining to Indigo's newest elite.

Their looks weren't ones of awe. They were full of loathe.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25- Chuck

Johtonians were a strange bunch. A lot of trainers there had no drive to be the best like others did, which was why outside trainers would say there were more of a hinderance than of help to the Indigo League. Indeed, most Johtonian trainers had their eyes set on joining their star military force with all sorts of weaponry, where the region really shined the most. Trainers would enlist in Johto's Armed Forces as soon as possible before one Lt. Surge could tell them they were making a grave mistake.

Luckily, Chuck wasn't one of those people. It's not like he would've qualified, anyway. There were all sorts of tests you had to take in order to be able to enlist, because while Johto wasn't picky at all when it came to their trainers, they were picky on who could put on the uniform. Not many people, and Chuck knew it.

Chuck wasn't fifteen or sixteen when he was discovered by Bruno. He was actually seventeen, thank you very much. But Bruno never bothered to learn about his age. This wasn't to say that Bruno was a terrible teacher; in fact, he was quite the ideal mentor. A lot of students of Bruno, specifically at Saffron's Dojo, didn't even come close to understanding their teacher like Chuck did. Bruno was an orphan, that much was known by them, but it was Chuck that experienced something similar. Chuck's parents hadn't died like Bruno's had, but his parents had him when they were teenagers and were no way able to take care of a child. This left him to be raised by Cianwood's elders.

Chuck had watched Bruno. He watched him spar with the other trainers, and the trainers gossiped that Bruno would spar with his Pokemon and win. That was a very difficult thing to do. Pokemon - fighting-types, especially - were known for being excellent at sparring, far better than humans. Chuck wanted to study with him, in hopes that one day he would trained well enough to be as good as Bruno, and that he would be a good enough battler to take over Cianwood's gym.

The thing was, Chuck was going to be chosen as a gym leader whether or not he went with Bruno. Everyone knew that except for Chuck himself. Even as a small child, having confidence had always been an issue for him. He was so insecure in his abilities as a trainer and a martial artist that he thought the only way he could redeem himself was by training with Bruno. The Cianwood City elders were planning on recommending Chuck for the position to the Indigo League anyway when the current gym leader retired.

But as you already know, that's not what happened. Chuck still didn't have the confidence he needed, which was precisely why he did end up training with Bruno.

"You lack confidence," Bruno told him in the Saffron City dojo, after their spar. It's not like it was Chuck's ultimate goal was to defeat Bruno, but it was Chuck's goal to be at least half as good as Bruno was in martial arts. Half as good of a Pokemon trainer, too. Call Chuck a teacher's pet all he wanted. That's what those other black belts did in Saffron's dojo. But Chuck could spar with those other black belts without so much as a blink. They didn't like that Chuck could do that and told him to sleep with one eye open.

One day the black belts got sick and tired of Bruno's obvious favorite student. There was a reason they told Chuck to sleep with one eye open. In retrospect, it was a terrible mistake on their end, because that's what Chuck precisely did and was prepared when the black belts tried to attack him at night.

Bruno had simply raised an eyebrow the next morning when the majority of his students had dark circles under their eyes and yellow bruises all over. However when Chuck arrived, Bruno saw that he was relatively unharmed other than a strained shoulder. Chuck suspected that Bruno knew, but looked the other way. It seemed as though Chuck had the upper hand here and could take care of himself. Chuck wasn't as ill-tempered as Bruno could be, mostly he kept his cool, but there were days (such as that night) when he would snap.

And did he snap. Bruno had wondered aloud to Chuck a few days after why he heard a banshee cry in the middle of that night. That's when Chuck knew that Bruno knew. He could've dismissed Chuck as a student. In fact, Chuck would think in later years that's what Bruno should've done. Chuck knew if he was the teacher instead and he found out one of his students had beaten his other students senseless he would've dismissed them. Prize student be damned. It was unethical. Chuck awaited whatever punishment Bruno would inflict on him. Instead Chuck got an extra rage candy bar at supper.

Time went by, and eventually Bruno was promoted to be an elite. When Bruno asked Chuck to take over the Saffron Dojo, it was the first time Chuck ever said no. He braced himself for Bruno's wrath. He had seen Bruno's temper explode every now and then, never at Chuck, but this might be the first.

That's not what happened at all.

"Okay," Bruno told him, crossing his arms. "Present your case."

"What?"

"Present you case," Bruno repeated.

It was the first time Chuck lied to Bruno as well.

"I want to go to the Galar region for a while," Chuck admitted. Bruno's expression was unreadable, so Chuck went on, "You've told me about Galar karate. I've read the books you've given me, and I'd like to experience that firsthand. I feel like I learn better with experience than by reading. It would really, really help."

It wasn't exactly wrong; Chuck did want to go to the Galar region and learn their techniques in karate and martial arts. But more than anything, Chuck didn't want to stay at the Saffron Dojo as the new karate master because he knew that the students wouldn't listen to him. He knew it would be a dread. Chuck would take going to another region than spending another minute with those stupid black belts any day.

Bruno looked as though he didn't believe him. "Good point that you raise, Chuck. Very good. We'll get someone else then. But while you're studying in Galar, if I need you for any reason at all regarding the league, then I expect you to come back. Do you understand?" Chuck took the hint. Bruno had a spot for him as a gym leader. Where? Chuck didn't know. Chuck hoped it was in Cianwood; as that made the most sense.

The Galar region came with a few surprises. Stow-and-Side was known for being the home of Galar karate, which came as no surprise to Chuck. But there were two things that Chuck hadn't expected. For one thing, the martial artists were far more advanced in Stow-and-Side than in Cianwood and even in the Saffron dojo.

But what made Galar unique wasn't because it was the home of Glacia Frost, or even that it was the home of the toughest martial artists. For Chuck, the Galar region was the home of one of the many league love stories. It was how Chuck crossed paths with one Esmerelda "Esme" Ackerman.

Esme wasn't into karate at all. Say what you will about the love ballad of Lenora and Hawes, but at least the pair had something in common. However, Chuck crossed paths with the young woman whenever he stopped by the town's Bargain Shop to get some goods for his training regiments. She had a very, very nice smile with pretty eyes like those movie stars from Kalos. However, though his confidence in his martial artist abilities increased, he still lacked confidence in other areas - such as asking Esme out on a date.

Chuck would purposely stop by the shop just to get a glimpse of the woman. She always worked there at the same time, and Chuck didn't mean to be a stalker; really, he didn't. But he liked to hope that maybe if he watched her long enough he would muster the courage to say something. They've talked, small-talk, and exchanged names - that's it.

"What brings you here today, Chuck?" asked Esme, radiant as ever. That was another thing he liked about her. Her Galarian accent was so hypnotic and pleasant to listen to. "Posh" was what they called it around these parts. She leaned across the counter with her elbow resting on it, and her chin resting in the palm of her hand. "You normally show up a little earlier in the evening."

Chuck felt himself sweat. "I-I do?" He hoped that Esme didn't notice him stammer. He wasn't used to talking to pretty girls like her. Back in the Saffron Dojo, there was a pretty black belt girl that he had asked out - and she had kicked in square in the face. Bruno wouldn't let him hear the end of it.

But Esme laughed; it was good natured, not at all mocking. "Yeah. I suppose it's strange I remember, sorry. I always look forward to our talks."

Chuck's heart skipped a beat. "Do you now?"

"Best part of my day, of course," said Esme. "But I hope that they could last longer, you know?" Smile back, Chuck. She's smiling at you, and it's without a trace of condescension.

So that was precisely what Chuck did. "I'd... like that, too."

Esme's eyes lit up. "Mint. Give me your number, then. I'll call you and arrange a date, yeah?" Thank Arceus that Esme was so straightforward. Chuck scribbled down his number on a slip of paper and slid it across the counter to her. She pocketed the slip. "Cheers, then."

They had their first date that night. It ended with his lips touching hers. It was Chuck's first kiss. It was beautiful. Esme loved Chuck's fighting-types, how passionate he was over it, and especially loved Chuck's Primeape and Poliwrath. Chuck had told her that his fighting-types weren't normally very friendly toward other humans. It had taken a while for Primeape and Poliwrath to warm up to Bruno, even. Well that was because, not that many people knew, Chuck's Primeape and Poliwrath had a previous trainer that mistreated the pair. Abusive Pokemon trainers weren't very common, even in a cruel nature of the Pokemon world, so Chuck swooped in and saved them from a terrible fate.

It was Galarian tradition to ask the father of the girlfriend to ask permission to ask for his blessing for marriage. You see, unlike Lenora Fentisette, if Esme's father had said no - then Esme wouldn't have pursued. Esme's father shook his hand and told him to be true. Chuck proposed after three months. Esme said yes. Then they were married after six months of dating. Bruno was in attendance of the wedding, taking a day off from the Indigo League to tell Chuck that he was barking mad, but congratulated him nonetheless.

It was almost funny. If Chuck hadn't lied to Bruno as to why he didn't want to take over the dojo, then he wouldn't have met his soulmate. What wasn't funny was that Chuck was technically lying to his new wife, as well.

"...You haven't told her yet," Bruno had mused afterwards, during the father-daughter dance of the wedding. "Have you?"

Beat.

"...No."

There would come a time where Chuck would have to return to the Indigo League to accept a job position as a gym leader. In retrospect, Chuck really, really should've told Esme then - while they were dating, before they had sealed the deal. Husband and wife shouldn't keep secrets from one another. It's not like it was even a secret per se, but it was definitely something Esme should know. Chuck had every opportunity to do so. But alas, he never got around to telling her so. He would, though.

At the very last minute.

Agatha was not looking forward to this.

LNS meetings were a chore, but a necessary one. You see, the primary goal of these LNS meetings would be to ensure peace between them and that another war wouldn't break out between regions. It was the "We Are The World," of league meetings, so to speak. These meetings weren't often; they met three or maybe four times a year. Usually it was to discuss trainers that were taking on the LNS, to uphold rules in their system, and to be notified of anything... different that was going on lately.

Agatha couldn't remember a time in all her years as an elite where things were so different, that things were changing. Sure, it was only natural that things would change as the years went by, but it all started when Sinnoh started to apply themselves and climb up the leaderboard. Case and point, the last serious meeting that they had was over the Kalos champion dilemma, and Agatha could sense that the Sinnoh league knew something about it, or were at least notified about this Cynthia character. Their psychic elite and Bertha would exchange looks amongst one another - one of understanding, one of knowing. But Agatha suspected that Spyro and the other two oafs were kept clueless.

Their location was the Silph Co. Building. Agatha and Sergei were the first to arrive, followed by Lance, Bruno, and Lorelei. They took their seats.

"This is so stupid," Bruno scoffed. "We should be focusing on finding a gym leader's replacement in Cianwood, but instead we're here."

"Be quiet," snapped Agatha. "Besides, we have a list of people waiting in the wings. This is more important."

"Like who?" asked Lance. Agatha didn't get a chance to answer as more people filled in.

The Unova league was next. In Agatha's opinion, it was Alder that was the most memorable - being the champion and all. Oh sure, Agatha got along with Cecelia, Georg, Dalton, and even that rat bastard Holland - but they kept their distance. They, with the exception of Alder, offered curt nods while Alder shook hands with Sergei. Cordial lot, they were. They always went straight to business and didn't bother with formalities, something Agatha liked about the group. They all sat down shortly after.

The Sinnoh league was the third to show up. Spyro shook hands with Alder and Sergei and sat down. Bertha greeted everyone in the room, asked Agatha how she was doing - it was all cordial and crafted. Lucian followed Bertha, as he usually did, and took the seat beside her. The two oafs said nothing and sat down. She noticed that Lucian avoided eye contact with Unova's dark-type specialist. Agatha's also noticing a bit of tension between the Sinnoh elites, more-so than usual.

Perhaps it was related to what they were about to discuss.

The Hoennians were the last to show up, and that was a surprise to absolutely no one. Sidney, Glacia, Drake, that Ishmael fellow, and their champion Barty entered and warmly said hello to the Indigo League members and took the remaining seats.

Everyone had questions. Most of which pertained to, "What the hell is going on?" asked multiple times by Unovians and Sinnohnians.

The Hoennians wanted to know what was for lunch.

It was Sergei who spoke first. As per usual.

"This is regarding the sudden immigration status of Kalosians to the Sinnoh region," he told them, pausing in his speech to look directly at the Sinnohnians who looked largely unconcerned. "Now, I understand that one of your trainers had technically dethroned the champion in Kalos. But I'm wondering... I'm wondering... if Sinnohnians are working together with Kalosians to indict them into the LNS. If any of you knew anything about that."

Agatha immediately looked at Bertha - calm and collected; crafted. As per usual. "Kalosians were already immigrating to the Sinnoh region before the trainer defeated Kalos' champion, and there is an explanation as to why. One of our gym leaders, Fantina Dumont, I'm sure you all know who she is - played a large role in influencing Kalosians to migrate on over to get citizenship. Even before she was a league member, she had that level of power."

"Right, and we do not have that level of influence that Fantina does when it comes to the Kalos region," Lucian took over. "If Kalosians want to live in the Sinnoh region and decide to take on the LNS, that is their choice. Who are we to deprive them of that opportunity?"

Agatha tried not to snort. Bertha trained him well.

"When Glacia entered from Galar, no one had any complaints about that," added Spyro. Glacia sat up noticeably straighter. The other Hoennians appeared to have been paying more attention now that technically one of their own was mentioned.

"Glacia didn't bring in a ton of Galarians that wanted to take on the LNS," pointed out Sergei, with a frown.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Glacia said crossly. The two champions stared at her. "What? So some Kalosians want to move to Sinnoh. It's not that surprising if you think about it; Kalos is at war with itself. Some people want out. They chose Sinnoh."

Yes. Agatha understood that, too. But the fact that it was Sinnoh of all places.

"Shithole Sinnoh is no more," came another voice, belonging to... oh, right. His name was Axel. Everyone turned to him, appalled by the language. "What? Don't think we don't know how people see us." So apparently one of the two oafs was more swift than Agatha originally thought.

"Let's watch the language now, okay?" Barty interjected, with a light smile marked by stress. Agatha didn't mind Barty, she truly didn't - but the man read like a book. Way over his head sometimes.

"You know, it's almost funny," Bruno spoke, specifically toward the Sinnoh league members. "Kalosians didn't start to really get admitted quickly until that Cynthia girl came in. They're top trainers, too. Claim it's Fantina all you want, but I really think it's Cynthia's doing."

Lorelei snorted. "She destroyed my entire team before I became an elite with a Spiritomb-"

"Lorelei," Agatha admonished lightly. Bertha and Lucian sat up noticeably straighter once Lorelei mentioned that. This lead Agatha to really start to believe that her fighting-elite had a point. But discretion was key; and the pair failed to do that. Agatha turned to the Sinnoh league. "Forgive me colleagues. They talk, when they should listen." Lorelei and Bruno grumbled their displeasure at being called out, but listened. Good.

"...Why do we have issues with Kalosians going to Sinnoh again?" piped up Alder tiredly.

"I'm wondering the same," Sidney said, with a yawn. "I'd like to break for lunch, I really need a cigarette..." Agatha couldn't roll her eyes any harder. She needed one too, she only smoked cigarettes after an LNS meeting, but she wasn't going to say so aloud.

Sergei frowned. "It's not that we have issues, it's that we have several questions directed to our Sinnohnian colleagues..."

"Oh yes of course," interrupted Lucian, pushing up his glasses. There was a bit of derisiveness detected in his tone. Bertha sent him a warning look. Normally, this would quiet the psychic. But something told Agatha that today was not the day. "It's always us. Now I have a simple question for you. If Kalosians were going to Kanto or Johto instead, would we be having this conversation? Wait no don't bother, I can answer that, actually. No, no we wouldn't. But because it's our region, it's different. It's easy to blame us-"

"Lucian." Bertha's warning went unheard as Lucian continued on as if the ground-type specialist hadn't said anything.

"Outsider trainers want to come to Sinnoh? Sinnoh must be planning something diabolical, those savages. Hoenn has a flood? I bet Sinnoh's got something to do with it! A Kanto elite has the flu? Sinnoh must be behind that. Oh, it's hailing outside, guess which region's responsible for that-"

"Watch yourself," Lance interrupted coolly.

Lucian gave him a flat glare. "No, I'll say whatever I want, thank you. Why should I bother giving respect when multiple people in this room over the years had continuously supported those and a few among those who voted against my mere existence in the league as a psychic?"

Holland, the dark-type specialist, sent a look to Bertha saying to control your brat. In later years, Agatha would learn that Lucian was considered one of the tame ones of Sinnoh. Even if he did technically went to several of Johto's gyms and listed war crimes in attempts to be poetic as he defeated them. Her gym leaders in Johto complained and moaned that his display was disturbing, that he was disturbed, maybe. Agatha thought Lucian was really just the walking advertisement of daddy issues in a maroon suit.

"Lucian, tact," Bertha admonished lightly. Once she verbally expressed her displeasure, did Lucian stop. Bertha took over. "However, I don't understand what all the fuss is about. Sergei, you've expressed your displeasure over the years of the amount of refugees flooding into Kanto and Johto, that there was simply not enough room. In other words, you should be happy that Sinnoh is stepping in. We always have room, in Sinnoh. Always."

This was precisely what Agatha was talking about regarding Bertha. Make no mistake, behind the kind, warm demeanor - Bertha was a very smart woman. A smart, calculative woman. She knew exactly what she was doing. Bringing up Sergei's displeasure for immigrants would ruffle his feathers.

And that's exactly what happened. "Bertha," Sergei's voice was defensive. "You know as well as I do that you and your colleagues aren't admitting refugees. You're admitting strong trainers to fight on behalf of your region, and you're putting them on top of the waiting list."

"And you have proof of that, how?" Bertha countered calmly.

A hush fell over the room.

"Right, I understand it all clearly," Lucian remarked, rolling his eyes. "Arceus forbid that Sinnoh tries to help Kalosians have a better life in Sinnoh. You know Sergei, how about instead of admitting refugees we slaughter them right at the border. You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Lucian," Bertha warned once more.

"What a strange concept that Sinnohnians want to help," Lucian finished anyway.

Agatha didn't believe that for a damn second. Try as she might, Agatha could never shake off that Sinnohnians only wanted to 'help' if it had some personal gain to it. That's just how they were. It's how they were before the war, during the war, and after the war. Nothing changed.

"...Okay, now can we break for lunch?" Drake pressed. The others looked at him. Barty was hiding a chuckle. "It's not like anyone here really cares about Kalosians going to Sinnoh. I don't, most of us don't, it seems to me that only the Indigo League cares." He faced the Unovians. "Do you care?" They shook their heads. "Good. Now let's eat."

That seemed to be enough for everyone. But not Agatha. There's a bit of shift in power at these LNS meetings, and Agatha wasn't sure if she liked that at all. Several league members stepped outside for a cigarette, and some remained in the Silph Co. building. This conversation wasn't over. She spotted Bertha conversing with Lucian (more like chastising him for his abominable behavior) during their lunch break and had to step in.

"Bertha, a word please?"

Lucian appeared hesitant. Bertha was calm. "Lucian, stay here."

This surprised Agatha. Normally Bertha would let Lucian tag alongside her. Lance would say it was because Bertha was probably teaching him how to lie, and Agatha couldn't help but agree. Agatha had the sense that Bertha was doing for Lucian for what Agatha was doing for Lance. It was very wise of her. But this time Bertha let Agatha pull her to the side where no one was listening, and Agatha wasn't in the least surprised when the ground-type elite smiled warmly at her. "What can I do for you, Agatha?"

"Bertha, let's be honest with one another," Agatha said, cutting straight to the point. "We've been in the league for... Arceus knows how long it's been now. You know the game as well as I do, so you can drop the niceties. What is this about you and the league wanting to admit Kalosians all of a sudden? Does this have to do with Cynthia?"

Bertha's smile didn't waver. "I haven't the faintest of what you're referring to, dear." And Arceus when did that woman decide to start calling people that, much less herself?

"Bertha," Agatha pressed once more. "We've always been honest with one another." A lie. Agatha had conveniently left some information out over the years. "Don't stand there and tell me that the Kalos champion hadn't told you about Cynthia defeating him. Are you working with the girl, maybe?"

Bertha let out a sigh. "Agatha, I'm telling you, this was as much of a shock to me as it is to you. My, we really should've brought Fantina with us into this meeting so she can explain herself. She's quite the lovely girl, specializes in ghost-types, like yourself. Though it would be more accurate to say that you specialize in poison and ghost-types. Oh yes, but my point is that it's she that has quite the influence; not some random trainer that happens to be from our region. Think about it. Fantina is Kalosian, Cynthia is not. Fantina is a global sensation, and Cynthia... defeated one of the easiest leagues known to mankind, so really, you can't be too surprised here."

Well, it did make sense when Bertha put it that way. But Agatha knew how clever she was, so this could easily be a fabricated lie. Agatha wouldn't put it past the ground-elite.

"So," Agatha started off once more, looking directly into Bertha's eyes: "You really don't know anything about this Cynthia woman and if she's connected to Kalos?"

Bertha stared right back, with a smile. "I really don't."

"Bertha, I was wondering if you..." Agatha and Bertha turned around to see Lucian approaching them, who stopped himself when he saw the two women in the midst of something. He looked concerned. "...Oh my apologies, were you still speaking?" Agatha openly rolled her eyes.

"Oh nothing Lucian, Agatha and I were just finishing up our conversation," said Bertha, still staring directly into Agatha's eyes, with that damn smile. "I'll see you later, Agatha. Lovely conversation, as always." And she left. Lucian followed her. Unsurprisingly, Sergei, Lorelei, Bruno, and Lance appeared by Agatha's side thereafter.

"Well?" Sergei asked. "Did Bertha tell you anything?"

It almost hurt Agatha for her to say this. "No, nothing. Not a thing." A part of her suspected that the ground-elite was lying.

Bruno crossed his arms irritably. "Now, we're stuck here, when we should be figuring out who to replace-"

"Oh Arceus just call up Chuck already," snapped Agatha. "Why are you giving me that look? It's who you wanted since you became an elite, Chuck is from Cianwood, it's the perfect decision to make. Also... Lorelei and Bruno, never let those Sinnoh elites know what you're thinking. Lorelei, don't bring up that you lost to one of their trainers. Never. And I don't care if it was before you were an elite. Who knows if the Sinnoh region is withholding information from us on purpose?"

"They definitely are," said Lance. He made a face. "Especially Lucian. He knows something we don't."

"And if he knows... then Bertha knows," Sergei added. But did Spyro know?

"But if Bertha claims that she doesn't know, then..." Lorelei trailed off, looking to Agatha for an answer.

"Then there's nothing I can do." Agatha couldn't scare Bertha like she could scare most people. It pained her so. Oh, so, so much. "Bruno, call up Chuck. We're cutting this LNS meeting off early. Let the Sinnohnians have the damn Kalosians come in, for all I care. Perhaps Bertha is right. Their league is a joke."

Bruno wasn't going to argue. He tried to argue with Agatha once before. Bruno's lucky that he trained himself to block any object, because if he didn't there was no way he would've been able to break that chair that was hurled in his direction. "...Okay, I'll let him know."

"Explain this to me," Esme told him, with an infuriated look in her eyes that Chuck had never seen before. For a moment, Chuck was reminded of that karate girl that rejected him all those years ago. Chuck briefly wondered if Esme could kick as hard as she could. Probably not, Chuck thought after a second. "Explain how after years of knowing each other, that you failed to mention that you were expected to get a gym leader position in Cianwood City - in a whole other region."

Chuck knew he deserved every bit of his wife's wrath. His Pokemon, his Primeape and Poliwrath, exchanged a nervous look among each other.

But Esme wasn't wrathful; no, she was hurt more than anything else.

"I would've been fine with it if you had told me before," Esme went on frustratedly, running a hand through that beautiful hair of hers, "You could've told me before you proposed. You could've told me after you proposed. Arceus, Chuck, you could've told me after the wedding! Or during our honeymoon!"

"...I don't know why," Chuck admitted. "I thought... I thought that if I had mentioned that, that you wouldn't want to go out with me." At this, Esme rolled her eyes. "That you wouldn't give me a chance. That there would've been no point, because I wasn't planning on staying in Galar for the rest of my life, like you were-"

"Chuck."

"It's true, isn't it?" Chuck asked desperately. Esme didn't reply. "Galar is your home. Born and raised there. You couldn't possibly imagine living anywhere else."

"Yes, and then you walked into my life!" Esme cried out. Chuck had never felt so guilty in his life. "I would've done it, Chuck. I would've done anything. And now... we have to most to Cianwood last minute because you're the new gym leader there!"

"I... I'll reject it," Chuck tried to compromise. "If that's what you want me to do, then-"

"No, no, no," cut in Esme. "Bruno had told you that you were expected to take over that gym. It would be wrong for you to leave. I don't want you to reject your passions, Chuck. I really, really don't - I'm just... Arceus, you idiot... I wish you had told me before."

Chuck took his wife's hands in his. "Esme, I promise that with my new position, I'll make time for you. We'll always, always have time."

And thus came the third lie of Chuck's life, except this time Chuck had no idea that he was lying. Esme's eyes were shining with tears, looking like she very much wanted to believe him. "Okay," she allowed, brushing a tear away. "Okay. Let's go to Cianwood."

Chapter Text

Chapter 26- Clair

Everything Lance Arrax was in the Dragon's Den, Clair Arrax was not.

Clair, to be honest, was fucking over this shit regarding her training at the Dragon's Den. Fuck and shit were two of Clair's favorite swear words. She had developed quite a vocabulary over the years. If a child in Blackthorn City said a no-no word, their parents would ask if they had been around Clair Arrax as of late. Indeed, there was a reason she was called "Potty Mouth Clair," a nickname that would follow her into adulthood and by many trainers even outside of the Johto region once she became a gym leader. Clair frequently put her vulgarities to practice when her elders gave her a hard time when she was training.

Clair's mouth was faster than her brain, and she didn't bloody care. She had more lashes on her body than the rest of the trainers in the Dragon's Den put together. That didn't matter, Clair thought, because she was a better trainer than all of the dragon tamers put together, she was sure of it. Unfortunately, the Dragon's Den as well as her family was very outdated in which they thought female dragon tamers were less than men. Clair thought it was almost amusing, considering that two out of four of the elites in the strongest league in history happened to be female. One whom was alleged to have ice in her veins as she butchered trainer's teams from outside Kanto and Johto before they could move onto the second slot, and a legend who sent trainers into a maze of nightmares, to the few that managed to reach her. So really, why on earth were the elders surprised that Clair was growing up to be strong and independent? 

"She's nothing but trouble," one of the elders was overheard saying. "Why can't she be more like Lance?"

That especially riled up Clair the most. The elders would say that ever since her cousin had become a member of the Indigo Elite Four. It nauseated her. The first time it happened, Clair had retaliated by throwing champagne in the elder's face. The bruises from that beating didn't fade for a while, and Clair could hardly walk afterwards. But Clair didn't care at all, she was well past the point of caring about the ghouls in the Dragon's Den, along with their mentions of how successful and wonderful Lance was.

Besides, in Clair's eyes, her cousin-turned-professional-ass-kisser had no spine anyway, was always such a people pleaser. Since becoming an elite, Lance was at Agatha's side whenever she did gym checks in Blackthorn. The pair would pretend that nothing awful was going on due to Blackthorn's success as being one of the hardest gyms to beat in Johto. It was easier to just look the other way. Her bloody cousin had gotten out. So fucking what. Clair would never bend backwards for those vermin. She didn't care.

Except that Clair Arrax did care. So, so much.

This only enraged Clair even more. Anger was the emotion that Clair could always properly identify, and boy did everyone know it. Clair flaunted it. She would parade it on a goddamn billboard if she could. She was Clair from the Dragon's Den; angry. Angry that her uncle was a vicious tyrant of a gym leader, angry at her elders in the Dragon's Den, angry at her own parents for looking the other way when the elders would beat her senseless...

Most of all, Clair was angry that Lance managed to get away from it all.

Oh, and that he didn't take her with him.

...It was fine, Clair tried to rationalize when she was little. She couldn't always rely on her cousin-turned-brother figure in attempts to protect her from the blows she received. It's not like it would do any good anyway, because she wasn't like Lance. Stupid, perfect, golden boy Lance that had told her time and time again to try and stay out of trouble. Trouble was Clair's middle name, and she had a certain sense of pride about it - she had to be. It was one thing to have pride being a dragon-tamer, but that came with the territory of being an Arrax. It was expected. It was another thing to have pride with standing her ground, getting into trouble, that if she was defiant enough she would get what she wanted which was respect. Within her entire time at the Dragon's Den, it hadn't worked out for her. Not even a little. In fact, it had the opposite effect.

Clair knew she had the audacity to be surprised by it every time. But her heart beat on, her will refused to be broken. The only reason Clair was staying and hadn't taken off in the middle of the night was pure spite. To make those elders angry, that they couldn't break her. No matter how much they hit her, lashed at her, and still, her heart beat on.

Until one day.

They were learning about a Kingdra's abilities whenever they wake up or yawn. Clair knew the answers, but out of spite, she refused to answer. This earned her a smack from one of the elders which Clair learned to absorb by now. "You stupid, stupid girl..." snapped the elder. "They create whirlpools by yawning that can swallow ships. It can cause tornadoes when it wakes. We've gone through this several times. How do you expect to be a good dragon-tamer when you can't answer simple questions?"

Clair spat on the ground. "There's no point to this anyway. Being a dragon-tamer in this hellhole is the last thing I'd ever want."

The lashings were nothing Clair could've ever anticipated in her life. Her parents were in the other room, oblivious as ever, though it was likely they were choosing to be in order to distract themselves from their daughter's screams. It wasn't just the lashings. Hands slapped her. Beat her. It went on for several minutes. Or maybe several hours. After thirty minutes, Clair couldn't tell you how long it's been. Her parents pretended not to notice her scars when she came back.

Clair had enough. She had to get out of this prison. In the middle of that night, she ran away from the den. She thought those damn elders didn't even deserve the courtesy of her letting them know that she was going to complete her journey on her own terms.

In retrospect, Lance should've seen this coming. His baby cousin was growing up, and it wouldn't be long until she got fed up and decided to just leave Blackthorn City. It's technically what happened with himself, but Lance wasn't getting hurt as badly as Clair was. She was at least brave enough to run off without telling anyone. Lance had asked permission. He was jealous. Lance's uncle had called him up saying that his daughter had disappeared in the middle of the night, and to have her come back. Lance had told them that he would keep a look out, but really, Lance would look the other way if he spotted her.

Look the other way, like Lance had done when it came to the treatment by Blackthorn's elders.

Part of Lance knew that he should've done something to stop those elders a while ago, but still, the fear was still there despite his position as an established league member. Yes, he was aware that it was pathetic - but Agatha went on and on about how numbers in the LNS was important. That Blackthorn's numbers were the highest in Johto and that's what was saving Johto from separating from Kanto. Mahogany was a close second. Cianwood was still fresh, but it was Bruno's protege that had stepped in that might do some good for the Johto region. We'll just have to see, was what Bruno said.

His father was getting sick. Lance's father, that is. Weaker. Not in Pokemon battling, oh no, but his overall health. From as long as Lance could remember, he overheard his mother suggesting his father to go easy on the bottle, that one drink of the evening was enough darling, but he would just bitterly reply that she didn't know what the hell she was talking about and continue his habits.

Lance could hardly sleep over it. He picked up smoking cigarettes, something he thought he'd never end up doing. While Clair was out on her own journey doing Arceus-knows-what, Lance's father told him the diagnosis over the phone. Pancreatic cancer. Years of alcohol abuse building up. Karma hitting his father in the face. How long he's got to live, who knew. His father was going to continue battling and take treatment for his condition. He refused to step down.

That night, in a dramatic sense of irony, Lance got piss-drunk. Drunker than he had ever been in his entire life. Lance didn't normally drink to excess, alcoholism was one of the curses in their family, and Lance had been careful not wanting to inherit it - but that night, he didn't care. His father was dying. Clair hadn't been in contact with her family - which included himself. Lance drank and drank and drank because the fuck did it even matter anymore. He was running. Running where to, he didn't know, but he was stopped by... Agatha? He had no idea. The features were hazy. But the face was contorted with anger; so that's when he knew it had to be Agatha, especially when she started yelling.

Agatha teleported him and herself to her home, where she grabbed him by the collar and stuck his head under the shower head and turned the water on. That sobered him up almost immediately. He spluttered and choked over the water. Then, she turned it off and brought him back to the sofa.

"We'll speak in the morning," was the last thing Lance heard until he drifted off to sleep.

That morning, Lance woke up with the worst hangover he ever had. He complained and whined that his head hurt, and Agatha had replied that it was because his brain was trying to understand his own recklessness. Stupid. She told him angrily that he better have a good explanation as to why he thought it was okay to endanger himself like that.

And then Lance told her. He told her everything. In tears. Agatha stood there with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised. This made Lance cry even harder. He supposed it was humiliating to be having a breakdown in front of the esteemed elite like this, but dignity be damned. His father was dying and his cousin had left the family and all this going on was his fault. He should've been able to grow a damn spine to put a stop to his family's madness. He should've taken Clair with him when he left and had felt guilty ever since. The Arrax family was in the shitter and Lance was supposed to be the one that was destined to make it great because that's all everyone said but it fell apart instead.

How the Dragon's Den loved to ruthlessly bring out the best dragon-tamers in the world, the finest Johto had to offer. How they adored to raise them, train them, rupture them.

Agatha let him finish his ranting. She said nothing at first. Then she grabbed a tissue and handed it to him. Lance was met with a look from Agatha that was not soft, not quite, but not as cold as it usually was.

"Lance," she began, "Your father was bound to die eventually due to his own vices. You have no control over that. Though I must recommend for you not to fall into that same trap, and you looked quite close to it that night. And your cousin. Do you really think your family would've let you take Clair with you? Do you really, really think that they would've allowed that to happen? To try and do that would be pointless. You claim you are not great, but you were one of the youngest elites in the Indigo League to be hired and put in the third slot. No one from that family of yours had ever been able to achieve that. Not many people of your age could achieve that. Lucian only got it at when he was twenty was because he was a psychic and psychics are required in the LNS to be given the third or fourth slot. Sergei could've put you first but you were too strong for that."

Lance was speechless.

Agatha let out an irritated sigh, rolling her eyes. "Arceus, age is catching up to me. Thirty years ago, I never would've said that to a trainer. I never want to catch you like that in the future. Do you understand me?"

Lance could only nod.

"Now pull yourself together. Never cry in front of me ever again, because that was the most uncomfortable experience of my life. I couldn't get joy out of it. Not even a little."

This was arguably one of the highest of compliments that Agatha could've given him. Oh no, not the speech before. That statement alone that Agatha just said. Something told Lance that Agatha wanted this to be kept between them. Lance had no problem doing that, and it's not like people would've believed him anyway if he were to tell. The thought flew away in the back of his mind. There were other matters to attend to.

"Agatha, we have to do something about Blackthorn," Lance told her desperately. "We can't let it continue the way it is. There has to be change. There needs to be a change. It's about time we actually do something about it instead of pretending everything is fine."

Agatha looked at him. Here, her expression turned a bit colder. "You know how important numbers are to us."

"Agatha," Lance pressed. "You know me. I'll do whatever you tell me to do, because I want to achieve that greatness. But this is the one thing I need to stand firmly on. I had ignored it for far too long. What's something we can do to stop what's going on in Blackthorn? Because I have no idea how to go on about it, but I know it needs to happen."

Agatha lightly tapped her cane on the ground in thought. "Hm... okay. How long does your father have to live?"

Lance let out a scoff. "Who the hell knows?"

"You'll need a replacement for that gym when the time comes," Agatha told him.

Lance took the hint.

What the hell was wrong with Johto's gyms?

No, really. Clair wanted to know. It was almost pathetic how easy most of them were. Bruno's protege was almost laughable. Dim-witted fellow who needed to spend more time with his wife instead of training since Clair didn't see the point of him getting stronger. That's what happened with most new gym leaders, though, so she needn't be surprised. A lot of gym leaders needed to grow into the position first. Pryce was a well-seasoned gym leader by now, which, was precisely why Clair struggled against him compared to others. She had snatched his badge swearing like a sailor because he had stalled her with his ice-types. She didn't look back.

Clair had received seven badges of the Johto region as of right now. She had beaten Lance's record. She had gotten those badges quicker than he did. Clair knew that she had to return to her hometown for her final badge. She had stalled the moment, training in the Ice Path like it was nobody's business a little longer than she needed to, because in reality she was scared that she would be forced to come back to train in the den.

That's not what happened. Blackthorn seemed like a shell of its former self. Some of the elders averted their eyes when Clair entered from the Ice Path cave. Clair suspected they were notifying her uncle that she had come to challenge him. And Clair damn well intended to win.

...Something's wrong. With her uncle. Clair didn't care to be honest, she held nothing but contempt for the most vicious of the city, but she knew that something had changed since she had run off. It didn't matter anymore once Clair defeated him and the rising badge was in her grasp. Clair spat on his shoes. The man was too weak to fight back.

Most people in Clair's position had two options. She could either go to another region and win points for the Indigo League by taking on their gyms and elites, or she could stay within the Indigo League to challenge her own and become the champion. Clair's eyes flashed dangerously when she remembered the years of comparison's from the elders about her cousin. After that, the choice to Clair was pretty obvious.

Clair thought Lorelei was a talented battler. Really, truly, she was brilliant. And the woman was unsurprisingly friendly toward her. Lorelei had a reputation for being as cold as the touch of death toward outsiders, but within Kanto and Johto she was charming and polite.

The thing was, Lorelei's strategy had its faults. She shouldn't have recorded most of her battles before she became an elite. Clair had watched those videos religiously. Because she watched those videos religiously, Clair knew exactly how to defeat the woman. Ice didn't scare Clair one bit; that's what the Ice Path by Blackthorn City was for - to learn how to adapt against a dragon's weakness. Clair wasn't weak. Lorelei was defeated and Clair moved on to the next room.

Bruno was almost pitiful. The man didn't stand a chance against her. Clair suspected that Bruno himself was probably a better sparrer than a Pokemon trainer, and she would be entirely correct in that assumption. The fighting-specialist had been defeated and Clair moved on.

Clair came face-to-face with Lance.

He had the nerve to smile at her genuinely, though Clair suspected it was tinged with strain. "You've done so well! I'm sure everyone's so proud of-"

"Shut the fuck up and take out your Pokemon," Clair interrupted angrily.

She lost.

Horribly so.

"Clair..." Lance began, and he seemed almost fearful of her reaction. Good. "...It's alright. You've done really, really well if you made it this far-"

"Save it," spat Clair, retrieving her fallen Kingdra. "I don't want to hear it. Your fucking Dragonite makes me sick."

It was the same one that rocked her to sleep as a child.

Lance's face fell. "Clair..." He started again, in that gentle voice that Clair never heard from her own parents: "You did well. Maybe you need more time. I heard from father that you left out of nowhere. Maybe you can consider training back at the Dragon's Den again."

Immediately, Clair saw nothing but red. Clair retrieved an empty Pokeball and hurled the item at one of the windows completely shattering it. Lance ducked in the knick of time, and the league's security burst in, ready to haul her out of the building - likely to also blacklist her from attempting the elite four again. Whatever. Clair didn't give a shit. The mere thought of having to go back to the dragon's den to those elders infuriated her, and Lance definitely knew that.

"Hold it," Lance told the guards, holding his hand up to stop them. "Everything is fine." It never failed to amaze (as well as anger) Clair over the years on how calm Lance could be even in the midst of chaos.

The guards looked skeptical. Clair tried to scare them off with her signature glare, but even that didn't seem to have an effect - especially after losing so horribly to her cousin. For the first time, her confidence was shaken. Security departed after Lance told them to (likely, because they thought this was petty family drama, and they would unfortunately be correct) and he let out a heavy sigh. "How is our family?"

"Fuck you Lance," snapped Clair, unable to conceal the angry tears that blinded her. Lance could only stare in utter bewilderment, and that made her blood boil. "You haven't a clue. You have no idea what it's like in that stupid Dragon's Den since you left me there..." Those last four words spoke in broken whisper.

"...I'm sorry," Lance told her, swallowing a lump in his throat. "I'm so sorry."

He tried to put his arms around her in a hug, but Clair shrugged him off. "Sorry isn't good enough," she retorted, no matter how badly she wanted to melt into her cousin's embrace and let her be hugged by him like she used to be by him as a small child. "Also, Uncle Shenron looks like shit. Don't ask me why, I have no idea."

Lance paled. "You really haven't been in Blackthorn a while, have you?"

"Have you?"

"...You don't know." It was a statement, not a question.

Now Clair was confused. Almost afraid, even. But she wasn't about to let Lance know that. "What's going on?"

Lance proceeded to explain, in great detail. Clair listened intently, which was a skill that she didn't master yet, but she had been working on it lately. It just so turns out, this was the right time to learn how to adapt such a skill because what Lance was saying made her stomach drop. Not because Clair in particular gave a flying fuck that her Uncle Shenron had gotten himself a tumor on his pancreas likely because of years of drinking his life away (that spiteful bastard deserved it, Clair thought) but Lance was upset.

"I have questions," Clair spoke, in a voice not quite like herself.

"I may have answers," was Lance's reply, with a sad smile.

"...How long does he have?"

Lance shrugged. "Less than six months, doctors predict. But really, who knows?"

Clair knew the right thing to do would be to ask this: "Are you okay?" Another shrug from her cousin. "You're not."

"My father is dying, of course I'm not okay," spoke Lance, matter-of-factly.

"Even if he hit you?" Clair couldn't help but ask, and tried not to wince once she realized how cold she sounded. But Lance didn't appear angry. He rarely got angry, and Clair couldn't recall a moment in which Lance was angry at her. Disappointed? Yes. Exasperated? Plenty of times. Annoyed? And how. As for being angry? Never. Not one time, and Clair thought there were many times she had deserved her cousin's anger. She was certainly angry at him a lot of the time, but right now, she didn't have the energy for it.

"Even if he hit me," was Lance's answer.

"Are you going to return to Blackthorn City to take over as gym leader?" Clair inquired; because if Lance became a gym leader, Clair knew that she would be protected. The elders wouldn't give her a hard time anymore.

He didn't answer for a while, and the anticipation was killing her. "No."

Back to anger. Clair felt nothing less than anger, and boy did she feel betrayed. "The elders are going to be more stressed," emphasized Clair, almost pleadingly. She had the urge to throw a second Pokeball. But this time, Clair held the item back, because maybe there was a way to convince him. "They're going to take it out on me if I go back, pressure me, continue to treat me like shit like they always-"

"That's not going to happen," said Lance, and he looked at her dead in the eyes as he stated: "Because you're going to take over instead."

Clair processed this. Once she did, that's when she made her decision. Clair threw the second Pokeball - aiming at Lance's head, which he dodged with ease. "Now, Clair..."

"No fucking way," sneered Clair. She barked out a hollow laugh. "I'm not working for those ghouls. Find someone else, damn it! Not me. I'm not a gym leader. What about my own path? What about me? You know, Lance, it is just like you to leave me there in that place, when you have no idea of the torture they put me through, since you had it so damn easy from the moment you were born!" Something flashed in Lance's eyes, but Clair paid no mind to it. "Oh no, not you! Not you... the saving grace of Blackthorn City... the city's hero! Not me, though! It's never me - never mind that I completed my badge quest faster than you did! If..."

Clair was in tears by now, and Lance definitely noticed. "If anything, you should come back! You're the one that's the city's fucking pride and joy! It's your father's gym, not mine! Not like my parents would give a single shit if I took over the gym anyway, because it's all about you. It always has been, and it always will. They would love if you quit your job as an elite and came back to take over your father's gym." She bit her lower lip. "They hate me... everyone does... you even hate me, right now..."

And the last thing Clair wanted was the one person in her life who was kind to her hate her.

"I will never, ever hate you," Lance reassured firmly. Clair looked at him, it was almost as though he seemed appalled by the mere thought. He walked over to gently brush away her tears with his thumbs, and she let him. "No matter what you do, I will never hate you. And the elders aren't going to give you a hard time. I..." He paused if only for a moment, and continued: "...I should've done more. And for that, Clair, I'm sorry."

"I'm not going to do it." Clair almost thought she meant it. Almost, though.

"You will, and do you know why?" Lance asked. Clair shook her head. "Because you're strong, and if anyone could make changes to Blackthorn City - it's you." Clair blinked slowly; it was the first time anyone had ever said that to her. "You're angry, yes, and rightfully so - but you can use that anger for something good."

Clair didn't think "anger" and "good" in reference to her would ever be used in the same sentence.

"You're a strong trainer," Lance went on passionately, "You're strong, hotheaded, and if the elders knew I wanted to give you the Blackthorn City gym then it would drive them mad, because then you're untouchable." At this, Clair grinned. Lance returned it, albeit weakly. "I'll be working and do everything in power to stop the brutality of the Dragon's Den from behind the scenes, but it can start with you. Because I know you, Clair, and if anyone would know about the brutality of the elders, it's you."

Lance was getting ready to wrap up his speech. "You're far braver than I was. I..." Hesitation: "...I was too afraid of them. You aren't, and to be frank, I've always been jealous."

Clair couldn't believe her ears. "You? Jealous of me?"

"You always stood up to them," said Lance. "You aren't that surprised, are you?"

She was. Clair considered this. "So..." she began, "...I can make changes to Blackthorn City? As the gym leader?"

Lance didn't even have to think about it. "Without a doubt," he answered. "Are you going to take the position?"

Clair's eyes hardened in determination. The truth of the matter was, Lance won her over the moment he had mentioned the Elders' possible reaction to her being the new gym leader. If she was the new gym leader, then she would make the changes. She would finally have her taste of power. No one was going to suffer like she did in the den. Not if Clair could help it; it made Clair's blood boil upon thinking about it.

"Yes," Clair answered. "Bring it on." Because according to Clair, nothing was a bigger motivator than pure spite.

On the day that Clair became Blackthorn's new gym leader, she forcibly dismissed the nastiest of elders - and only kept the ones that weren't violent but still possessed stern qualities that would benefit future dragon-tamers rather than harm. Clair worked together with her cousin on setting up new standards for the dragon's den. Lance was happy to put in his two cents. Clair confessed to Agatha and Lance that she still had her concerns, that the elders of Blackthorn that were far from kind would try to snatch her power away and everything Clair and Lance wanted to fix would fall apart once again, and prevent the healing of their family and future dragon tamers ahead.

Agatha demanded names at once. Lance had given the names of the worst offenders. Agatha's expression was unreadable, and then she told Lance and Clair that she would see what she could do.

The results spoke for itself the very next day.

There was a raid of Blackthorn, those dragon-tamers were removed from Blackthorn all together. Something that should've been done a long time ago. Where they went, Clair didn't know, but Lance had brought up to her that the... disappearance of the Blackthorn elders was not to be discussed aloud. Clair's eyes grew wide under the implication. She got the message. Clair didn't feel an ounce of remorse. They were gone. Out of her life completely.

The only sour point with this, was that even if Clair had escaped the torment of the Dragon's Den and brought forth that change for others, she would never fully escape being in Lance's shadow. No one would remember that it was Clair that made this possible, that it was her will and determination and pure spite that finally managed to open those doors to freedom. Once again, it was her cousin that saved the day. Him collaborating with Agatha what was most remembered about the new set of rules and standards in Blackthorn. Never mind that it took a blue-haired girl with a heart of iron and bravery that put her foot down over the city's tyranny. These folks too ignore that she had beaten two members of the elite four, only do they remember that she lost to Lance.

The only plus side to this was having the eyes and ears of the Indigo League that no other gym leader in Johto or even Kanto would come close to having. If Clair was going to be stuck in Lance's shadow, why not use it to her full advantage for the first time in her life? She would keep her head down, mostly being remembered for having trainers go to the Dragon's Den to take some bullshit tested she concocted to prove they didn't hate their Pokemon before begrudgingly handing them their badge with several swears forming at her mouth. But Lance, having feeling guilty over abandoning her, would let information slip that gym leaders weren't technically supposed to know. It was very useful.

Like with what happened to the cruelest of dragon-tamer elders. Highly classified information about their disappearances that would never leave the room of the Indigo League meeting. Clair learned just how corrupt the league could be, but like she had said earlier, she didn't care. No remorse whatsoever. People outside of Johto would wonder, of course. Many speculated, naturally, most of which were assuming that they had died of illness, old age, and so on. Every single Blackthorn citizen knew better.

Besides, it wouldn't be the first time a league would cover up an unfortunate accident. Every league had its skeletons in the closet, and this wouldn't be the first nor the last.

Chapter Text

Chapter 27- Erika

There were some natural talents some gym leaders of Kanto possessed that had nothing to do with battling that experts couldn't explain.

Notable examples would be Sabrina Harlow, of course - her prodigious psychic powers were the envy of all and most psychics would shrug their shoulders as if to say, "I have no idea how the fuck she's so powerful, and let's not talk about it." Blaine Cote was a fire-type specialist, a damn good one, but professional musicians would gawk at his talent on the saxophone and remark that he should've been a musician instead. Koga Tanaka was a master of ninjitsu, the master of illusion, so much that the art of ninjitsu was saved from the brink of death. Alive and thriving in Fuchsia to present day.

And then there was Erika Mortimer. Sure, her abilities weren't as exciting as making several spoons bend, playing a musical instrument, or vanish into thin air, but Erika had her strengths in a different field all together which she thought was vastly underrated. Erika was amazing in the field of science. Surprising to hear, surely. But in order to make perfumes and extract those scents from grass-type Pokemon and other exotic plants had to require a good amount of intellectual ability in science. Notably, chemistry.

Oh yes. Erika Mortimer was a chemistry wiz. It did help that her parents were chemists, as well. Nonetheless, Erika learned all the periodic table of elements at age ten. She could name their symbol, atomic number, and how each of them were beneficial in a way. It was actually her mother and father's idea to make a business out of the perfumes, however, which Erika thought was fine. Though yes, Erika was amazing in chemistry, she knew nothing about business matters. She was still ten in that aspect.

The business didn't start off well. It didn't take its course as quickly as her parents would've liked. No matter, all Erika liked was learning how to extract fragrances and spend time in Celadon's laboratory. Her parents would have to drag her out kicking and screaming. Her parents decided she needed another hobby. They didn't want their child to be unprepared with dealing with grass-type Pokemon, if she were to venture off Celadon City. So they suggested that she learn how to use Pokemon in battle.

Erika thought battling with Pokemon was preposterous, to say the least. She didn't care what Agatha said on television. In fact, most of the stuff the ghost-elite said about Pokemon disgusted her. Saying that Pokemon were only useful in combat was wrong, and that was proof with the perfumes Erika made. Yes, business was slow, but at least the citizens in Celadon had taken a liking to it. There wasn't one citizen in Celadon that went without perfume. Everyone liked them. They just needed to venture outside their city.

"Oh darling, you ought to give it a chance," Erika's mother told her. "Why, I think I can get Camilla to take you on as a student. Just something to pass the time."

Camilla was Celadon City's gym leader that specialized in grass-types. She was also a good friend of the family. Erika agreed to this for two reasons. One, it would get her parents out of her hair. Two, Erika would learn more about grass-type Pokemon and therefore it would be beneficial to her field of study.

So Erika was a part time perfume consignor and a part time gym trainer in Celadon City. Not that Camilla let her practice on the trainers that came to challenge Camilla. The gym leader thought Erika was too young and inexperienced, despite Erika having her grass-type Pokemon since early childhood. She met her Gloom in an alleyway in Celadon after a Grimer tried to attack her as a small child. Her Weepinbell was a gift Pokemon from her father.

Camilla was her private tutor over the next six years. An older woman, warm and friendly.

"Grass-type Pokemon are say, a strange bunch in the league," Camilla told her. "They are usually seen as... lackluster, really... not having as much pure power as say, psychic-types or dragons or fire-types..."

"But they're better than bug-types, I hear," said Erika.

Camilla let out a laugh. "Yes, that's quite true. They're the only typing to not reach elite status, and I don't see that happening anytime soon. Not enough gimmicks, not enough power, and are often very frail. Grass-types have the ability to stall. You can stall, especially with a dual poison-type like your Weepinbell and Gloom have. Stalling was how Wren Corbett reached elite status in Unova."

Wren Corbett was the only grass-type specialist that had reached elite status in history, not including regions outside of the LNS, and was somewhat of a legend to those specializing in grass-types. He had left due to his health falling fast. He was replaced by a shining star in the making, a twenty-year-old Cecelia that specialized in psychic-types.

Erika frowned. "How can they stall?"

"Drainage moves, and a variety of them. With a dual poison typing, you can poison them. Combining these two, it eats away at your opponent's health. It's why Agatha's Pokemon also consist of poison-types and trainers struggle against her. She confuses her opponents making their Pokemon hit themselves while the poison takes its course. It's diabolical, but with a grass-types draining moves - such as absorb, mega drain, and giga drain - it takes your opponent's health and gives it to your own Pokemon."

Camilla wrapped up her speech and looked the girl dead in the eyes: "Are you understanding what I'm saying?"

"Yes," said Erika.

Erika did understand, but she didn't see the point. It's not like she was planning to be a serious trainer, anyway. She was only doing this to learn more about perfumery, and having basic knowledge of the grass Pokemon ensured that for Erika. It was a shame, Camilla would always tell her parents. Because Erika had battling potential. She held her own against the other gym trainers, and eventually Camilla let Erika practice against the other trainers that came to challenge the gym. Camilla told Erika that she ought to lean into her Pokemon's poisonous typings. A lot of grass-specialists made the error of only leaning into the grass-speciality alone, which was why in the past they were easy to laugh at in the leagues, but once a grass-specialist leaned into poison-typings, trainers were in for a little surprise.

Slow and steady apparently wins the race. Because when Erika turned sixteen, her perfumes were being sold all over Kanto. In a way, Erika had to credit Camilla. Had she not learned about grass-types in depth from the old woman, Erika wouldn't know even half the scents she put out on perfume and cologne. She would always express her gratitude to her mentor.

It wasn't just business that was booming either. Erika's infatuation with a certain gym trainer was booming, too. While most girls in Celadon gushed about boys, Erika was among one of those that did not. She didn't understand what was so great about these boys, and would rather spend time in a lab. Erika had a certain sense of pride of not being 'boy crazy.' It just so turned out, there was a reason for that. Erika had always had some level of fascination with that older psychic gym leader by the name of Sabrina, but assumed it was idolization more than anything. However the more Erika spoke to Melrose, a fellow gym trainer, the more Erika learned it was infatuation.

Melrose was lovely. She was passionate about battling, however. Not so much interested in perfumes. It took a week for them to kiss. Another week for them to start going out. And another for Erika to come out to her parents. Erika's parents had no issue with her being a lesbian, and asked when she was going to invite Melrose for dinner. It was rumored that Melrose was going to take over as Celadon's gym leader when the time came. Erika's parents confronted the girl on this.

"Oh sure, I'd love to be the new gym leader," said Melrose. "However I'm far more interested in taking on the LNS. Sinnoh and Unova are getting far too comfortable, as of late. If anything, Erika should take over the gym."

It was the first time Erika was hearing of this. She stared at her girlfriend, ignoring her plate of green beans and mashed potatoes. "Me? Be a gym leader?"

"Camilla is fond of you," remarked Melrose. She beamed positively to Erika's parents. She smiled, like a flower in a garden blossoming. "Then again, everyone is fond of Erika."

It was true. Not a single person in Celadon disliked the girl that made such rich scents. Everyone liked Erika. Well, except her business competitors in Kanto that also made perfumes. They hated that a mere teenager was booting them out of business. But personally, one-on-one, it was almost impossible to dislike Erika once you engaged in a conversation with her. The friendliness of the girl that spent time secluded in a lab or training at Celadon's gym was infectious.

Even the Nugget Bridgers had nothing bad to say about Erika. Camilla had taken the girl to Nugget Bridge one day to develop thicker skin. The trainers were rude at first, yes, but Erika found that it paid nothing to be kind. After defeating a few trainers and losing to some, she was nothing but gracious and kind. Erika told them that she had no interest taking the money from trainers that lost, and had no problem giving money to trainers who won. The trainers had exchanged a look.

"You're very strange, girl," one of them said. Then he grinned. "You're also very pretty. Uh, do you mind if I get your number?"

Erika laughed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm taken."

"Ah, you got a boyfriend back home?"

"A girlfriend, actually," said Erika. The boy's face blanched. "I'm sorry. You're not my type."

He shrugged. "Don't apologize," he said, and it wasn't in a mean way. "I'm sorry for wasting your time, Erika. Anyway, you think you can come up with some cologne products?"

This prompted Erika to come up with more scents for men. If girls could smell pretty, why not the boys too? Besides, she could always extend her demographic. One day, Erika was selling perfumes and colognes outside Celadon's gym alongside her girlfriend - with Camilla's permission, of course. The gym leader was always supportive of Erika's business. There was a big crowd, a massive one, eager to see what the hottest new perfume on the market would be. However, something strange happened in the process. Erika stepped away for just a moment, to fix her hair, when she overheard a conversation between two disgruntled league members.

"I knew it! I knew they were admitting those Kalosians in quicker!"

"Keep your voice down, Lorelei!"

"It's dirty. A dirty, dirty trick! And now we have to go to another meeting with-"

Lorelei and Agatha.

And they spotted her, out in the open.

Agatha glared at the young girl. "Whatever you think you may have heard, you did not hear one bit of it. Understand?" Erika nodded sheepishly. To be honest, Erika hadn't a clue of what the pair was talking about. All she knew was that she was in front of two esteemed league members.

"Oh, Agatha! This is the girl," Lorelei pointed out. "With the perfumes."

Agatha rolled her eyes. "Lorelei, you drag me to Celadon for this?"

"But they smell so good!"

"...Hey, hey I can keep my mouth shut, I promise," Erika protested. "Wait here, just wait." She went back to the gym to retrieve two bottles of her perfume, the larger ones, and then returned to where Lorelei and Agatha were. She handed the perfume bottles to them. "Keep them. On the house. With my compliments."

Lorelei was giddy and offered the girl her autograph in exchange for the perfume. Agatha had taken the bottle without saying another word. It was the last time Erika saw them for the day, because Lorelei claimed they had a meeting to go to. Whatever it was, Erika didn't bother asking. It was none of her business, after all.

Erika didn't think much of it when she handed them the perfumes. It was a simple deescalation tactic, to ensure that Erika was loyal to them, that she wouldn't blab to anyone about what she just heard between the two elites. It was true. Erika didn't want problems with anyone, she hated confrontation more than anything. Negative emotions were a waste of Erika's time, in her opinion.

...No one could've predicted it, no one could've comprehended it, but Erika's perfumes played a massive role in the LNS and how the regions interacted with one another in the most unpredictable, almost laughable way. Well, it was at least laughable to a few regions. One region found it humiliating. No one had seen such a thing coming, absolutely no one, not even Agatha. But an opportunity arose, and once again, regional pride ran deep. Erika knew none of this, nor did she care.

The clock was ticking. A firestorm would erupt. A scandal. A secret. Striking at the right place, at the right time. Because Erika knew none of this, blissfully unaware about the LNS unlike her girlfriend who was set to leave in a few weeks for Unova, she thought everything was fine.

"You all wanted to see me?" asked Camilla, knocking on the office door belonging to Sergei. The elites were there as well. Though Sergei was sitting, Agatha opted to stand. She thought it was more assertive that way if she were taller. Lorelei, Bruno, and Lance were in seats scattered all over the room.

A few of their Pokemon were out, such as Lorelei's Dewgong that right now whipped her tail in the face of Bruno's Hitmonchan. In retaliation, Hitmonchan tried to grab it, until both trainers ordered their Pokemon to be civil or else back in their Pokeballs they would go. In the corner, Lance's Charizard watched the interaction with little interest.

Sergei gestured to the seat in front of him. "Yes, Camilla. Please join us." The grass-type gym leader sat down. "Now... what can you tell us about your potential replacement?"

Camilla frowned. "The first choice was Melrose. Great with grass-types, not unlike myself. But you see... she-"

"Wanted to travel to Unova, I understand," Agatha cut in.

Sergei looked over in disapproval that Agatha had taken over the conversation, but after years of being in the same league, he found it was useless to stop her once she got started. There was a reason they brought her in here, and that was due to who would actually replace her. And because of who was actually replacing Camilla, tensions were high. Not for the reason one would think. In fact, after what Agatha had found out after putting on that perfume before an LNS meeting, she was almost impressed. Agatha never couldn't anticipated what had come after, but she relished in an opportunity known as blackmail.

"Erika's not much of a battler," Camilla pressed. "She's more into those perfumes. She's quite good with chemistry. She trained under me for six years, and she's gym leader material. If she isn't up to par, then she'll grow into the job, I'm sure of it-"

"Tell me about her latest perfume that had gotten popular," Agatha interrupted. Now Camilla looked confused. But there was a reason for Agatha asking this.

"She called it a Love Scent, now that I remember. Really, you should be asking her these questions. A mix of an alluring Bellossom's scent and a hint of the Pokemon move Attract. It's not really supposed to infatuate you, unless you're under a substance. Alcohol would do it."

And there was the confirmation. Agatha pulled out an old phone. She wasn't one for technology, never cared for it, but it was the only way she could keep in contact with other champions and elites in the LNS. And she had never been thankful for it until now.

Sergei let out a sigh. "Just play the voicemail, Agatha."

Agatha pressed the button. The drunken voice was clear as day. Anyone who was an elite, gym leader, or trainer planning on taking the LNS challenge knew who this was. Lance and Bruno were stiffing their laughter. Lorelei didn't bother hiding her amusement. Her loud barking laughter echoed throughout the room until Agatha shot her a look. Camilla's eyes grew wide with every word that followed. The things being said were so grotesque that it made her face go ashen pale. The fact that this was coming from a sitting champion was almost unheard of.

And this was directed toward Agatha. After the voicemail finished, Agatha flipped the phone shut. "He drunk-dialed me. Couldn't get over the perfume from the meeting. Quite a mouth on him. Must've had a couple to drink before the meeting started."

"I'm so, so sorry," pleaded Camilla. "If you want me to get Melrose instead, then I'll gladly-"

"No," Agatha told her, with a grin. "Hire Erika."

"What?!"

"This is exactly what we needed," Agatha said, still grinning. "I don't know if that was her plan, but Arceus, it turns out there's some use for her perfumes after all."

"I... I..." Camilla struggled to find the words. "Did you hear what he said?"

Agatha looked at her. "You think I'm planning on keeping this hidden from the public? Absolutely not. He had every opportunity to stop what he was doing with the Kalosians, but he wouldn't budge. I told him that we would keep it secret between us. Until now."

"For the record, I think it's a mistake," piped up Sergei. "We don't need animosity with-"

"No," snapped Agatha. "Let Bertha know exactly who she's working for. Besides, as a fellow woman, she should be ashamed. I tried to compromise with her, work with her, but she lied through their teeth, along with Lucian that follows her around and blindly listens to whatever she says. And I suspect after this they will never lie to me again."

Agatha warned them. She warned the Sinnoh league to stop rushing in so many Kalosians, because it was blatantly obvious that they were doing it just to get a bit of an edge in battling. If Kalosians wanted to battle so badly then they should register as a region like the rest of them, and to stop hiding under Sinnoh. Say what you will about Johto, but at least they worked as a whole with Kanto. For better, or for worse. Sinnoh only cherrypicked the good ones in Kalos. Agatha wasn't a moron. So she bribed a few top security officials in Sinnoh to get the information regarding their immigration protocols. Top officials, whom, Agatha assumed would be fired after what she was going to do next.

Agatha found out. She always, always found out who had certain tricks up their sleeves. Sometimes, it would take longer than others. But Agatha would find out.

So she decided to send a message.

Arceus bless that girl's perfumes.

Erika, new gym leader of Celadon City, was absolutely terrified about what was going to happen. Her beloved Vileplume, sensing her trainer's distress, moved closer to envelope her in a tight hug and cooed. The sentiment was nice, and admittedly it did help to hug Vileplume back, but it wasn't enough. Erika was nothing short of terrified.

She didn't mean any of this to occur. She originally only cared about making her perfumes, for Arceus' sake. Nothing about battling. Okay, it was true Erika grew to love it, but still. And her perfumes, Arceus, her perfumes had caused a stir. Had Erika known that she would've unintentionally caused a scandal with them, she would've never released such a scent to the public. And that was going to be broadcasted all over the world.

The WRN was known as the World Region's Network. If you wanted to see what was going on regarding region's all over the world, this was where you went to tune in. It was a channel shared by every region with the exception of Paldea - due to them being in lockdown dictatorship mode. Alolans had access if they were rich enough to afford a television. Most of the time, this was where you heard news regarding the LNS, if there had been any changes in the leaderboard. It was also the channel where scandals about gym leaders, elites, or in this case - champion's broke out. Agatha made an announcement saying that everyone all over the world should tune in tonight. Naturally, people did.

Erika, sixteen-year-old Erika Mortimer, was terrified she was going to set off another war.

Don't lie to me ever again.

- Agatha.

This was the message Bertha woke up to that morning. Her immediate thought was wondering which lie Agatha was referring to.

Now, Bertha liked Agatha. She got along with her fairly well and respected her. Perhaps she could even call Agatha a friend, though she knew Agatha would deny such a thing. Even when in their early years would share a drink at the nearest bar after an LNS meeting, and would share a laugh over whatever was going on. Bertha learned that the ghost-elite was actually capable of laughing after all. They would gossip, which involved Bertha chattering how she really felt about some league members. Agatha did the same, except the difference was everything Agatha would say to Bertha she would also say it to those league members' faces.

Bertha would not. She would smile and pretend. It was easier to smile and pretend to remain in good relations with the others.

Therefore, Bertha harbored no guilt about lying to the older woman's face about some plans she had in mind for the Sinnoh region. After being in the league so long, you kind of lose that sense of guilt. Bertha had no remorse whatsoever. So she lied. It's what Bertha did, she was a Sinnohnian, and most Sinnohnians were good liars. It's what people said about them, so they might as well own it at this Arceus forsaken point.

Tensions were high. Spyro, Ferro, Axel, Lucian and Bertha were seated. Agatha was surrounded by reporters, microphones, and cameramen. Sergei was right behind her. Lorelei, Bruno, and Lance were behind her as well. When Bertha looked at them, she couldn't tell if those elites appeared nervous or amused. A mix of both, perhaps.

"This is a message for all trainers everywhere. From Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh and Unova - and any outlier region. Oh, I must mention Kalos. Trust me, for those that know... know." Uh-oh. Lucian and Bertha exchanged a look. "I would like to provide a masterclass, here and now, on how a sitting champion of a region should not behave. Not too long ago, I received a drunk dial from a sitting champion."

Lucian and Bertha glanced over to Spyro who had gone deathly pale in realization.

No...

"...Fuck," muttered Spyro. Bertha was one to keep her composure. She had thought that she had seen it all, but this might be the one thing that might make her react. Considering what Agatha was about to do next.

Agatha pulled out her phone and held it close to the microphones. "Listen closely, everyone. Let this be a reminder of how alcoholism ruins lives, and not even a champion is invincible." And then she pressed play, and Spyro's slurring words took over. And just like that, Sinnoh became a laughingstock again.

When the message played for everyone to hear on live television, it was during one of Juan's extravagant league parties. Hoennians were known for having a good time, and originally let Agatha's voice play in the background assuming it was a lecture about battles, or training, the usual while they mingled among one another. They were just a happy people, so no one really paid any mind to it. So when Wattson told them it was actually about an altercation between Agatha and Spyro, everyone was at a standstill.

The silence broke with Sidney and Glacia breaking into snickers.

"My Arceus," said Drake, rolling his eyes. Barty couldn't help but agree as he winced. The next LNS meeting was going to be very fun, and by fun, he meant not fun at all. Little did he know he didn't have to worry because not too long from now a challenger was waiting in the wings to dethrone him as champion.

How the bar in Unova on a Saturday night could be so quiet, Drayden would never know. He, along with Clay, Alder, and Brycen had ceased their discussions to watch and listen as the voicemail from Spyro played for the world to hear. With the things the Sinnoh champion was saying, never had Drayden wanted to steer clear from alcohol like he did right now. He suspected his fellow league members felt similarly. Disgust crept on each of their faces, and when the voicemail ended, the bar patrons burst into laughter.

Clay was among one of them. "Oh man, oh man... I love my fucking job." This made Alder and Brycen break out into smiles.

But Drayden wasn't smiling. He didn't think this was the right move on Agatha's part to showcase this out of pettiness. From what he discussed with Alder, it was likely revenge due to Sinnohnians letting in Kalosians to compete in the LNS. Would it be enough to potentially start a war? Not at the moment. Not how things were going with Sinnoh right now. But it could be, Drayden thought. It could be in time. The mere thought made him thankful he was at a bar, and downed another shot.

"...Agatha, Agatha! Fuck. I'm so glad we...we... exchanged numbers! I've been drinking - thinking! I mean, well yeah that too... that you smell so good. I don't know what's in that perfume, but it made me want to rip your clothes off in the meeting, then and there. Forgive me Agatha, I'm a man of great renown, but what d'you say we make things a little hot and heavy? We should... should... er- well, yeah. I know we're from different regions, but we could make it work. Or we can have a quick fuck, whatever you want to do. I have needs like any other man, and I think behind that stern facade you like to get at it, too. Anyway... I should probably get back to work. Sinnoh has to be great, 'n all... Talk to you later - ow, fuck! I hit my hand-"

A pin drop could be heard in the room. Bertha looked over to see Spyro was burying his face into his hands. Ferro and Axel said nothing. Lucian looked ready to kill.

Agatha flipped the phone shut. "That was Spyro of Sinnoh, everyone. Brought to you by Erika's Love Scent perfume. We are not sponsored. Thank you for your time."

Ferro turned the television off and let out a low whistle that did nothing but contribute to the tension.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

"...You moron," Lucian spat at Spyro. For the first time, Bertha heard his voice rise in fury. He started to charge toward the man, "You stupid, inconsiderate, brainless-"

"Lucian, sit down," Bertha ordered sharply.

Lucian did so without a second thought.

Bertha thought yelling and getting angry was a waste of time, so she didn't understand why Lucian would subject himself to that. Yelling and getting angry at the situation wasn't going to solve anything. She needed to think.

Politicians all over Sinnoh could vote to have a champion booted out of power if said champion had done anything scandalous. This was ensured to be possible after the Kanto-Sinnoh war because Sinnoh had a dictator for a champion during that time. It's not like Spyro would be thrown out of power anyway. Spyro had been Sinnoh's champion for a long, long time - and the people were used to him by now. Politicians would argue that Spyro's misdemeanor had nothing to do with his abilities as a trainer, that he was far from the champion they had in the past, and was just a silly man that had gotten way over his head as champion. The bastard could still be working.

There would be people calling for Spyro's resignation. She knew that Spyro would refuse, and even if he didn't, that would make Axel champion by default. That would be a nightmare, and it wouldn't be long until Axel's own problems would be broadcasted if that were the case. Bertha and Lucian privately agreed they would rather have Spyro instead. That didn't mean that the current champion should do something so idiotic.

"Spyro," Bertha began calmly, though her nerves were fried, "What on earth possessed-"

"You know exactly why Agatha did that," sneered Spyro. "Because of the damn Kalosians! It was a mistake on my end, a simple mistake-"

"Oh yes I understand," Lucian spoke coolly. "You saying it was a simple mistake. For example, if I were to murder you in cold blood, I could say that was a simple mistake-"

"Lucian," hissed Bertha.

"Are you going to resign Spyro?" Axel pressed hopefully. "Because that's what I would do if-"

"Be quiet," cut in Bertha. Axel grumbled, but did as she said. "Lucian, walk with me. We have some business matters to attend to."

Spyro stood up. "I should know where-"

"You have lost all privileges of questioning after tonight," interrupted Bertha. "Lucian, let's go."

Lucian obeyed. The exited the league building and made their way to the entrance of Victory Road. Thankfully no trainers were seen.

Bertha looked back and forth anyway. When the coast was clear, she sighed and lit up a cigarette. It wasn't the best habit, not by a long shot, but she saved a pack for whenever the Sinnoh league came back from an LNS meeting. Today, however, was an exception to the rule. Lucian looked at her. Bertha sighed once more and gave him one as well. He was quite similar to her in that aspect. He always stole from hers. Lucian inhaled sharply, and let the smoke hang in the air. Tense silence followed.

"You know my mother would kill me if she knew I picked up smoking," Lucian attempted to diffuse, with a dry chuckle.

Bertha simply looked at him. "She smoked the same brand." Lucian's smile vanished. Bertha rolled her eyes. "What were you thinking? Showing how upset you were like that?"

Predictably, Lucian avoided her stare. "I let my emotions get the best of me. Sinnoh was planning to be great, like you said, and then Spyro ruined it in a matter of seconds."

"Sinnoh will build itself up again," Bertha told him. "Next time, watch yourself. Don't let your emotions show. Spyro will still end up being the champion, and if you step a toe out of line, he could work with others to have you removed from the league. There's only so much power I have to keep you here, and our plans could be shut down if Spyro replaces you with one of his goons, and I simply cannot let that happen. Do you understand me?"

Lucian nodded, still looking ashamed.

Then, Bertha spoke quietly, "...Do you think Cynthia can move a little faster? I'm starting to lose faith in this plan of hers, Lucian."

"Give her time, Bertha. She has a lot to get through. She's picking up research as well. Spyro may be seen as a laughingstock now, but Cynthia is going to do something no trainer has ever done before. That should greatly overshadow his scandal, which is why he shouldn't resign, and then..." he let it trail off there.

"And then," she allowed. "Have you contacted Fantina about the plan?"

Lucian faltered. "Um, no. Not yet."

Bertha looked at him. "If you're going to be head of the elite four one day, you must stay on top of these things."

Oh yes. Bertha was grooming Lucian to take Axel's position as second-in-command to the champion. Those that were second-in-command to the champion usually handled political disputes. Bertha despised politics. Lucian was strong in that aspect and liked it.

When there was a debate about book bans in Sinnoh a few months ago, Lucian had expressed his disgust saying it was wrong. Followed by Bertha having to listen to him whine and bitch and moan for thirty minutes straight that media literacy was on its way to die. The fools for book bans had claimed that these books were offensive, shouldn't be taught, and that they served no purpose and meaning in the way things were in the Sinnoh region presently.

Lucian's response had been to let out muffled screams into his pillow followed by having a couple of strong drinks, along with more bitching and more moaning to Bertha that the morons had deliberately missed the goddamn point.

Bertha had agreed, sighing after yet another rant, and asked him what he was going to do about it. Because complaining to her did nothing. Bertha had pushed Lucian to speak out against it publicly, which he did. He was the first one to speak out against it. He had stated that every dictatorship in history started with banning books. He went on saying that it started with banning books in schools, then it would extend to public libraries, and before you know it you're under totalitarian rule. It was a slippery slope Sinnoh had gone through before, which he was sure to mention. There were no more problems regarding book bans after reminding people that.

Bertha had told him with a soft smile that Adelaide would be proud. Then Lucian had excused himself, saying his allergies were acting up.

The point was, Bertha's hoping he'll take over one day for second-in-command to the champion. The champion, in time, would hopefully not be Spyro.

"Apologies, Bertha. I'll see to that tonight. Do you think..." Lucian hesitated for a moment, "...others should know? In the league?"

"What do you think?" Bertha was testing him.

Lucian thought about it. "Not any of the elites, that would be out of the question. But the gym leaders would want Spyro to resign, notably Wake and Byron, and we would need to bide time so Cynthia could... do what she does. It wouldn't matter by then. Wake and Byron hold a dislike for the champion, as well."

Bertha nodded. "Good answer. See that you alert Byron and Wake as well. This is off-the-books, understand? No one else should breathe a word."

"Understood."

"Oh, and Lucian? If I ever you hear you talk that way about a woman, I will not hesitate to smack you across the face." Lucian knew she meant it. But Bertha knew she wouldn't have to worry about that, and showed a smile to show so. At this, Lucian smiled back.

Erika let out a sigh of relief when she saw her girlfriend walk through the gym doors. "Melrose," she greeted, abandoning her gym post to capture the girl's lips in hers. "Thank Arceus you're here, things have been maddening, I tell you. Maddening. I think Sinnoh hates me."

Melrose scoffed. "They needed to be taken down a peg or two." And then she laughed. They always did. Since the voicemail broke out, it became acceptable to laugh at the Sinnoh region like people used to. "I wanted to ask, how are those perfumes doing?"

The last thing Erika wanted to hear about was her perfumes. "I'm taking a break from making them. I'm channeling all my energy into Pokemon battles."

Melrose's eyebrows shot up. "You? Chemistry prodigy, always huddled up in a lab, wants to take a break from your passion?"

"Well I'd been getting a lot of furious Sinnohnian trainers at my door," Erika explained, with a chuckle laced with distress. "Like you said, someone's got to take them down a peg or two. Lorelei personally wished me good luck. I heard she had a rough time in Sinnoh, when she took on the LNS. Speaking of... are you-"

"I am. I'm leaving for Sinnoh tomorrow."

Erika's eyes grew wide. "Sinnoh?"

Melrose grinned sheepishly. "What, I'm not going to let you fight off Sinnoh all on your own, you know. We're a team." Then, she brought her girlfriend's lips to her own once again. Erika returned it. After several seconds, did the pair break apart. "I love you. Wish me luck?"

"The most luck," giggled Erika. "I love you, too."

Chapter Text

Chapter 28- Winona

"I cannot believe this is happening," marveled the ice-type elite of Hoenn's elite four.

Glacia Frost, along with her fellow elites, were watching from the break room as Barty Pollack and a silver-haired young man were toe-to-toe in a tight-knit battle. The young man who's father had given her this opportunity in a region outside her homeland of Galar, and the reason she was able to train under Hal Hemsworth and later take his position as the ice-specialist in the Hoenn elite four. The young man who everyone learned from Juan that he wasn't just a trainer with daddy's money. The real deal, he said. The boy that had no such desire to take over his father's business and had waltzed through the Hoenn league, defeated Sidney, Ishmael, herself, and even Drake.

It's amazing how everything went around and around.

"If he takes this," said Sidney, propping his feet on the table as he leaned back against his chair, "Then he'd be one of the youngest champions, would he not?"

"Quite so," said Glacia. She inspected her fingernails and winced at the sight of them. She made a mental note to get them redone, after Barty won the battle. Oh, no offense to the child, he was talented, but no Hoennian had managed to defeat Barty in all her years as an elite, and Glacia had been doing this a long time.

"He's got to be twenty, at most," argued Sidney. "I don't see anyone taking the crown in our region that young, or younger."

Drake snorted. "From your lips to the Hoennian children's ears. Most of them would take that as a challenge."

Glacia didn't understand why Drake was gruffer than usual. Maybe it's because he was blindsided by the boy's strength. Maybe because he was close with Barty and didn't want to see him leave so soon. Maybe it was because a big time production company decided to make a musical of Drake's life. Knowing Drake Wyvern, it was probably the last on the list. After work hours, Glacia and her fellow league members would drunkenly reenact what Drake called inaccurate depiction.

"He's faring well against Barty," Glacia attempted to converse, earning a grunt from Drake. Glacia couldn't help but roll her eyes.

It was true. The boy was faring well against Barty Pollack, too well. Not that many Hoennians would get past Glacia, let alone Drake or Barty. The boy was like a maestro conducting an orchestra, with the way he was able to calmly counter Barty's Pokemon's attacks. Each strike echoed like thunder. Whatever the outcome may be, at least this ensured one thing: this was the most exciting battle that Barty had experienced in years. Entertaining to watch, sure, but Glacia was positive that it was better to experience.

"Looks like they're both down to their final Pokemon," announced Ishmael, as if no one realized this. He, along with his fellow elites, kept his eyes on the pair. The pair that was locked in a dance, moving with precision and grace across the field. It was not a battle between an outsider of Hoenn. This was the most exciting battle for the Hoennians and the Hoennians alone. It was Hoennian versus Hoennian, the fire-starter and the steely resolve, the man who rose from the ashes and the boy that grew up with all the riches.

Glacia smiled when Barty pulled up his ace, his Camerupt. Now the battlefield would become a canvas of destruction. It's a Pokemon that Barty had for years and years, and with the combination typing of fire and ground, it would easily beat the boy's Metagross. A Metagross, Glacia thought. Yes, Metagross were hard to catch, let alone train which this boy had done well, but Barty was going to take this win and he'd still be their boss. The Metagross wasn't in the best shape after Barty's Torkoal had gotten some damage in. Glacia faced away from the battle, already knowing what the outcome would be. This was a no brainer. Barty would win. Someone as legendary as Barty-

Gasps erupted from her colleagues, louder and more powerful than Barty's ace. Glacia whipped her head back around.

Camerupt let out a cry of pain, as rain poured into the stadium, unable to move. Apparently the boy had the element of surprise, teaching his Metagross the move rain dance, something that Glacia didn't know Metagross could learn. But that didn't matter for Barty anymore, because the boy commanded his Metagross to hit Camerupt with a psychic attack. Again. And again. And again until Camerupt was no longer able to battle.

"Well then," sighed Barty, at his fallen Camerupt. He knew he shouldn't have underestimated the son of the Devon Corporation despite his age, and despite his type specialty that was weaker to his strong fire-types. What made matters even more interesting, was that the boy seemed to have wanted the position of champion.

Barty glanced over to his colleagues in the break room that had stopped to watch the close match. They appeared shocked and almost heartbroken, really. Barty didn't know why, things in the leagues were about to get far more interesting with this young man around, and Barty was going to retire anyway. Retiring meant that Barty would have to pick another elite to fill a slot since Drake would've taken over his post. Now it's less work for him, which was always nice. Less work, and therefore everybody wins.

"Oh don't give me those looks," Barty lightly chided his former colleagues, with a fond rolling of the eyes. They immediately looked down. They didn't see how Barty was unable to hide a soft smile for the boy. "I hope you can do things for the Hoenn region that I never could."

Steven Stone returned it.

Winona Arini.

A name that would later spark an interest throughout all the regions, for a myriad of reasons. An icon as a gym leader, or the rumors that claimed she could've been much more. In a way, she was much more. An icon when it came to her wit, once telling Phoebe of Hoenn's elite four at a party that she was blitzed like a ghost in a haunted wine cellar. She was an icon when it came to the world of aviating, so much that many lovers of flight would cite her as their main influence, which included an auburn-haired girl who was the granddaughter of a flying-type gym leader in Unova. Then there was a big part of Winona's life, involving a certain special someone, which would make Hoennians mutter, "Hmm, what a shame" if that was ever brought up. Winona Arini was an icon in what she could've been, should've been as some folks adamantly insisted.

And of course, there was her love that bordered on obsession with bird Pokemon.

Bird Pokemon were marvelous creatures. Bird Pokemon were menacing, but beautiful all the same. From the way they chirp, build their nests, and how they interact with its equals and their young. Flying, however, flying was something extraordinary in its own right. Steer off the ground and venture forth into the air - and you would be touring the sky. Those who did not have such abilities to do so naturally should be downright envious of flying-type Pokemon. They had quite the gift. At least that's how Winona saw it.

Winona loved flying-type Pokemon. Everyone in Fortree City knew this. The girl was obsessed with the sky, and planned on becoming an aviator. Her flying-type Pokemon were her best friends in the entire world. You'd have to kill Winona to take them away from her, and even then, Winona would always find a way back to them. Did that mean Winona liked Pokemon battles and had this overwhelming urge to become the very best and intentionally go forth in the Hoenn League to dethrone the wonderful Barty Pollack?

No. Well, at least, not really. Not at first. When Winona was younger, she would rather help out at the Feather Carnival and keep her flying-type Pokemon as pets. She also liked the children who marveled in fascination of her bird-type Pokemon, would let them take them for a joyride. The more people exposed to how wonderful the sky and flying-type Pokemon were, the better. Winona did partake in Pokemon battles, but at first she would cry when they lost because the idea of her Pokemon being hurt made her skin crawl.

...Her Altaria, however, would itch for a battle. No matter how beaten up she was, would always look at Winona as if she was the crazy one.

"...I...I..." Winona would cry, sniffling as she wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry Altaria! I tried my best, but it looks like we lost..."

Altaria would give Winona her best pull-yourself-together look, but allow her trainer to rest in her wings. After a rough battle, Winona would seek comfort from Celandine.

Celandine was Fortree City's gym leader. She was also Winona's mentor, and the woman who played a role in developing Winona's passion for flight. Winona was thankful that Celandine never seemed to push her toward Pokemon battles, but it was something to learn - just in case. Celandine enjoyed piloting planes, and Winona yearned to do the same. Celandine taught Winona everything she knew. Winona had gotten her piloting license at sixteen and was planning on flying her first plane. So no, Winona had no interest in becoming the new Hoenn champion, dethroning Barty Pollack, and being known as one of the most powerful trainers in the world.

Which was why when Barty Pollack was dethroned as champion, it shook the nation (along with other regions) to its very core.

Sure, Hoenn was well, ranked last in the LNS - but Barty was always a steady figure in the league, he was always there. Powerful as most champions were in their regions. They had to be, in order to last in the leagues for so long. A calm presence during chaos such as when Pacifidlog was flooded and was always a hog for the cameras. Still, he was a nice easygoing man and despite Hoennians knowing that age would catch up to him eventually, it still came as a shock that he lost his title to someone who actually wanted it.

Not by Winona. Oh no. The title was claimed by a young twenty year-old by the name of Steven Stone. Son of the Devon Corporation, one of the most powerful ones in the world. Given that there was a scandal regarding Sinnoh's champion not that long ago, the next LNS meeting was going to be very interesting.

Yet another reason why Winona had no such desire of joining the ranks of league members in their little system. The pressure that would come with the publicity would be a lot to handle. One slip up, and you would be a laughingstock. A popular late night comedy show had recently released a skit depicting Spyro drinking at a meeting, but the bottle would get bigger each time. People would laugh, but Winona found it in poor taste, even if she was a girl that liked to have a good laugh with her fellow aviating friends and couldn't care less about the Pokemon battles. Why battle with Pokemon, when she could make her mark on the world by traveling around it?

 Winona was sixteen and planning on flying her first plane. She had been studying hard over the years to understand the mechanics of flight, after hours of sitting in the planes with Celandine and told not to do anything but watch, and now Winona was ready to put what she learned to the test. She would be able to fly beside her Pokemon, rather than hop on their backs. Celandine wished her luck. It worked at first, but then the plane was running out of gas and she had no choice but to stop in Sootopolis City.

There, Winona met him.

Wallace.

Winona knew of him. He was a contest coordinator that had landed himself into a bit of a pickle so he disappeared from the public eye. He, too, liked to hog the cameras like Barty Pollack did. The major difference between Wallace Fontaine and Barty Pollack was that the latter was modest in front of paparazzi. Wallace was anything but. Still, Winona decided that perhaps Wallace's persona off-camera was vastly different from what she had seen from him. She would give him a chance, depending on what he said to her.

And then the seventeen-year-old had met her gaze, gave her a once over, and smirked: "Did you have to pick such a hideous color for a plane?"

So Winona smacked him. It turns out, Wallace liked that.

"Feisty," remarked Wallace, still smirking as he rubbed his cheek gingerly. "Have any Pokemon with you? I hope you didn't leave them behind."

Winona scowled. "I have my Pokemon with me, I'm not stupid."

Wallace had the audacity to still smirk at her. It reminded Winona of a crooked crescent of mischief. She wasn't that far off. "I didn't say you were," he told her. "Care for a Pokemon battle?"

"I'm not much of a fighter."

"The red mark on my face says otherwise," quipped Wallace cheerfully. Winona resisted the urge to smack him again. She realized that right now she didn't like Wallace very much at all. "I can feel that you're good."

Instead of smacking Wallace this time, Winona yearned to see the look on his face when he lost the battle. "Fine. two-on-two?"

Wallace did not lose the battle.

And boy, was he sure to tell her so. Grinning, Wallace said: "You lost." This time, Winona smacked him again. It turns out, Wallace still liked that. "You needn't beat yourself up about it. I'm training under Juan of the Sootopolis City gym. He's utterly brilliant and he's passing everything he knows down to me, and it looks like it's paying off."

Winona glared. Now, she didn't just dislike Wallace, she loathed his very existence. "Are you finished gloating?"

"Wait, no. Not yet... Just give me a minute-" Winona cut him off with yet another smack to the face. Wallace was unfazed. "Dear, you should know by now that I enjoy that."

"...You're nauseating."

"I know. And you're lovely." Winona blinked in utter disbelief. "You're actually quite good. Of course, you're not as good as myself, but you're quite good. Marvelous, even. Then again, not as marvelous as me, however-"

"Humble too."

"Are you taking on the Hoenn league?" inquired Wallace, intentionally brushing off her comment. "You ought to, now that Barty had been taken over. This new champion, he's cute and all, but I don't think he'll last. Of course when I become the champion, I'd stop you, so it seems like there's no point whatsoever, but nonetheless it's worth a go."

Something within Winona stirred inside her; this combination of frustration and awe that she had yet to identify, or understand, until months later - regarding the teenager standing before her. He was barking mad, without a doubt insane, and strangely kind of clever. It intrigued her as much as infuriated her.

That's when Winona realized something.

She wanted to be a trainer and win more Pokemon Battles.

She wanted to prove this bastard wrong.

Winona hated Wallace.

Celandine was very supportive of Winona taking on the Hoenn league, however, she would only let Winona battle her if she obtained five badges prior. Celandine recommended Winona to go on the traditional route of Rustburo, Dewford, Mauville, and so on and so forth. Apparently Wallace was doing the same, because he frequently crossed paths with her. Or the spiteful, arrogant git was stalking her. When Winona confronted him on this, Wallace had said she wasn't worth stalking. So Winona threw his hat on the ground and stomped on it. Wallace remarked that she looked as graceful as a Delibird trying to do ballet. Winona had screamed at him in response, which earned Wallace smirking at her.

He was always one step ahead, and Winona couldn't say she was surprised. The way he battled with his water-types were rather clever in its own way, but don't tell Wallace that. It's not like you needed to, oh, did he know that. Winona did manage to beat him, only twice, and the gloating from Wallace had stopped whenever she did. They crossed paths when battling Wattson for their third badge, jolly as ever despite losing to them both.

Within those first three months since starting her journey, Winona learned that Wallace could be kind, when he wasn't being an narcissistic ass. He would give her some of his supplies, give her shockingly profound advice, and he started to compliment her taste in fashion rather than demean it. Winona had wondered if they could be friends.

But then Wallace would say something stupid about her hair being stuck up all over the place, and Winona went back to despising his very existence.

Winona ran into a Unovian trainer on the way after getting her third badge. Winona was stopped by him, and he had this mean look about him. Cold, callous, and calculating. Most Unovians were smart, Winona knew that, but never did they look so... devious. Diabolical, even. Winona was very unsettled.

"Going somewhere?" the Unovian asked, with a smirk. "Hoennian, aren't you? I must say, there's a reason you're in last place. The gym leaders here are pathetic." Winona glared at him. There was rule in the LNS. Trainers coming from other regions shouldn't intimidate the locals. They were guests in their regions. To show some respect. But if a local was disrespectful to their guest, then it was a sure way to lose your ticket into taking on a league, any league. A way to get blacklisted.

Winona didn't care once he insulted her region. Nobody was watching so it was likely she wasn't going to get in trouble. She was just about to smack him across the face, until a figure emerged out of nowhere. Wallace - for that was who it was - appeared and collided his fist against the trainer's jaw. Wallace didn't even look at Winona.

"Now you've ruined my manicured hands, do you know how long it takes to have flawless nails of this quality?" remarked Wallace, to the Unovian. "Now leave." The trainer didn't need to be told twice. Winona was staring at Wallace, completely gobsmacked, but Wallace wouldn't have it. "Stop gawking at me like that, you'll get more wrinkles. Arceus, I think I see some now."

Winona didn't let the comment phase her. "Why did you... why did-"

"This is all your fault, you know."

Collision.

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about!?" Winona snapped at Wallace, feeling her temper start to rise like a cauldron about to overflow. "My fault?!"

Wallace huffed, crossing his arms. "Yes, that little debacle was your fault."

Winona blinked slowly, in utter disbelief over Wallace's statement. "You punch a trainer, and that's my fault?!"

"Need I repeat myself twice? Yes, that was your fault. You really should listen more when people talk, it's rather impolite of you."

"Impolite of me? I'm impolite, when you... you..." Winona couldn't come up with a response quick enough, trailing off as she was just so flustered.

"Are you going to echo everything I say? That's also impolite. If someone had seen you smack him, then you would've been barred from the league. I stepped in. How convenient is that? I put myself on the line, because you obviously can't resist smacking someone in the face."

Winona couldn't believe her ears. "And how do you know that's what I was about to do?"

"Because I have been one of the victims and can recognize another potential victim," said Wallace. "In fact..." He let out a smirk; that stupid Wallace-like smirk that said he knew he was right, and that infuriated Winona so. "You ought to be grateful to me, actually."

"Grateful?" Winona repeated incredulously, the heat rising in her cheeks. "To you?" He really, really had nothing but nerve. "How do you figure that?!"

"Because I saved you. You're lucky that I showed up. Isn't it grand?"

"You didn't know what I was going to do," argued Winona, her fists curling up. "You really are that arrogant. I can't believe you! Besides even if I was going to smack him-"

"You were."

"Even if I was going to smack him," Winona repeated once more, unable to contain the volume in her voice from growing, "That doesn't mean you can jump in and attack a trainer, that's so dirty!"

"Oh but you can?"

"I wasn't."

"Because I saved you."

"And I wouldn't want to be saved by someone like you!" Winona shrieked, her face flushed. "Why did you do it anyway?"

"Unovians annoy me, by far the most annoying of my fan club," Wallace put bluntly, and now, Winona could tell he was starting to match her level of frustration. Good. "But I saved you in the process. Again, it's wonderful. You're welcome, by the way!"

"I don't need your help," spat Winona. "I'm not some damsel-in-distress. You really are that arrogant. Thinking that I needed saving, from the likes of someone who managed to get into trouble with the coordinating world. Because let me tell you something, Wallace Fontaine. I don't need you. Not from someone like that."

Something in what she said must've irked Wallace, because his eyes were blazing with fury. "You know what? Fine!" Wallace retorted coldly. Winona blinked. She hadn't seen him like that before. "That's the last time I'll ever intervene. Understand? And I'm sure as hell not going to care if you end up getting into trouble due to you snapping at some trainer who demolishes your team."

Winona let out a mock gasp. "Oh no! What ever will I do without your assistance?" Then, her expression turned cold as she sneered: "Fine by me."

Then they parted ways. The last thought Winona had was that she wished she had slapped him when she got the chance.

"Stupid, arrogant, inconsiderate..." Winona mumbled under her breath, as she stalked around the Pokemon Center. She looked up at her Altaria. "He's so ridiculous. And did anyone ever tell him that his fashion isn't that great? He thinks he's so perfect, so clever, so... so..." Altaria gave her a knowing look. "Okay, maybe I was out of order."

Winona and Wallace ran into each other getting their fourth badge. She had to speak with him.

"Wallace."

Wallace looked up. "Winona. What is it?"

"I, um, well..." Winona started to stammer hesitantly, and then met his gaze fully. "I wanted to apologize."

"...Apologize? Why?"

Winona stared at the floor, ashamed. "Because, well... I want to get along with you. We shouldn't fight, when we're both running into each other like this. We should be able to get along. Don't you think?"

Wallace blinked slowly. "What brought on this?"

"...I just thought it would be the right thing to do," settled Winona, after some time.

"Oh I get why you're apologizing," said Wallace.

Winona frowned. "Why?"

Wallace really couldn't help but reply, matter-of-factly: "You feel awful about almost smacking that trainer, and that I had to step in. Instead of confessing that you intended to do so, you're apologizing to me to make yourself feel better since we both know that's what you intended."

Beat.

"I don't have anything to be guilty of!" exclaimed Winona, evidently appalled. She shook her head. "I was apologizing because I wanted to get along and you... you..." She stumbled over her words, with her face flushing. "...you're mean."

Wallace let out a mockingly pained sigh. "And here I thought we were starting to get along, dear."

Winona rolled her eyes. "You're nice, and then you say something awful. I would like a bit of consistency."

"Ah, I don't do consistency, sweetheart. I prefer to live a spontaneous lifestyle. So where are we headed to next? Petalburg, is it?"

"Let me just make something perfectly clear," Winona started off, fully rounding on him. "You do not follow me to get my fifth badge in Petalburg City, understand? Because I am not going to put up with your cheeky comments, and we end up having a row, because I won't have it. Clear?"

Wallace grinned. "Crystal." Ugh. At least he did what she said. Or so Winona thought.

...Petalburg Woods was really unsettling. Winona didn't get spooked easily, and she had been in here before, but it was easy to get lost.

"Winona dear, is that you?"

A month ago, Winona would've smacked him due to him insisting on calling her that. Now, Winona found she didn't mind it. "That it is," she allowed. They're in the Petalburg Woods, and though Winona had been in here before, it was still quite easy to get lost.

Wallace grinned. "Are you spooked out by the woods?"

"Shut up," Winona told him, with a huff. "I'm doing just fine here."

"You're shivering," Wallace pointed out.

Winona snorted. "So? It's cold." Then, something interesting happened. The jacket Wallace had was now in Winona's possession, watching him in bewilderment as he put the clothing over Winona's shoulders. She looked at him earnestly. "...Thank you."

"At least you look fashionable now." After that remark, Winona almost smacked him, but held herself back. In reality, Winona was just happy to be around a familiar presence - even if that happened to be Wallace.

Silence passed between them for a minute.

"I smacked that trainer because he was being mean to you."

Winona looked at him. "Really?"

"Yes. It made me... uncomfortable."

Oh. "...Thank you."

Something forged between them that day. A level of respect. Camaraderie. That's when Winona found that she didn't hate Wallace. Not at all. She would even consider Wallace a friend. That's what Wallace became.

A friend.

Winona definitely didn't hate Wallace now.

She liked Wallace. She really, really, really liked Wallace. Five months after they met - when she had smacked him not once, not twice, but three times - Winona came to this realization that she had garnered feelings for the water-type specialist, and it's quite possible that they had been lingering within her when she cast eyes on him in Sootopolis.

"Winona," Wallace began seriously in front of Fortree City's gym, where the two would be going for their sixth badge. "Are you attracted to me?"

He knew it, too.

"...Yes," admitted Winona. "I have." Hesitantly: "Do you feel the same for me?"

Wallace answered her question with a kiss.

They walked into the gym doors. Celandine looked at the pair and she knew that something had forged between them, and that something in their relationship had shifted then and there. Winona had written letters and occasionally called Celandine, and each conversation had to include Wallace - whether it be hate, dislike, neutrality, friendship, and Winona never really confessed to the woman about her feelings for him.

Winona and Wallace were facing Celandine in back-to-back matches. It admittedly broke Winona's heart a little when she beat Celandine in a Pokemon battle. Before following Wallace out the door, Celandine stopped Winona with a knowing grin.

"How long have you been seeing Wallace?" Celandine asked.

Winona's face flushed. "Before we battled you," she told her. "How'd you know?"

Celandine laughed. "Dear, you'd constantly talk about him in your letters. Good luck on your journey."

Since then, they had started to date and went on the rest of their journey together. Exclusively. Wallace was still an arrogant git, that would never change, but Winona didn't have the urge to smack him anymore. Instead of smacking him, Winona would kiss him instead to shut him up. And it would always work.

Wallace said he had to tell her something serious. Winona had feared the worst. after a month of dating and getting seven badges, she had thought Wallace was calling it off. That's when Wallace proceeded to explain that he wasn't just attracted to women. Winona was confused, and then it clicked. He was coming out to her. Winona didn't mind her boyfriend's bisexuality. Just that they stayed together. Winona asked if this meant that he was calling their relationship off, and he appeared offended by the mere thought. Winona was relieved. Because Winona didn't hate Wallace, nor dislike him, she really liked Wallace and knew that his feelings for men as well wouldn't change anything.

"I like men, too," Winona had quipped, and leaned into kiss him once more.

Steven Stone finished his assessment of what the past few months of being Hoenn's champion was like. It was a combination of kickass with a touch of annoyance. At least Drake was there to help him out. The head of Hoenn's elite four had no problem taking care of the harsher workloads that came with the champion title, and would show him the ropes. Steven didn't know whether to be relieved or insulted when Drake said he wouldn't expect a twenty-year-old to understand all the politics. They would work on it.

Budget reports for the gyms scattered across the region. More business inquiries that they didn't tell you that you had to do when becoming champion of a region. The exact kind of Tauros shit Steven wanted to venture away from. Why the hell hadn't Barty warned him? Steven made a mental note to prepare any challenger with a list of duties a champion would have to do in and have them read it over before they battled. Steven supposed more often than not the challengers would lose on purpose.

The worst part was Steven's first LNS meeting. He was almost positive Barty Pollack was enjoying his retirement right now, because Steven hadn't a fucking clue on what he was walking in on. Glacia had explained that Sinnoh had gotten into a little... debacle, which was a mildly way of putting it, therefore the Sinnoh league and Indigo league were giving each other the cold shoulder. Steven had remarked that even Agatha and Bertha were short and sullen with each other, and Steven always thought they got along well.

"Oh boy, you have a lot to learn," Drake had chuckled, which had earned a dirty look from Glacia.

But Drake had been right. Steven didn't think grown adults could be so petty, but then he entered that meeting, and oh yes they could. Spyro had said nothing the entire time. Agatha had remarked afterwards that order was restored. Steven had tried not to roll his eyes. The other elites couldn't help but gawk at the twenty-year-old, a champion so young, one of the youngest champions the LNS had in a long time. Steven was well-aware that he looked like a Feebas out of water, but they didn't have to look at him like that. If being champion meant he had to attend these meetings, he'd almost would've have rejected it. Almost, though, not quite.

Steven liked to think after that meeting that things would've gotten easier. It's what Glacia had told him then. The job would get easier, he's already improving with staying on top of things, and good job for not getting into scandal. So Steven would wait for it to get easier. He was sure of it.

But then the world decided to take a fat shit on Steven Stone, dropping the bombshell that Celandine had gone missing from flying a plane. It would be fine, Steven assumed, as that's what Glacia said. She told him that Celandine would go missing for a few days, that's how she was, and then return to the Fortree City gym.

Apparently Steven Stone was fate's favorite punching bag, as a later revelation occurred three hours after that in which Celandine had been found, but injured from a plane crash. Alive, but injured. She would make a full-recovery, but wouldn't be battling again. Life didn't just give Steven Stone lemons, he got hit in the face with them too with that recent news, because now he had to find her replacement. Why couldn't the ground just swallow him whole at this point?

"Do not say you're the one with bad luck, boy, stop whining," Drake said, with a snort. "Celandine just got injured in an accident. She's alive, but won't be battling again. Now, Steven, you're not too aware of relationships that gym leaders have with some proteges, that's more Glacia's department-"

"I'll handle it," Glacia cut in, tapping her fingers on the table. "Celandine requested that her successor be someone who just loves flying as much as she. The girl she has in mind was planning on taking on the Hoenn league and challenging the champion... with some boy, Juan's apprentice, I believe. Winona's her name. She's gotten eight badges, and-"

"Just pick her."

Drake gave Steven a look as stern as a ship captain in a storm. "I'm not here to listen to your rich boy's problems. Oh boohoo, you have more duties outside of battling and have to go to meetings and do paperwork. Woe is you. I had a friend that was lost at sea. I would let him know of your troubles, but he got torn to bits by a Sharpedo."

No really, Steven would very much welcome the ground swallowing him whole. "I'm not just a rich boy, thank you very much," he fired back at the elite.

"Drake," warned Sidney. "Be nice to the kid."

"...I'm sorry," admitted Drake, surprising Steven. "It's just being in the league is not an easy job. Battling is just the beginning. It gets stressful, and I'm not going to mollycoddle you. I want to let you know how it is, and it's rough at times."

Steven sighed. "It's fine, I shouldn't have been complaining. I'm just... not the best at making decisions. I still need help and I have a lot to learn."

Drake nodded in approval. "Very mature response from you. That's what we're here for." This made Steven smile a bit. He couldn't stay mad at his elite for long, especially Drake. Try as Steven might, he couldn't help but be immensely thankful that Drake was being so helpful to him. The elite didn't have to pick up extra paperwork, but he did.

"I trust you Glacia, to make the right decision," shrugged Steven.

Glacia sighed at Steven. "Steven, I know you do, but next time I want you to read up on the gym leaders. Understand? I want you to make the call to Winona to let her know of the situation."

Steven Stone would very much like to crawl in a hole right now. It sounded silly, but Steven didn't think that being the champion would be so much work. How the hell Barty did it for years, Steven would never know. But he had a choice. It's either he became the champion of the Hoenn region, or he would go back to taking over his father's business.

The decision was an easy one.

Winona was in love with Wallace.

She was sodding in love with Wallace.

They're training at Victory Road, and Winona was afraid for many reasons. The first reason of her being afraid had to do with that they were both so close to taking on The Hoenn league. The second was that the two of them couldn't be the champion together, there could only be one, and Winona suspected at this point that it would be Wallace. He had always been stronger than her, having stacked more wins than losses whenever they battled, and it made Winona angry. They had one last battle in Victory Road, and Winona lost against him. It was clear on who would be battling the champion after that, and it wasn't Winona.

Despite this, Winona was still very much attracted to him - perhaps even more so than when they first began to date. That was the third reason Winona was afraid. This whole thing started with her becoming a serious trainer because Wallace had pissed her off when they first met, and it was only fitting that it would end with him, too.

Not that she fully knew what that meant yet.

Winona's PokeNav began to ring. Exchanging an odd look with Wallace, she picked it up. "Hello?"

"Is this the number belonging to Winona Arini? I'm calling from the Hoenn league, this is Steven Stone speaking."

Oh fuck.

"This is she," answered Winona, wide-eyed. "Steven Stone, it's an honor to meet you. Well, over the phone. I was planning on challenging you someday. What's going on, is everything okay?" Wallace couldn't conceal his gasp, but Winona swatted him lightly to shut him up. Something was wrong.

"I'm going to cut straight to the chase. Celandine has been in an accident."

"I'm sorry? Is she... she..."

"She's injured from her plane, but she should be alive," the champion reassured. Winona let out a sigh of relief. She rested her head on Wallace's shoulder, who proceeded to rub her back. "However, after that, she is not going to be able to battle anymore, and she insists that someone who's had much experience in battling take her place. Someone who loves birds and flying-type Pokemon as much as she."

Winona could only think of one other person.

Herself.

"She wants me to take her place," Winona stated. It wasn't a question at all.

"Yes."

Winona looked at Wallace as if she were telepathically asking what her answer should be.

"You should do whatever would make you happy," Wallace told her softly. Winona was in love and it frightened her. She was going to leave Wallace and that frightened her. Wallace was going to take on the Hoenn league and that frightened her. If either of them were to become the champion it would be Wallace and that frightened her.

"I'll be in Fortree City soon, just..." Winona trailed off, pinching the bridge of her nose. "...give me a second." Then she hung up. "Wallace..."

"You could beat me," Wallace reminded her. "You have in the past." But she lost their last battle. That's what mattered to Winona, and Celandine was in an accident. It was only fitting that Winona would take her place.

"...Win the Pokemon league for me," Winona told him, after kissing him fully on the lips.

Wallace looked at her as if she were heaven. "I love you." Winona's stomach did a little flip.

"I love you, too."

The thing was, Winona and Wallace were in love with one another. That much was true. Winona was captivated with Wallace, and vice versa - despite their rivalry. Part of Winona was so in love with Wallace that she didn't have an issue with him challenging the league, and overall being the better trainer than her. Winona didn't have an issue with Wallace attempting to beat the current champion.

At least not yet.

It's what Wallace did afterwards that, in Winona's eyes, was completely unforgivable.

He was such an idiot.

But that's a story for another time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 29- Wallace

If one uttered the name 'Wallace Fontaine,' you would get a mix of reactions. He was a man defined by his triumphs, as there were many. When it came to love. Or coordinating. Or Pokemon Battles. Anything, really. He obtained his place as one of the most legendary league members that the Hoenn region had bestowed, so much that those in Alola could place the name to his face. They would gush and marvel in delight over his flawless skin, his blue eyes to die for, and his teal hair that curled just the right amount.

The romantics, in particular, would swoon and mutter how it was a shame. What could've been, what should've been. Depending on the type of romantic, they would disagree and say it was for the best, as Wallace had someone else waiting in the wings. Wallace knew he was ridiculously good-looking thank you very much, so he was bound to find someone anyway since he had double the options. Cue the forums debating on who Wallace should be with, and most days Wallace didn't have the time, nor the patience.

Years from now, the contest-goers would remember the coordinator. The effeminate man that would brag about beating his opponents left and right, so much so that his rivals attempted to sabotage him, his Pokemon, and his outfits. They had failed on all counts. Wallace was the only coordinator that could come close to owning a crowd like one Fantina Dumont. From the moment Wallace stepped into the stadium of Hoenn's Grand Festival and he blew kisses at the cameras, it became clear who would win.

Pokemon trainers in the future would talk about Wallace Fontaine as a trainer. The dazzling, captivating water-type specialist that not only was a skilled trainer, but looked good doing it. It was no different from coordinating, as other would say. Wallace took center stage and captivated the audience, making each battle a spectacle, a pageantry of it all. He was a man that emphasized being graceful as a trainer, even as he ordered his Gyarados to thrash the hell out of a poor little Delcatty.

And yet there were those who would scowl at the name and spill into a thirty minute rant about how his arrogance was as heavy and flashy as the cloaks he wore. So inflated like he was walking around with a balloon for a head, so full of hot air he could probably power up a city with his ego alone. It was easier for Wallace to assume that they were just jealous of his good looks, his accomplishments, and his oh-so charming personality. He was mostly right.

And then they would remember how Wallace started, how such a legend came to be. It was due to a man named Juan Dubois.

Wallace had heard rumors; rumors about how Juan - the master of all things concerning water-type Pokemon in Hoenn - did not take apprentices all willy-nilly, under the assumption that Juan had a very strict training regime that rivaled how the Dragon's Den in Johto was. Despite these rumors, Wallace wanted it more than anything. At age ten, he knew that he not only wanted to surpass Juan's abilities as the best water-type specialist in Hoenn, but he wanted to be Hoenn's next champion. If Wallace wanted something, he would get it - and that was that. Call it entitlement, arrogance, or something among those lines - Wallace didn't give a shit. He was determined to rise to the top.

At age eleven, Wallace Fontaine burst through the gym doors, looked Juan dead in the eyes, and simply stated that he was Juan's newest apprentice. No ifs or buts. Wallace already had a Gyarados that he caught in Sootopolis City behind his mother's back (she had been fuming once he told her, but realized that this was her son's dream) and was ready to make use of himself and his Pokemon. At the mention of Wallace catching a Pokemon like Gyarados, Juan raised his eyebrows if only for a moment, and then nodded in confirmation.

The rumors regarding the gym leader were false. Juan was not some tyrant. In fact, Juan was the closest thing Wallace ever had to a father figure. Wallace didn't know who his father was and didn't care. Juan was enough. Unfortunately, Juan also was a father figure in which he had to teach Wallace the basic principles of respect.

Juan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed; a common occurrence whenever interacting with him, Wallace noticed. "You need to learn that there is always someone better. Yes, you're a talented trainer. Yes, you're a strong water-specialist that rivaled some of my top gym trainers who have been working with me for years. Yes, there is a chance that you very well could be champion one day. But blabbing it to everyone is going to get you into serious trouble. It is important that you remain humble and gracious. If you're planning defeating the Hoenn league and becoming the champion, a champion has to remain humble."

Wallace gave Juan one long look. Then, he smirked. "But I'm great. I've pulled a Lorelei, I have you know. I caught a Gyarados which is even more difficult to tame. Sure, I was a year older than Lorelei was, but because it's a Gyarados that makes me the better trainer."

Juan sighed deeply.

Gyarados terrified everyone in Sootopolis with the exception of Juan and Wallace. Wallace didn't understand all the fuss. Gyarados wasn't that terrifying and wouldn't hurt anyone, but if Wallace's mom gave him a hard time about making his bed or something else he cheekily replied to her that he could have Gyarados break the house. Not that Gyarados would do such a thing, but it did amuse Wallace whenever he thought of his mother's look of fright. Indeed, Gyarados was probably the most gentle Gyarados in all of Hoenn. Even Juan was bewildered at the water-type's behavior. He explained to Wallace that Gyarados were usually ill-mannered, and took years to tame. This made Wallace reply that this made him even more destined to be the best, as he came from prodigious beginnings, and Juan would usually roll his eyes.

Wallace was Juan in the Sootopolis City gym as they talked about his future. All was calm for once, until Wallace heard his mother screaming. Juan and Wallace exchanged a look, then exited the gym to see Wallace's mother screaming at a man with long teal wavy hair. Same eyes. The spitting image of Wallace. The boy connected the dots right away. The man was Wallace's father. The man had grinned upon seeing Wallace that made him uneasy. He wanted to come back into his life. He wanted to be there for his boy.

"Why did you leave?" Wallace asked him, swallowing a lump in his throat. His father began to spew some bullshit excuse Wallace didn't bother listening to. "You left mom for some harlot. You didn't even want to check up on me. Why did you leave? You've been gone for years, and now you think you can walk in? You don't even know me!"

"And who knows you?" his father dared to ask.

Wallace didn't even have to think. He pointed at Juan. "He does!" Juan hadn't said a word. "He does, and you don't know! You don't know me at all! So go away, why did you leave?! You don't know, you don't know, you don't know-" Wallace had cut himself off in favor and hitting the man's chest with his fists. He remembered nothing except the nights his mother spent crying because of him and felt nothing but contempt, and that the man had the nerve to just come back in like nothing was wrong.

At that point, Wallace felt himself being picked up by strong arms and carried up to his room. That's when the dam broke. The boy was letting out muffled screams into Juan's chest, soaking the man's shirt with his tears. Dignity be damned. All he could yell over and over, was why, why, why. Strong arms wrapped around him in support, murmuring that Wallace wouldn't have to see that man again if he didn't want to, that it's okay, Juan's here for him, it'll all be alright. Wallace clutched him like a lifeline.

It hit Wallace like a ton of bricks. He didn't need his biological father. Juan was better than that man, he was training Wallace to be the best he could be, and was holding him like a father would do for their child. Family didn't need to be blood, and Juan was proof of that.

On top of Wallace's training with Juan, there were other ways Wallace got his kicks. He loved the attention. As the years went by and Wallace became a teenager, he mostly got this attention by making out with some of Juan's gym trainers in the back of the gym after hours, only the ones around his age, to the boy's credit. The gender didn't matter. Juan later found out about that, however, therefore proposed a long list of things that Wallace was not allowed to do or highly discouraged from doing while being an apprentice of his.

The list consisted of, but not limited to: Pelting a few Unovians with frozen water balloons, as they did not take it kindly of a small child throwing water balloons that were stuck in the freezer. He was lucky that he didn't get reported. Creating a food fight with the other gym trainers during lunch break, and no, Juan didn't care at all that the others joined in, thank you very much. Bothering the janitors as they cleaned up the gym, sneaking in wine to share with the other gym trainers even after they told you to, and Juan didn't want to know what Wallace's plan was with those fireworks, and to not order his Gyarados to shoot a water gun at a gym trainer's head after they got angry due to a long day, and Juan didn't care if Wallace's intent was to "cool him off."

Most of it hardly made any difference.

"Juan... I've been thinking."

Juan also should've added to the list for him not to think, because he knew what that meant by now. Over the years, Juan learned to fear those words coming from Wallace's mouth. He cared for the boy dearly, he really did, but Wallace's spectacular stunts and gimmicks he had pulled in Sootopolis' gym was starting to turn Juan's hair grey. At this point, Juan would think that nothing Wallace had in mind would phase him anymore. Juan thought he had seen it all, and could almost predict whatever batshit insane scheme he had in mind.

Wallace looked Juan dead in the eyes. "I would like to become a coordinator as well."

Everything, except for that.

Suddenly Juan felt sixteen again. His heart rate sped up. He felt the eclipse of dread. He sunk into the depths of despair. He remembered how he had uttered those same words to his mentor Douglas all those years ago. He remembered Douglas telling him what a mistake it was to abandon training for contests and how he was right in the end. He remembered his engagement to his beloved Clara at nineteen. He remembered the hellstorm that came after that announcement which was how a demented fan had butchered her so badly which left him drinking in his bedroom for days until Douglas offered him the Sootopolis gym position. All because Juan had gone into that environment.

And Wallace wanted to do the same. Juan still didn't talk about it after all those years, but was keenly aware that people knew. Out of respect, they didn't bring it up. That's how Hoennians were, in that regard. Juan figured that he was never going to speak out it for the rest of his life.

Up until now. "Wallace," Juan began, trying to hide the fear in his voice, "Do you know... how insane the coordinating environment is?"

"Very. That's why I want to do it."

Naturally. "Wallace," Juan repeated, unable to conceal his worry this time, "Do you know what I went through as a coordinator? Do you know..." He could get through mentioning her name without crying, but after all those years he couldn't hide his emotion. "...how I lost Clara, because I was silly enough to enter that environment?"

For once in Wallace's life, he appeared serious. "You needn't worry. Ever since there had been more protections in place. Besides, I have a plan to be successful in that field."

"Really? And how do you figure that?" Juan asked. He almost didn't want to know.

Wallace grinned. "I'm photogenic, of course. Charismatic. I love the spotlight. I know exactly how to act."

There were certain things that Juan couldn't stop Wallace from doing. If Wallace was going to become a coordinator at fifteen, then that was what he was going to do. Juan thought this would be the perfect opportunity to gift him a new Pokemon - Feebas. Wallace took the hint. Eventually after competing in contests and stuffing his Feebas with pokeblocks, Feebas turned into Milotic. Juan had worried about how Wallace was going to act now that he was a public figure, a celebrity, like himself. Juan gave him all the advice he could, such as how to act toward reporters questions, how to talk to fans, to keep a certain distance, and most importantly: be humble.

Wallace's response to all of this?

"Wallace, what's your skin care routine?"

"Mm, you can't afford it."

...to ignore everything Juan told him. Especially the last piece of advice. Everything Juan Dubois was as a celebrity, Wallace Fontaine was not. Juan watched in total exasperation as Wallace boasted arrogantly to reporters about demolishing his competitors, that he was planning on doing the same when competing in the grand festival, and flaunted his Milotic and himself as if the pair was Arceus' greatest gifts to the world. Coordinators that Juan hadn't seen in years had ended up banging on his front door to voice their frustrations to him about his little pest of an apprentice. While it was without a doubt true, Juan thought they had no right. Most of it stemmed from jealousy, and that Juan would not put up with. He brushed those comments off by saying he would have a word with Wallace.

Juan never did, even when Juan watched Wallace win the grand festival in Hoenn. One minute Juan was full of pride for his boy and the next Wallace was caught on camera telling an angry rival that he lost because his face looked like a melted candle. Juan sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. Nothing Juan could've done, Juan would think to himself, he gave Wallace advice and he chose not to take it, and that was hardly anything new. But Wallace felt on top of the world and Juan remembered that euphoric blissful feeling before it all went to shit.

And the same happened to Wallace a year later. Though in an entirely different way. Wallace showed up at the Sootopolis Gym, clearly drunk out of his mind no doubt from one of the coordinator parties that Juan had gone to in the past. It occurred to Juan that there wasn't just alcohol in Wallace's system. He was talking a mile a minute about nonsense, was completely wired like a Kangaskhan in a bouncy castle. Nothing had changed from coordinator parties, Juan thought. Unlike Wallace, Juan stayed away from all that stuff, except an occasional drink or two. Juan damn well wasn't going to let Wallace fall into one of their traps. The boy was smarter than that.

"What did you take?" Juan asked sternly, already knowing the answer. There was white powder under Wallace's nose. Juan wanted to hear it from him. Wallace's eyes glazed over Juan and let out a giggle. But Juan wasn't letting him go that easily. "Wallace, what did you take?"

Wallace's response had been to rush into the Sootopolis gym bathroom and vomit his guts out. Wallace told him what he took after retching. Juan wasn't pissed, just disappointed, which he was sure to tell him. Juan had considered asking Wallace what his mother would say, but realize it wouldn't do any good. He didn't want to upset Wallace more, it was clear he learned his lesson based on the crash he was having, but he needed to understand why what he made the wrong choice in doing that. Juan always told Wallace to make his own choices, and they weren't always the right ones, but then they would always have a talk after them.

Juan thought that this would be one of the worst choices he made, bar-none. It turns out, he was very wrong about that.

"Pull yourself together," Juan said to Wallace. "You're quitting coordinating and training under me again, and we'll continue with your goal with becoming the champion. And no champion of mine is going to be some coked up peacock who thinks he's invincible. Do you understand?"

Wallace retched into the toilet again giving away his answer. Juan sighed and proceeded to rub the young boy's back. The next morning, Wallace was crying into Juan's shirt, saying how sorry he was, that he felt like he was going to be a failure. Juan's arms were wrapped around him, holding him tight. Moments like this made Juan remember how young Wallace is. Moments like this reminded Juan of the eleven-year-old boy that he had taken into his care. Arrogant and boastful yes, but very, very vulnerable.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen," Wallace sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Juan knew that his boy could be quite insecure when the chips were down. Not many people knew this about Wallace Fontaine. Juan remembered when Wallace had cried into Juan's shirt just like this due to his pent up daddy issues. The same question of asking why, why did his father leave him and his mother. The boy could claim he didn't care all he wanted, but Juan arguably knew Wallace more than anyone else, and what made him tick. Wallace would always wonder why, and that's a feeling that would never, ever go away. Juan had vowed since then that he would treat Wallace like a son. It's why right now Juan was holding him like when Wallace was eleven, whispering reassurances like Douglas had done for him when Clara had died, paying it forward to his mentor.

"It's alright," Juan consoled calmly. "You're going to be successful, I'm sure of it."

Wallace was trembling as violent as the sea's waves in a storm.

"I'm scared. I'm really scared. Please, please tell me I'll be okay. Please."

"You're going to be okay," Juan reassured once more. Wallace continued to sob. "You're going to be all right..."

Needless to say, Wallace never touched those things ever again. He was set to start his Pokemon Journey after training with Juan for so long. Nothing would get in his way, and that's the only thing Wallace cared about at the age of seventeen. The new champion, one Steven Stone, wouldn't know what hit him.

That's when an ugly, disgusting yellow plane landed in front of his very eyes.

The girl occupying it was not.

Now, Wallace had seen many beautiful people in his life; he still missed those gym trainers that Wallace would make out with when Juan wasn't looking. Wallace thought that he himself was the most graceful, best-looking person that had ever walked the planet. He sincerely believed that for most of his life.

Then she flied into his life, and Wallace stood corrected.

A slender girl exited the plane. She took off her helmet, revealing long, luscious lavender hair that she shook out of her eyes - eyes that sparkled, glimmered, and had a bit of a fiery personality to them. Wallace could tell. More than anything else in the world, Wallace loved fieriness. He took personal enjoyment out of riling up personalities like that.

And that's precisely what he did, commenting on her ugly plane. Predictably, the girl slapped him. Wallace liked that. He asked her for a battle, and he admittedly had to work hard to hide his surprise when she had said she didn't battle often. She would be perfect for Pokemon battles, if that slap was anything to go by. He told her so.

When she lost, Wallace gloated, and she smacked him again. He was really starting to like her now. Juan had told him countless times that his attitude would get him into trouble (which, it did many times) but right now Wallace didn't care. After the third smack, Wallace knew he was smitten with her.

Her name was Winona.

Wallace didn't think he believed in fate. After crossing paths with Winona many times on his journey, he knew that it wasn't a coincidence. Wallace watched as that Unovian trainer was getting under her skin, and she looked utterly besotted. She was just about to raise her hand, and Wallace had to make himself known. His fist collided with the trainer's jaw, and he scattered away like a rat. And Winona had the nerve to stare at him like he had done something wrong. It made Wallace angry. She should be grateful.

And then she had the nerve to ask why Wallace did that. Wasn't it blatantly obvious?

"I don't need your help," spat Winona. "I'm not some damsel-in-distress. You really are that arrogant. Thinking that I needed saving, from the likes of someone who managed to get into trouble with the coordinating world. Because let me tell you something, Wallace Fontaine. I don't need you. Not from someone like that."

Rejection. Wallace's heart shattered. "You know what? Fine!" he retorted. "That's the last time I'll ever intervene. Understand? And I'm sure as hell not going to care if you end up getting into trouble due to you snapping at some trainer who demolishes your team."

Winona let out a mock gasp. "Oh no! What ever will I do without your assistance?" Then, her expression turned cold as she sneered: "Fine by me." Oh it hurt. Arceus, it hurt. His ego had never been so bruised in his life.

Then Winona approached him one day after he defeated the Lavaridge gym. "Wallace?"

Wallace briefly wondered if Winona could sense his stomach doing backflips. "Winona. What is it?"

"I, um, well..." Winona started to stammer hesitantly, and then met his gaze fully. "I wanted to apologize."

Wallace stared incredulously in disbelief, and somewhat in anger. Winona was saying sorry to him. She was saying sorry, when Wallace had been an ass to her this entire time ever since she'd flown into his life, and she was fucking apologizing when it should've been him. It frustrated him, but then again, most things about Winona frustrated him.

"...Apologize? Why?"

Winona stared at the floor, ashamed. "Because, well... I want to get along with you. We shouldn't fight, when we're both running into each other like this. We should be able to get along. Don't you think?"

Wallace blinked slowly. "What brought on this?"

"...I just thought it would be the right thing to do," settled Winona, after some time.

Wallace was quiet. He still couldn't get over the fact that she was the one doing the right thing here, when she technically hadn't done anything wrong. She was about to, yes, during that trainer incident - but he stopped it. He was the one that should've been saying sorry, and she was doing it instead. Frustrating.

"Oh I get why you're apologizing," said Wallace.

Winona frowned. "Why?"

Wallace really couldn't help but reply, matter-of-factly: "You feel awful about almost smacking that trainer, and that I had to step in. Instead of confessing that you intended to do so, you're apologizing to me to make yourself feel better since we both know that's what you intended."

Beat.

"I don't have anything to be guilty of!" exclaimed Winona, evidently appalled. Wallace could only stare in absolute wonder on how after months of his awful behavior, Winona had the audacity to be shocked by it every time. "I was apologizing because I wanted to get along and you... you..." Wallace held back a grin as she stumbled over her words, with her face flushing (she was adorable, really). "...you're mean." As if that was a big revelation.

But Winona started to soften up around him. Wallace could tell. He knew that from the moment she let him wrap his jacket around her shoulders in Petalburg Woods. However, there was a difference between them. With Winona it took time, but Wallace knew he liked her from the day he met her and almost despised himself for it.

Because he was supposed to be focusing on his journey, but instead, his mind wandered back to Winona. Wallace had known from a young age that he wanted to be the champion, and he figured that he could do that while being with Winona. Winona wasn't just perfection; she defined it. When they kissed, it was heaven. She was heaven. When she accepted him for his bisexuality he cried in her arms out of pure relief. Wallace told her things, things that only Juan knew, Wallace thought Winona was too good for him. He told her about his father, how he'll always wonder why. It's a feeling that would never go away. She had held him then, too.

Defeating Juan was simultaneously heartbreaking and thrilling.

Juan knew. Juan knew about them. But he wasn't entirely focused on that. Juan looked at him, smiled upon being defeated, and told him there was only one more thing to do. That was to become the champion by breezing through the elite four and taking on Steven Stone. The fact of the matter was, Winona had the same goal. Wallace really wanted to think it wouldn't come between them. When Winona was called to take over the Fortree City gym leader due to Celandine's accident, and she had told him to become the champion, Wallace thought it meant that Winona was over it. She would move on with her gym leader duties, and he would be Hoenn's new champion like he dreamed.

That was, until, Wallace realized he was stupidly in love with the woman.

Madly.

Desperately. Wallace missed her already. He swept through Sidney's team like it was nothing, and while he should be happy about it, he thought of Winona. The second elite's team was even easier than the first, and he thought Winona would be proud. Glacia's team was swept through, and the woman's gentle smile made him think of Winona's smile. When he reached the fourth elite (definitely the hardest, Wallace thought) Drake's tough attitude made Wallace think of Winona's feistiness. At this point, Wallace thought he was going insane, and he would be right. He tried to comfort himself by boasting to each elite how he defeated them, and how he would defeat Steven next. It didn't work.

When you're stupidly in love with someone, you do stupid things. You do things that you never expected to do. That's how he ended up in Steven's room (Arceus, how old was Steven? He only looked to be only a few years older than himself) staring at the champion's fallen Pokemon, with Winona's name ringing in his mind.

"Congratulations," Steven told him warmly. "Through hard work and determination..."

When you're stupidly in love with someone...

"...with the bonds you share with your Pokemon..."

...you do stupid things.

"...and you have combated not only the elite four..."

You do things you never expected to do.

Wallace knew what was coming, and he wasn't referring to Steven's next words.

"...and myself. You are now the new Hoenn league champion!"

It's what Wallace always wanted to hear, and yet...

Winona.

"I reject the position," Wallace told him, unable to stop the words from spilling out of his mouth.

Steven stared incredulously. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, um..." Wallace realized that he didn't think this through at all, because he never thought he would make a decision like this in his life. "...Can I do that? Yeah... I don't want to be the champion. Um..." He struggled to come up with the right words, and with the way Steven was looking at him told Wallace this was stupid and irrational, but there were many moments in Wallace's life in which he was being stupid and irrational. "...yeah. It was a fun battle?"

This being the most stupid and irrational.

Steven didn't reply for quite some time. Then, he sighed. "Well this is awkward..."

What were the damn odds?

Sidney Liston's nostrils flared in contempt. Wallace, Juan's apprentice, had defeated Hoenn's elite four as well as their champion, Steven Stone. That's not what bothered Sidney. He accepted his defeat with grace and ushered Wallace into the next room, and before Sidney could wonder if the Sootopolis boy was a good contender against Steven the boy proceeded to monologue for two minutes on how he was the master of water types and how he was going to be a success story. Sidney had no problem losing to trainers, but he did have a problem with Wallace gloating about it that was more akin to a Sinnohnian brute. Sidney had prayed, prayed with all his heart that Wallace would lose, but to no avail.

And then Wallace rejected the position. A blessing in disguise, one would think. Sidney didn't know if he would be able to work with someone like him. Sidney liked to think he was easygoing, rarely getting into arguments unless when it came to Holland of Unova who despised psychics. Sidney didn't want to think about that. To present day, his own past made him shudder. Sidney called up Juan to let him know about his little miscreant, something he rarely did as Sidney wasn't a man that liked to complain. He dared to wonder if this meant Juan would let the boy have it, and Juan said that he would have a few choice words with Wallace Fontaine. Sidney hoped so.

But then Juan dropped the news to Sidney and his fellow elites as well as Steven that if Wallace wasn't going to be champion, why not have him take over the Sootopolis gym? At that revelation over the Pokenav with the match call, Sidney wondered what would happen if he simply strangled the would-be-gym-leader.

"He bragged to me for three minutes," Drake groaned.

"Oh, you got three minutes?" marveled Ishmael. "I timed mine. It was five. You lucky bastard."

"And Juan wants to reward him with a gym," Drake said, rolling his eyes. "Juan, have you lost your damn mind?"

Glacia's skin was paler than the type she specialized in. "I can't help but agree. Juan, your boy's very... very..."

"A very good trainer," Steven cut in. His elites stared at him. Sidney, most of all, because what the fuck was going through that boy's head. Drake even gave Steven the 'Boy-Do-Not-Fuck-With-My-Head' look. You know, the usual Drake look in regards to Steven speaking up for himself. The steel-type specialist faltered significantly, and Sidney swore he saw the Hoenn champion blush. "He should be a gym leader. He was able to defeat the elite four. He was able to defeat me. Think about how useful that would be."

Steven was blushing.

"Oh Arceus," groaned Sidney. "Please don't tell me you think he's cute. You have no chance, since he's taken."

"I don't think he's cute," snapped Steven.

"You sound very touchy," Glacia noted, with a hint of a smile.

"I'm not touchy!" Steven exclaimed touchily. "I just think he would be a neat fit as the gym leader. You can't tell me I'm wrong about him being useful since he had beaten me."

Drake snorted. "The other leagues would have a fit if word got out that Wallace had technically defeated you before."

"They don't have to know," Steven said simply. "Especially that Axel bastard. I don't like him, and I'm sure I've seen him around Hoenn for... reasons that I'd rather not say. What the other leagues don't know, what hurt them."

The other elites exchanged looks.

"Oh, Steven. You're truly a man after my own heart," chuckled Drake. Then he addressed Juan, "But please have a word with Wallace. If he takes over your position, I will not put up with his bullshit. His display against the four of us was appalling."

"Don't worry, I will," said Juan.

In all Wallace's years of being Juan's apprentice, he never faced Juan's wrath. Wallace had faced exasperation, annoyance, bewilderment - and basically everything else under the sun. But when Wallace returned to the Sootopolis gym to tell Juan what transpired at the Pokemon League, the older man exploded. He already knew.

And he let Wallace have it.

"You are barking mad!" Juan thundered, as if he had just realized this. Wallace tried not to roll his eyes. "Are you... how do you..." He was unable to finish his sentence, in favor of shaking his head in exasperation (which, at least was something Wallace was familiar with). Then, he had one question that consisted of only a word: "Why?"

Wallace opened his mouth, but Juan wasn't finished yet.

"I've got people phoning me, phoning me about how my apprentice challenged the elite four, gloated after beating each of them despite my efforts to tell you not to do that, and how you took down Steven Stone's Pokemon and technically earned the role of champion, a role you've wanted for years, only for you to say, 'No thanks, I'm good.' Boy, it is just like you to deliberately make my hairs grey, because out of all the things, of all the things-"

"Are you done yet?"

"No, I am just getting started, boy."

"I really think you shouldn't. You're as red as a Tamato berry caught flirting with a Sitrus berry, and I worry about your health, you know this."

"I... I just..." Wallace thought if Juan shook his head any harder it would fall right off. "That doesn't even make any sense! And if my health is going to fail it's because you sent me into cardiac arrest, because you decided to be stupid!"

"Mm, well we can't have that, can we?"

"Wallace," Juan began icily, "Why?"

"You know why."

Silence.

"You're absolutely mad."

"You're right, I am mad!" Wallace told him desperately. "Mad about Winona!" He hadn't realized his voice was getting louder. "If I'm away at the league, then I won't be able to see Winona as much as I could. And I need to see her more... so you're right, I am absolutely mad! And don't act like you don't know the feeling of being mad about someone!"

Juan said nothing for a while, then he merely looked at him and said: "You've changed."

"...What?"

"You've changed," Juan repeated to his protege. "You've grown. I still think you're absolutely bonkers for doing this, however..."

"It's because of her," Wallace pleaded to him, "It's always because of her. I can't be away from Winona, she's everything to me."

Juan averted his gaze away from Wallace if only for a moment, then: "I have a job for you, now that you're back."

Wallace crossed his arms and raised a brow. "Which is?"

"I want you to take over my gym."

Beat.

"Wh-what?" Wallace stammered, unable to keep the shock out of his own voice. "Why?"

"I have some personal matters to attend to, and I want you to think about what you just did."

"Arceus, you're not dying, are you?"

"No," sighed Juan. "You've grown, but you still have much more growing up to do. If you're not going to take the role of a champion, then you're going to act as gym leader of Sootopolis. Even if I didn't have my reasons, you're going to be the gym leader because I said so. And then you're going to tell Winona about what you did."

In the Fortree city gym, Wallace had kissed Winona so passionately because he was stupidly in love and he hated himself for it. Winona asked him what could've warranted such a reaction, and then asked if this meant what she thought she meant. Wallace had explained, albeit a bit sheepishly, on how he defeated the current champion of Hoenn. Winona had smiled (though, Wallace suspects it was strained) and congratulated him on his success.

"So..." Winona purred, smiling. "...What's next for you, champion?"

"I'm not the champion," Wallace told her.

Winona raised a brow. "What?"

"I'm not the champion, I turned it down," Wallace replied.

He started to explain from the beginning, on how ever since Winona became a gym leader Wallace missed her terribly so, and how he couldn't bear to be another second without her, and being in Ever Grande City was just too far away for his liking. He went on to say how Juan had offered him a position as the Sootopolis gym leader while he attended personal matters, and that he was content with not being the champion. After Wallace finished, Winona said nothing for quite a while, and her expression was unreadable.

After what seemed like an eternity, Winona smacked him across the face. This time, Wallace didn't like it one bit.

"You idiot," Winona sneered venomously. Wallace was stunned. "You... you idiot!" she screeched. "You turned down the position of a champion because of me? Because you took pity on me, that I wasn't as strong as you are!"

"No!" Wallace cried out, and he tried to take her hands in his. "I did it because I love you."

Winona yanked her hands away. "Save it," she spat. "You're telling me, that instead of me taking that position as a gym leader, I could've become the champion!? All because you... you..." She shook her head. "You're an idiot, Wallace."

Wallace did not dispute the point. "Winona, please-"

"We're through."

What?

"What?" Wallace voiced aloud, his heart pounding in his chest. "You don't really mean that, do you?"

"It's smothering," Winona snapped. "I cannot believe you. I wanted to become champion because of you. I got into Pokemon battles because of you. I lost to you Arceus knows how many times, and I took the position at Fortree because I figured, 'Well, at least my boyfriend will become the champion' and you reject it?!"

Wallace had never felt so awful about something in his life. "Winona, we can still make this work."

"Shut up," Winona retorted. "You just don't understand. You have no idea how harmful that was, and do you know why you don't have any idea, because you never think. You really are that arrogant, and that's something that's never changed since I first met you."

Wallace felt his temper rise. "Winona, don't you dare-"

"It's true," Winona cut in sharply, tears in her eyes. "What? Did you expect me to be touched? That I was going to melt in your embrace, and that we would live happily-ever-after? I put my own dreams away for you, and you throw it back in my face. Now get the hell out of my gym."

And in the blink of an eye, the love story of Winona and Wallace had come to an end.

It was a real shame too, because there was nothing more that the common civilian and league fanboys loved more than a league romance. The story of the troubled, beautiful, coordinator and the sweet, fiery, lover of flight would be talked about through the decades had it not gone sour. From now on it would be spoken about what could've been. They needn't worry, because Winona and Wallace's league love story wouldn't be the last. Other people would take their place as the years went by, such as a supermodel-turned-gym-leader with an adorkable girl that idolized Winona. Then of course there was the story of the shining star and the gutter rat, as people would put bluntly. And who could forget the painter and a grim elite who had been through thick and thin. And then there was a boy, no one peculiar, whose girlfriend was made an elite a year before himself.

Every now and then, Wallace would marvel how in just a day, he lost the two things he ever wanted to win. If you went back in time and told Wallace when he was ten-years-old that he would take Juan's old job, then he would've frowned and wondered why he wasn't the champion instead. Then if you told him that he would give up his dreams for a woman that would later smash his heart, he would've thought you were insane. But for now, he was quite content with his job as the Sootopolis gym leader.

Out of the two things he wanted to win, Wallace at least wanted to achieve one of them. Winona was out of the picture. She had made it perfectly clear. It would pain him so, but he knew he had to get over it. Wallace vowed that he would become the champion. He had technically done it once before, and he could very well do it again.

That day wasn't today, but one day, it could be.

Chapter Text

Chapter 30- Brock

Those under the Indigo League, which included Kanto's gym leaders and Johto's gym leaders, as well as the Indigo elites, had a range of personalities. Some folks would even say that they were bursting with it. Depending on the person, this could be good or bad. Everybody had a reputation that would be thoroughly showcased in the media. TV shows, movies, songs, late night comedy sketches, would be filled with league member references. The league members with the most prestige would be referenced the most.

It was only natural that Agatha would be a primary example of this, of course. A woman that was once called "Hurricane Agatha" by her family and very few friends was bound to be trouble, and when she stepped foot into the Indigo League with a sinister grin that promised nothing but pain to her challengers only proved that. Pryce would be called "Icy-Pryce," even to present day by a girl that trained under him by the name of Lorelei that later accepted a position of the Indigo elite four. She always had a ready laugh, joyful and warm, until it morphed into a cruel, cold one when a Sinnohnian brutally lost against her. The Arrax's, Lance and Clair, had opposite reputations. The cool, level-headed dragon-tamer and the short-tempered, Potty Mouth Clair. Everyone knew about Bruno and Chuck, mentor and protege, the elite and the gym leader.

Erika was composed until someone brought up her Love Scent perfume, then she would pale. Blaine was a bit mad, in the quirky, whimsical way that spoke in riddles. Lt. Surge would come to mind as well, a man who had once walked the line between life and death. Koga whom was the friendliest to child fans, and if he had shed tears due to his wife's constant miscarriages then he would not mention it. There was Sabrina, naturally, whom everyone knew was probably one of the few people that could match Agatha's terror.

Brock Harrison would not be called "Brock The Rock" just because of his type-specialty, and no, it wasn't because Brock was dumb as rocks. It was because he garnered a reputation in the Indigo League for being absolutely solid, as in completely calm. In later years, Lance Arrax would remark that he hadn't seen Brock panic once. Even those like Lt. Surge and Koga had their off days, which would usually end in them having a couple of strong drinks after work. If Sabrina was in a particularly bad mood, such as a dark-type specialist winning against her in a battle, that's when Sabrina would chase them out and mentally beat down a gym trainer as an 'example' for the younger psychics in the institute. In other words, every gym leader had a hatch. For those in the leagues that would insist otherwise, others would disagree saying they were lying to themselves.

Brock Harrison was the exception. A calm steady figure, and if he was nervous, he rarely if ever showed it, because he had to be a calm steady figure all his life.

Brock was eighteen-years-old when he wasn't sure if they were going to make the bills this month.

It's kind of not that surprising, given that his mother died a year ago from cancer and his father left the family out to dry two months ago to become the "Greatest Pokemon trainer ever." Only Brock knew that it was really some bullshit excuse to cover up the grief he felt. It's not like that mattered, because even when his father was there, he was never... there. It became clear that Brock had to step up the moment mom died. Their income was much smaller now that Brock was the head of the household, thrust into the chaos of raising his nine siblings while he worked a menial job at the Pewter Museum while his siblings were too young to work.

Nine kids, all grieving the loss of their mother, angry at the departure of their father, and a cramped up house in a shitty part of Pewter City that was dubbed the wrong side of the tracks. Another aspect of his siblings' lives that made them shunned by the upper echelon, when really, they were probably the nicest group of kids considering their situation.

They were good kids. And they deserved so much better.

Even before his parents had left in some way, Brock had always wondered what possessed them to have so many children. Brock loved all of them of course, no doubt, but now Brock had nine mouths to feed all on his own. They weren't starving, not yet, but once in a while Brock would give up his own meals to ensure that his siblings wouldn't go hungry and were well fed. Brock and his siblings lived in a house where if the milk was running out they would water it down by the sink. Indeed, Brock learned how to cook meals on a budget. They had to be.

Government assistance was hardly enough. The welfare checks that came with each of Brock's siblings were a help, but barely. Even getting discounted items at the market wasn't helping much. This was bad, and if Brock didn't get his shit together there were two options that were both terrible in different ways. The first option would be Child Protective Services swooping in, given that all of Brock's siblings, with the exception of thirteen-year-old Forrest, were under the age of ten, splitting them up. The second option would be them being sent to Nugget Bridge, if certain people got wind of their situation. That's where Forrest would end up given his age when it came to either option.

In the Kanto region, children were allowed to get a Pokemon at the age of ten. However, some children under that age if they had no parents or were abandoned in some way were gladly accepted to watch Nugget Bridgers train and under strict supervision could have a go at a battle or two if they possessed enough talent. It technically wasn't legal, but the Indigo League looked the other way, like they did with a lot of things. Brock had heard whispers in the museum, people's eyes darting nervously side to side, over these things. Rumor has it the Indigo League was involved in the sudden... purge of dragon tamers in the Dragon's Den when Potty Mouth Clair had taken over the Blackthorn gym. If they did have anything to do with that, they dare not mention it. Brock thought some things were better kept under wraps, and this happened to be one of them.

But the point was, it would be a nightmare if his siblings went to Nugget Bridge. Brock had been there before. For those who dared to cross it, they would be met with aggressive, bloody berserker trainers that were planning on being sent off to another region looking to tear them down. Some of them hardly contained, acting more like the beasts that they claimed to train. The bridge offered no solace, even Brock got the creeps from that place, and Brock had stepped foot in Lavender Town once. Brock would rather die than have his siblings be subjected to those vultures on Route 24. His siblings were already traumatized enough in the past year and a half.

So yeah. Brock's family was in the shitter financially. And yeah, sometimes he would turn the other cheek when his brother Forrest who always found himself getting into trouble would pickpocket unsuspecting tourists so they could afford more. Forrest was a natural in that aspect. Brock had radiated with disapproval in the past, but found it was no use as the bills started to pile up.

Speaking of Forrest, he burst through the home, eyes wide. "Brock?!" Brock learned to be apprehensive when it came to outbursts like that coupled with the look on Forrest's face. That could mean anything. A wave of possibilities spread across Brock's mind. A social services visit, a broken bone from one of his siblings that would shatter their budget completely, Forrest finally being caught, or the school called claiming one of his siblings had gotten into trouble with the other children, such as a few of them taunting those bug-catchers that chatted restlessly about their choice of specialty. Why couldn't his siblings leave those pesky bug-catchers alone? "You have to hear this! Listen, listen!"

"I'm listening," Brock told him calmly, putting the paperwork down. Something told him that the bills could wait for about a minute, and then get back to business.

Forrest sat across from his older brother and broke into a wide mischievous smile. Brock normally worried when this happened too. Whenever Forrest smiled like that it usually meant he left a trail of chaos in his wake that would result in Brock having to apologize to whoever the victim was and trying to find away to compensate for it. It was mostly harmless run-of-the-mill mischief, but Brock didn't forget about how Forrest set fire to a tin can and started to kick it everywhere and nearly blew up their house. Forrest had received an earful from Brock after that, so it's why Brock would rather have a klepto for a brother than a pyro. At least his kleptomaniac tendencies would benefit the family.

"Ezekiel is looking for another gym trainer," Forrest told him. "One of his own quit, and he needs one to step in." Ezekiel was Pewter City's rock-type gym leader. An elderly man that was stuck in his old ways that garnered a reputation for the last ten years of being notoriously difficult to work with. It came as no shock to Brock that a gym trainer left.

Brock raised an eyebrow. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"You have Onix," pressed Forrest. "Show Ezekiel you can take over. The pay would be great!"

The pay would be slightly better than what Brock was making at the Pewter museum. At least at the Pewter Museum Brock liked his co-workers and his boss wasn't a total dictator. Brock heard the rumors that Ezekiel ran a tight ship that worsened with age. Brock knew that working for the man would be far from a pleasurable experience.

But here's the thing. When you're poor and seconds from being evicted and have to go some nights without supper, sometimes you have to put up with insufferable people for that little extra cash. Dignity and respect as a human being be damned. Forrest knew that Brock was going to apply for the position from the moment he told him.

So Brock applied.

"Brock Harrison?" Ezekiel remarked in his gym, narrowing his eyes at the younger man. Brock could only nod. "Lola's boy, is it?" Again, Brock nodded. Ezekiel tapped his cane on the ground and took away his gaze from him. "Hm... interesting."

Brock figured that at this point he should open his mouth and say something, but he didn't know if that would ensure him being dismissed or perhaps it would benefit him. Brock suspected it was the former. He would never find out. The rock-type gym leader demanded he take out his Pokemon and face him in a battle. "One-on-one. This is from my fifth badge set, as gym trainers that train under me have to be at least at that skill level. Let's see how well you fare against my Onix."

In most gyms in Kanto, gym trainers had to have the level of skill of at least three. Brock knew that he was in for a ride with Ezekiel considering he required more.

Ezekiel sent out his Onix. Brock stared at the cold, menacing look on the Pokemon's face. He could tell the difference between his own and Ezekiel's right away. Brock's Onix was warmer and didn't have a mean bone in its body. Oh sure, Onix was a powerful beast that would listen to Brock, but it was never callous. It was strictly Pokemon battling and nothing more. After a while, some Pokemon have the tendency to rub off on the personalities of their trainers. Ezekiel's Onix was a primary example of that. Brock's Onix was an example too. It was nothing personal. It's not like Brock's Onix would seriously hurt anyone unless Brock commanded it, and Brock never would.

Onix had been apart of Brock's life since he was ten. It was a gift Pokemon from his mother, who also specialized in rock-types. His incompetent, useless, good-for-nothing father had claimed that Brock wasn't ready for such a tall powerful beast, but years after interacting with his mother's Pokemon as a small child gave Brock a lot of patience. So his father could shut up. Brock would sneak down to Nugget Bridge when his mother wasn't around, to train against the horrific Nugget Bridgers. Brock knew he was a hypocrite, as Forrest explained to him more than once, but his hard work paid off when fighting those trainers. But it's an experience he would never wish on his sensitive, younger siblings.

"What Pokemon will you use?" Ezekiel asked of him.

Brock allowed himself a small grin and threw the Pokeball. For once, the smugness evaporated from the gym leader's face once Brock's Onix emerged and let out a battle cry.

Brock grinned even wider when Brock's Onix defeated Ezekiel's. By a small margin, but nonetheless.

"You're hired," was what Ezekiel said, which was the closest to a 'good job' that anyone would ever get from the old coot. Brock didn't know whether or not to thank him for the opportunity. Ezekiel returned his fallen Pokemon as Brock returned his own Onix. "Walk with me, talk with me."

They took their stroll on the streets of Pewter City. "Apologies to hear about your mother. She was a good trainer, quite good with rock-types, as well. It's a shame your father left, too, but I suspect that's no loss. A man that can't take care of his family is good-for-nothing. You hear?"

Brock stared at him in utter disbelief. The people in Pewter City learned to dance carefully regarding the Harrison siblings and their living situation, and of course the topic regarding their parents that either died or abandoned them. So it was safe to say that Brock was surprised that Ezekiel was so blunt about it. But was the man taking pity on him? The thought made Brock almost scoff aloud. Brock refused to be a charity case.

Ezekiel rolled his eyes. "That's not the reason I hired you. I hired you because you defeated my Onix, boy, don't be stupid."

Ah.

"Thanks for the clarification," said Brock.

Ezekiel looked at him. "And I'll give you an advance on your pay." It took everything Brock had within him not to gasp aloud at this statement. Part of him wanted to hug the old man. However, he couldn't conceal his shock and thankfulness across his face. Ezekiel must've thought he was insane. "Don't give me that look, boy."

Brock averted his gaze. "Understood, understood."

Blaine was in his living room with Lt. Surge and Ezekiel having a drink. They were frequent guests in his home nowadays, since the majority of the gym leaders from their early days had either moved on for better adventures, been replaced, or gone into an early retirement. Lt. Surge was without a doubt the youngest of the lot presently, but age was catching up to him, no matter how much blonde hair dye he would try to put in his hair to hide the grey specks. Civilians and regular trainers thought Lt. Surge's hair was naturally blonde. League members that have worked with him since he first started knew better. Blaine knew why he was aging quicker despite not being that old yet.

War did that to you.

"I told Agatha to do it," Lt. Surge went on, chuckling as the amber liquid swirled in his glass. "What are the other regions gonna do? Besides, it makes an amusing fucking story."

Lt. Surge's Raichu was right beside him, nibbling on scraps that his trainer always seemed to have on hand. Blaine's Arcanine had trotted over and spoke to the Raichu. Here, Lt. Surge's Pokemon split it's goodies in half with the fire dog. This was a normal interaction between them. Raichu and Arcanine were the best of friends.

"At least Agatha asks you questions and respects your input," said Blaine, rolling his eyes playfully. "Me on the other hand... she still sees me as the teenager that lost against her in those Kanto-Johto tournaments all those years ago."

Ezekiel looked at him. "Didn't you ask her out each time you lost?"

"Only seven times."

"So every time you lost."

Lt. Surge snickered, but then decided to change the topic. "So what are you thinking about, Ezekiel? You're planning on retiring later this year anyway. Any contenders?"

It was a good question. Ezekiel took a drink. The alcohol burned his throat. "Hm... I'm thinking it's either between Hazier or Maximillian."

"Didn't you get a new gym trainer two months ago?" asked Blaine, frowning. His Arcanine propped himself up on Blaine's lap. It was cute when he was a Growlithe, but now Ezekiel wondered how Blaine could stand that heavy weight on him at his age. Blaine chuckled good-naturedly and pet him. "What was that gym trainer's name? Lola's boy..."

"Lola's had many boys and girls," Lt. Surge interjected. "I know the kid you're talking about. The oldest. Brock, right?"

"Yes, the oldest one. Too new. Shouldn't even bothering considering him."

"But you aren't retiring for a while still, he could grow. You say that he's good," Lt. Surge pressed. And Ezekiel didn't normally say when someone was good. Blaine had known Ezekiel for a long time, and the older man didn't hand out compliments like free candy. Ezekiel had told him how much he was annoyed with the two other gym trainers he had. Not once did Blaine nor Lt. Surge hear him complain about Brock Harrison. In other words, Lt. Surge and Blaine could connect the dots that Brock was his best gym trainer.

Ezekiel appeared hesitant. "Hazier and Maximillian had been here with me longer. They're much older than him. It should be one of them instead."

"Seniority, Ezekiel? Really?" disagreed Lt. Surge. He lit up a cigarette. "If Brock's the best, then it should be him." Ezekiel coughed and swatted away the smoke. Even Lt. Surge's Raichu scrunched up his nose and displeasure and scattered out of the room. Arcanine didn't bother to hide his disdain and hopped off Blaine's lap.

Blaine rolled his eyes. "You're not smoking in my home in front of my Pokemon, Matis."

"You specialize in fire-types. You're surrounded by smoke all the time."

"Arceus, Matis, don't send yourself into an early grave. Smoking is dangerous."

Lt. Surge merely glared at him. Sometimes Blaine forgot whom he was talking to in regards to the electric-type gym leader.

But he just couldn't have him smoking around him. A lot of league members smoked cigarettes because of the stressful demanding job they had, and after working in the league for so long it's almost impossible not to develop the habit. If you went to a league meeting in any region and asked for a lighter, at least four people would hand you theirs.

"...Sorry, just... take it outside."

Lt. Surge pocketed his lighter. "Maybe I will." And then he left, leaving Blaine and Ezekiel alone.

Ezekiel snorted. "Jeez, Blaine. Smoking is no more dangerous than killing a bunch of Alolans." It was an unspoken rule not to mention Lt. Surge's service regarding the war against Alola in front of him. When he wasn't present, however, all bets were off. Blaine still wasn't comfortable speaking about it.

"...Consider Brock," Blaine told him. Ezekiel rolled his eyes and took another drink. "I mean it, Ezekiel. Maybe he'll surprise you. He is a Harrison, after all."

Ever since Brock started training under Ezekiel's authority, things started to look up financially for the Harrison family. The advance on his pay helped, so Brock was able to pay bills on time. Forrest in the meantime stopped picking pockets of unsuspecting tourists and took up Brock's old job at the Pewter museum after school. His next younger brother had taken a paper route job, probably the only job anyone would consider hiring a child under ten for. Brock needn't worry. Salvatore was the least likely to cause trouble.

Brock knew that Hazier and Maximillian had authority over him. It went unspoken, but Brock knew his place. The funny thing was, was that Brock didn't butt heads with his mentor at all in his apprenticeship at the Pewter City gym. If anything, it was Hazier and Maximillian that barked more orders at him despite the fact that Brock knew that he could wipe the floor with each of them in battle. He bit his tongue more often than not when it came to that. As much as Brock would like to tell the two halfwits that they were about as useful as a sack of rocks in a garden, he kept his mouth shut. Even Ezekiel knew that it was true.

But the old man believed in seniority over anything else in the league. It was unfair. It almost infuriated Brock. Part of him was hoping that when Ezekiel left to retire that he would choose him as his successor, but he knew it was too good to be true. The pay as a gym leader was far more significant than being a gym trainer, but Brock knew things were going well, and if he stepped out of line then it's possibly he could lose both things and be out of a job and then his family would be in the shitter again.

Forrest was more angry about it than Brock was. "It's stupid," he snapped at Brock. "Why shouldn't you get the Pewter City position? You're better than Hazier and Maximillian, and can hold your own against a seasoned veteran in the Indigo League. You know, you could probably leave and get all eight badges and become the champion!"

Brock gave his little brother a sharp look. "And leave you and the others here to rot and for the state to take you away, or put you in Nugget Bridge? I don't think so." The last thing Brock wanted to be was a carbon copy of his father. Forrest was probably the only one in his family that Brock was blunt with. He could handle the truth of their situation.

Forrest frowned. "We'd be willing to go."

"What?"

"To Nugget Bridge," Forrest told him. "We all talked about it. I'd be willing to start right now, if given the chance."

Brock was almost positive Forrest would send him into a heart attack before he turned twenty. "And why wasn't I invited to this family meeting?"

"Because we knew you'd react like this and not let us go."

"Damn right I wouldn't. And stop laughing, it isn't funny. Do you even know how the trainers there are?" Brock knew that Forrest could handle it. That boy was tough-as-nails and would probably take it as a challenge to pickpocket the toughest, nastiest trainers there to get a rise out of. That's what Brock feared the most, that one day Forrest would piss off the wrong person. But Brock's younger siblings? There's no way that they'd be able to handle it. No, not at their young ages. If they were older, maybe, but still...

"Oooo, scary," Forrest mocked, doing jazz hands for theatrical effect. Brock wasn't amused in the slightest. "C'mon, Brock. If the league gets wind of how many of us are there, especially considering we're Harrison's, they'd die to put us in Nugget Bridge. You could let that happen on the condition they make you a gym leader."

People knew that Brock's father had left them. No one really cared about that nor saw it as a great loss. But the life of Lola Harrison was one that was a real tragedy. Brock's father wanted to be the greatest trainer ever, so he said, but his wife was a thousand times better a trainer than he was. She rejected league positions many times but was well-acquainted with a few gym leaders over the years. It was by some Arceus-damned miracle that the league didn't investigate his family considering his father had left.

Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. Perhaps they were waiting.

Brock felt a chill go through his spine once the second thought crept his way through. He glared at Forrest. "You're insane."

Forrest just looked at him. "We all want to do it."

"Insane."

"Take the risk, Brock. Go talk to Agatha in the league, schedule a meeting. They say she usually handles that sort of thing. Say that you're stronger than Maximillian and Hazier. She has to take that into consideration. Agatha hates weakness. Hazier and Maximillian are weaker than you. Agatha says that if your competitor were drowning, you'd stick a hose in their mouth and turn the water on, and they're your competition. She also says bug-catchers are great for target practice. I wouldn't mind throwing rocks at them. So annoying and chatty at school over a type that isn't worth shit."

Charming. The exact kind of motto that those damn Nugget Bridgers had followed.

"I don't care if the bug-catchers are annoying and chatty and their type isn't worth... you know what," sighed Brock. "Don't talk like that. I don't care. You're going to piss off the wrong person one day, and it's going to end up getting back to you."

"But Agatha says that it's okay to be combative."

This was precisely why Brock didn't want his siblings to go there. He rolled his eyes. "I knew you've been watching her too much on television. No wonder the twins keep running out of the room at five thirty exact and demand to cling to me the entire time until six exact. Do me a favor, Forrest, and convince our family not to be so reckless to even consider going to that hellhole known as Nugget Bridge."

"Brock, you've done so much for us," pressed Forrest. "Please consider. Let us pay you back. Please, please, please."

...Goddamn it.

Agatha was in her office with Lorelei, trying to get through grueling paperwork regarding the alarming number of defeats in Cerulean City's gym. Normally this task would be done with Lance, but Agatha sent him off to Nugget Bridge to keep a watchful eye making sure that the trainers there didn't kill each other and use their blood as warpaint. This used to be done by Agatha's Gengar, but after her Gengar purposely caused trouble to make the trainers more unhinged than they were, an elite had to do the job instead.

Besides, it was usually Lorelei that went to Nugget Bridge to check the collateral damage, but Agatha wanted the woman to become more experienced with duties that didn't have to do with battling. She had complained about it, giving Agatha a headache in the process, but Agatha wouldn't take no for an answer. She did agree that it should be just about the battling, but paperwork was what came with the job, which brought them to looking through the statistics of Cerulean for almost two hours.

"Agatha."

"Yes?"

"Why do you hate me?"

Agatha looked at her sternly. "Because you've been complaining non-stop for two hours. You know better by now."

"Because it's been two hours," Lorelei said tiredly. "Why is Cerulean such a pest? Why am I the one that has to do this with you? Why can't Lance do it and I go to Nugget Bridge instead? Nugget Bridge is like home to me."

"I already gave you the answer to all of those questions."

"But it's so unfair that Lance gets the fun stuff."

"If whining was a currency, you would be a billionaire," Agatha told her, with a scowl.

Then one of the guards stationed at the league poked his head out the door stating that someone wanted to speak with her immediately.

Agatha huffed, but she held a ray of hope that it was good news. Maybe Sergei was retiring and needed Agatha to take over as champion. Maybe Giovanni had dropped dead. Either one would certainly brighten Agatha's mood. And the thought of it being both? It made her perk up, earning a startled look from Lorelei.

"It's a gym trainer," said the guard, destroying Agatha's hopes.

Agatha's response was to roll her eyes and the guard to send them in. She had little time and very little patience to deal with some gym trainer moaning about pay, or some other trivial matters that they should go to their gym leader for. Gym trainers were normally beneath Agatha's notice. In fact, Agatha briefly wondered why a gym trainer would ask to speak to her. Most gym trainers wouldn't even want to go near her. It's almost as if they hadn't heard the rumors, or hadn't been warned by seasoned gym trainers (if there was such thing, Agatha would debate in the leagues) in the Indigo League to not waste Agatha's time.

Lorelei was going to excuse herself to go on a smoke break, but Agatha told her to sit down and watch. She was getting a masterclass on how to deal with whiny gym trainers.

"Gengar, behave," Agatha warned her Pokemon beside her. Agatha knew the look in Gengar's eyes whenever someone wished to speak to his trainer, the look of wanting to play a spectacular prank on someone who dared to bother her. The ghost-elite appreciated the sentiment, but really there was a time and place. However depending on whatever inquiries the gym trainer had at the moment, Agatha might let Gengar have his fun. She would consider it an adequate training exercise for him.

Also, Agatha would get a bit of a kick seeing gym trainers squirm, so it was a win-win for everyone. Except the gym trainer, but that's what they get for wasting her time.

A young tall boy was escorted in the room. Pewter City. The newest one. Agatha recognized him immediately. Lola's boy. One of many. Agatha knew that the accomplished trainer had settled down and had almost a dozen children with some man that abandoned them a few months after she died from cancer.

Part of Agatha knew she should've seized the opportunity to make the Harrison children into the perfect little cadets for the Kanto region by shipping them off to Nugget Bridge. In fact, abused, neglected, or abandoned children were absolutely welcomed to train at Nugget Bridge, more than any other trainer. Agatha prioritized those the most, she encouraged it. They normally had the stealth and stamina to survive in such harsh conditions with bloodthirsty trainers, they would have the stomach and thick skin for it.

The Harrison children would have the survival skills for it, considering they were likely living from paycheck to paycheck. Oh yes, Agatha knew perfectly well they could've (and perhaps, should've) been split up. But she wanted to bide them time to grieve. After all, Agatha wasn't a monster. Was now the time, perhaps?

"State your name," said Agatha.

"Brock Harrison, I'm a gym trainer in Pewter City." Lorelei glanced between Agatha and Brock.

Agatha's eyes narrowed. She had an idea of what this was going to be about, because, you know, the Harrison's were living paycheck to paycheck. Brock was going behind his gym leader's back to get a better pay, for himself, for his family, and all that other mind-numbingly depressing things that Agatha had no patience for. While she wasn't a monster, Agatha wasn't exactly the most sympathetic person around. Some would say she was as unyielding as the mountains, which wasn't that far off.

"Why are you here?" Agatha asked anyway.

"I want to be the gym leader when Ezekiel retires."

Well shit.

Agatha checked herself. "You... want to be the new gym leader of Pewter City." She shot a glare at Lorelei who was unable to conceal her laughter and ceased under it. The boy didn't react to the ice elite's behavior. He kept his eyes on Agatha, and nodded. "The new gym leader of Pewter City," Agatha repeated, just to make sure.

"You can ask me a dozen times," Brock told her. "I want the job."

His determination was something else. Agatha leaned back in her office chair. "Ezekiel had been talking about having Hazier replace him."

"And I'm better than him," Brock said. This made Agatha's eyebrows go up as Brock continued, "I'm better than Hazier and Maximillian. Better than both of them combined, maybe, and I can hold my own against Ezekiel's LNS team. I'm the one who should have the job. Seniority shouldn't be a thing."

"...That we can agree on," Agatha allowed. "But how do I know you're not lying to me?"

"Ask Ezekiel," Brock pressed. "I'm better. I'm sure Ezekiel has complained about them, but not me. Never me."

This was true. Ezekiel had been in the league as long as Agatha had been an elite. They talked frequently. Surely Ezekiel would've mentioned if Brock were to be a problem. The man liked to complain about anything, and most times, Ezekiel would find something to complain about someone even if they were the most likable person on the planet.

"You have a personal gain in this," Agatha remarked, matter-of-factly. Brock paled. "And don't say it's to serve Kanto. It's not just about that. It's about you, and your family." Brock was stunned into silence, and finally the boy looked afraid. Finally. Agatha was beginning to worry she was losing her edge.

"...My siblings want to go to Nugget Bridge on the condition I become a gym leader," said Brock.

The look of shock on Agatha's face made Lorelei snicker again. When the hell did that girl get so brave in her time here? It seemed like nowadays people forgot the laws and commandments of the Indigo League. Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not talk back to Agatha. The usual.

"Let me make something perfectly clear to you, child," Agatha started off sternly to Brock. Good, Lorelei had stopped laughing. "You are not the one that makes negotiations here, it's me. I know you. And I know your family. I knew who you were the moment you walked through the door. You're afraid that you and your siblings won't have enough to eat and therefore be taken away from you. They're growing up, and I'm sure they need new clothes, pairs of shoes, and so on. The Indigo League doesn't take charity cases. There is a reason we are the best out of everyone else. You are not going to get a gym leader position just because of your family. You're going to get a gym leader position because you prove yourself to me. Is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am," Brock told her. "Let me prove myself to you, then."

At least the boy had manners, Agatha would give him that. "We'll depart for Pewter City. I want to see you battle Maximillian and Hazier in a row, with no time to heal your Pokemon. There, I will override Ezekiel's decision if you manage to defeat them."

Based on the look on Brock's face, it was as if a crack of thunder or a bolt of lightning appeared after Agatha's ultimatum.

"Can I go on a smoke break now?" inquired Lorelei, meekly raising her hand.

"No, stay here and finish up the paperwork," ordered Agatha.

Lorelei's jaw dropped to the floor, but Agatha didn't bother giving the ice-elite a second glance. She had to see Brock in action to see for herself if the boy was worth her time. So the pair went to Pewter City, and Agatha demanded to see Ezekiel and his two other gym trainers so she could evaluate who should be Ezekiel's proper successor. The look on Ezekiel's face told Agatha all she needed to know. But Ezekiel dare not disobey his higher-up, even if he was going to retire. He respected Agatha enough to listen to her.

The first battle was between Brock and Maximillian. The second battle would be between Brock and Hazier. Both battles would be back-to-back, with Brock not having the chance to heal his Pokemon. Agatha wasn't going to take pity on the young man, she wanted to test him. She would be merciless. She needed to see if the boy was bluffing earlier.

...Brock was not bluffing. Agatha could see why Ezekiel never complained about him. The boy definitely took after his mother in that aspect. However, the difference between them was that Brock wanted a gym leader position, and his mother had not. As Agatha watched Brock defeat Maximillian with ease, she held her breath as she faced off with Hazier - the one Ezekiel had planned on succeeding him.

Speaking of Ezekiel, Agatha flashed the man a look that made him falter during Brock's battle with Hazier. The stupid, foolish old man was going to handpick someone based on seniority rather than talent. Agatha was violently disgusted by that. She was even more disgusted by him once Brock claimed the win, with a bit more struggle, but he still won.

Brock rose to the occasion. Agatha was almost impressed.

"A deal is a deal," allowed Agatha. Brock looked up in shock after recalling his Pokemon, as if he didn't think Agatha would follow through. But Agatha could admit when she was wrong, those moments were very few and far in-between, and this happened to be one of them. "I'll be speaking to Sergei about you, young man. You'll replace Ezekiel."

Maximillian and Hazier looked ready to protest. "But Agatha-"

"Shut up," Agatha snapped, waving her hand dismissively. "Brock, take a walk with me to Nugget Bridge."

Uh-oh.

So this was the place that his siblings would be subjected to, Brock thought. He figured that the true reason he was picked was because of the deal he made with Agatha, and that his siblings would eventually become Nugget Bridgers. Brock would wonder if it was a mistake, but he needn't worry. At least now that he was a gym leader there would be more food on the table, along with a much fatter check. That's all this was for, really. For his siblings. His siblings that agreed to go to Nugget Bridge despite Brock's fears.

"Lance," Agatha called out to the dragon-type elite. Lance averted his gaze from the trainers, having just wrapped up a lecture, and immediately walked toward Agatha. "Meet the newest gym leader of Pewter City, Brock Harrison."

Lance looked at him. Brock was a little apprehensive under his stare. Sure, Lance was friendly from what Brock had seen on television, but he was standing in front of greatness. Lance was an Arrax, and they were known for being strict and stern. Being great. He smiled warmly and stuck his hand out. "Pleasure."

Brock shook it and Agatha went on, "His siblings will be training here, one day. We'll wait until they're older. Some of them are... far too young to have Pokemon, I've heard."

Oh?

She wasn't going to start them right away?

"I'd like to wait," Agatha said, reading the look on Brock's face. "Don't you have one that's of age? How old is he?"

"Thirteen, going on fourteen. His name's Forrest. He wants to start training here as soon as possible."

"He can start tomorrow," allowed Agatha. "Don't worry. Lance will watch over him."

Brock didn't think Lance would have to do that. Forrest was an absolute hell-raiser. But if something bad did happen to his younger siblings when it came time for them to train at Nugget Bridge, then he would absolutely blame the ruthless Nugget Bridgers. Try as Brock might, he would never lose that protectiveness of them. Brock's normally not a superstitious person, however if a sibling ending up drowned by a Seaking, falling from up high in a tree, or swept by a goddamn tornado, then he would hold them responsible.

Lance hummed a bit. "Right, right." He raised an eyebrow, looked at Brock, and then back at Agatha. "Does Sergei know about this?"

"He will." Brock could tell Lance was trying not to roll his eyes, as if the old woman had done this before. Brock suspected so. "Welcome to the Indigo League, Brock Harrison."

Brock smiled.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31- Phoebe

There were certain rankings of type specialties in the LNS. Everybody knew it, even if it wasn't publicly ranked or openly discussed in the system. Which ones were the most popular, held more prestige, the most powerful, and had the most influence. Psychics started to climb their way up the ladder, thanks to the cunning Lucian and the powerful Sabrina, dubbed as the father and mother of psychics in battling. Revolutionaries, if you asked psychic circles. Dark-type specialists had reputations, not good most of the time, but no one could deny that Sidney of Hoenn and Holland of Unova were powerful trainers. The dragon-tamers were powerful as well. Most days, type specialists could comfort themselves thinking that it could be way worse. You could specialize in the grass-type. Or the awfully fragile bug-type, that would earn several barks of laughter from trainers.

The top spot of this was the ghost-type specialty. Not so much about strength, but about influence and power. If it was all about strength, dragon-tamers would take the spot no question. However no one would forget about Agatha, naturally. Some would say Agatha was immortal due to the amount of ghosts she surrounded herself with. Fantina was one example as well, as she was a famous coordinator around the world that dazzled onlookers with her ghost-types. In the future, there would be a troubled novelist that found her will and determination and gift with ghosts, and a troubled young boy in Johto that was subjected to ridicule by his hometown for having the same gift. Everyone unanimously agreed that ghost-specialists had the most power in the leagues. Whether in battling, in popularity, or something else.

Phoebe Anela was one of these. Another ghost-specialist that left an impression people, for better, or for worse, depending on who you asked.

She wasn't the first league member to have a rags-to-riches story. There were many league members that came from nothing. They worked their way up and excelled so much they were known as powerful trainers in their region and would be guaranteed big fat league checks and a pension when they retired. Bertha was one of these, along with Glacia, followed by the parentless Bruno and Chuck. After Phoebe, there would be more, such as another fighting-type specialist who was plucked from an orphanage by the champion of Unova himself. Another a Johtonian boy who went from selling pot to get by to being regarded as one of the few people that Agatha possibly felt a hint of fondness for. Then there would be an elite, no one of particular importance, being a slum weasel with a nasty temper whose heart burned with passion for battles.

So no, Phoebe Anela wasn't the first to have this story, but she was indeed the first and only league member to really emphasize the rags part, as the girl was dressed in clothes made of rags. In later years, this would probably be the least baffling thing about Phoebe. As one Drake Wyvern would tell you, the girl was quite an enigma. On his less kinder days he would even call her strange. The girl that giggled as she called ghosts her friends and would say something even more insane than the last, just to get a reaction. She was sweet, in her own sort of way, but aloof. Then again, this was coming from Drake's perspective, and anyone who wasn't as serious as himself would regarded that way.

Which was almost everyone on planet earth.

But Phoebe was a special kind of strange, whimsical, friendly. Drake admittedly had a bit of a soft spot for the girl, from the moment she entered his life. She would make you feel very important one second, and as a joke, make you feel very unimportant. Then she would make you feel important again. It wasn't done with any malicious intent. Phoebe had the knack of getting you drawn to her. It was a gift she had, along with many others. Drake's assessment of her would probably be the most accurate - a gifted trainer, however daydream-like. Very "Ooh-La-La," as some others would say. Phoebe accepted this assessment from Drake without a second thought.

It was because due to Drake's interference, Hoenn civilians would make jokes that he was a grumpy dragon-tamer father with a bubbly ghost-elite daughter. They weren't that far off. It was because of Drake being at the right place at the right time. It was because of Drake that the name Phoebe Anela would be in Hoenn League Members, A History.

While historians knew that Phoebe came from rags, history books would never explain how bad it was. It was yet another thing that was kept hush-hush in the league, an open secret about Phoebe's past that out of respect no one would talk within outsiders of any context. It was much like the open secret that Glacia was on the run from the Galar region and had hidden under a new identity. That's Hoenn business, and even then, hardly anyone spoke of it aloud. It was all about respect.

Hoenn took pride in having the lowest rate of violent crime in all the regions, in and out of the LNS. People would say they didn't have much to be proud of, so Hoennians sort of held on to that. They could take comfort in knowing that none of their cities came close to having the violent crime rates high as Goldenrod in Johto, Celadon in Kanto, Castelia in Unova, and especially not that hellhole known as Sunyshore that resided in the Sinnoh region. So, when a violent crime did take place in Hoenn, such as the murder of Juan's sweetheart Clara and the prostitute killings in Hoenn, it was a shocking thing to hear. In some other regions, especially in big cities, things like that were just expected.

But as you know, there was a nonviolent 'crime' that was still sky high in Hoenn even after the killings, which was the highest rate of prostitution in a region. There was a reason that the other region's trainers laughed and called it the "Hoe-Pen" region. Some trainers even went there purposely to purchase a girl for the night. To delve in deeper, occasionally you would see a league member from another region stop by. Most of the prostitutes had no idea who they were. They didn't keep up with the leagues and even if they did, it's not like they would say something about it. They had to make a living, so who gives a shit? Money was money. No one had the time, nor the energy to report them.

Even Hoenn law enforcement didn't bother to care. They figured it was all consensual, most of it was, and turned the other cheek. Funnily enough, there were sometimes law enforcement seeking pleasurable company searching for a woman of the evening. The prostitutes worked at night. They always did. Hoennians remarked that wherever there wasn't water, you would find someone willing to give you a good time. Common places were the routes that connected to Mt. Pyre.

That's where Drake Wyvern found her. He was getting off his ship after a successful sail, and spotted a young woman that couldn't have been older than twenty wandering around Route 122. Drake had no interest in seeking company like that, and averted his eyes from them. But something about the young girl made Drake uncomfortable. She was too young, far too young. Her sun-kissed complexion marked her as someone who had ties to Alolan ancestry, but Drake wasn't one to assume. He's not the most politically correct of persons, not by far, but he didn't bother assuming such things. She was dressed in nothing but a strapless bra and a skirt. Her hair so matted with grime that it looked like a used mop. She was shivering.

And Drake's heart rate sped up when she locked eyes with him, she appeared like a frightened Deerling at first, before she started to grin.

"Are you looking for some action?" she asked, like she really meant it.

Drake shook his head. "How old are you girl? What's your name?"

Her face faltered. "...Old enough." Drake shot her a sharp look. "...I'm twenty-one." She leaned in closer, and her grin was more desperate, "I can be anyone you want..."

Something in Drake's eyes flashed. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. He didn't know what possessed him to stop here, perhaps it was the lost vulnerable look in her eyes of someone far too young. Drake remembered being in that position, when he set his first sail at eighteen and there was a wicked thunderstorm and all hell had broken loose.

And to Drake's surprise, the young girl giggled. "Of course not, silly. You can't hurt me. My ghost Pokemon will take care of you if you do.".

Drake very much doubted that. He's been an elite for quite some time now, and he's not planning to hold back against a twenty-one-year-old in a Pokemon battle no matter how afraid and piteous she looked. Many questions about her was running through his head. "And why are you out here, at your age, doing this? When you could be a trainer?"

The girl looked at the ground guiltily. "Um..." She bit her lower lip, as if preventing tears from falling. Then she glared at him. "Look, mister, I don't have to tell you anything-"

"You're shivering. You're out in this cold weather with hardly anything on. At least let me buy you some food to eat, a jacket, and I'll send you off on your way."

"...Fine."

So Drake bought her a jacket that hung around her small frame loosely. They stopped a diner nearby. The girl was far too skinny. She gobbled everything in sight and more. Drake had watched her closely for any sign of stopping and found none. She didn't speak the entire time they went to buy her a jacket and when they were at the diner. Drake gave her a little extra cash, just so he could say that he was a good samaritan for the day, until the girl finally spoke before they departed.

"Phoebe." Drake turned around, raising an eyebrow. The girl cleared her throat, wrapping the jacket tightly over herself. "My name is Phoebe. I... my family is poor. Real poor. They came here from the Alola region. My grandparents were refugees. I have to make a living somehow."

Drake frowned. "Does your family know you do this?"

Phoebe shook her head. "No. They think I'm out with friends, or working a late job." Well in many ways, that wasn't a lie. "If I'm not there, then I'm training on Mt. Pyre."

"...Why Mt. Pyre?"

She averted her gaze from him. "You'll think I'm crazy."

Drake very much doubted that as well. He just got off a sail where Briney had ranted to him for two hours about the price of lava cookies and then jumped into an entirely new topic of wanting to travel the entire world by boat. No one was insane enough to try that except Briney, not even himself. In conclusion, nothing could top that level of crazy.

"Try me," the elite said.

Phoebe fixed her eyes on Drake. "I can communicate with ghosts there."

Drake didn't reply for a few seconds. He had heard from Glacia about some Galarians claiming to have the ability to speak with the dead, most of whom were mentally ill. But there were people out there that genuinely did know how to do such a thing, Glacia told him so, and this Phoebe girl claimed to have ghost-type Pokemon, so it's not like she had anything to gain by lying to him. There were rumors that if you trained in Mt. Pyre long enough you could be able to acquire such a gift, so Drake concluded he believed her.

And Drake told her so. "I believe you."

"See, I told - wait, what?"

The look of shock on Phoebe's face was almost comical to Drake. "I believe you," he repeated. "How good are you with your ghost Pokemon?"

"Very good, don't be silly. I-" Phoebe stopped to stare at him. Then, her eyes widened once she realized who she was talking to, and then she groaned. "Oh no... I knew you looked familiar. You're a member of Hoenn's elite four, aren't you?"

He allowed a grin. "Drake Wyvern. What a pleasure."

"...Oh no. You aren't going to rat me out to the police, are you? Please, I need to support my family-"

"I have a different job for you."

Phoebe scrunched her nose up. "Doing what?"

"Can you read and write, take phone calls?"

"What? Of course I can. I'm not dumb."

"I didn't say you were," Drake said, with a heavy sigh. "Our secretary is retiring. We need someone to check tabs on how many challengers are stopping by to face us for the day, ones from within Hoenn and those planning on competing in the LNS. You would record and collect information on how many challengers we'd have for the day, and how many points the elite four gains and loses."

"And your dream secretary is a prostitute who has a seventy two percent of cutting you if you get too handsy?"

"A former prostitute," Drake corrected. Phoebe scowled and crossed her arms. "Hoennians hate paperwork. No one wants the job. You need to support your family, and we need a secretary. Help me help you by helping me. Easy." Phoebe opened her mouth, and then closed it. "So I take that's a yes?"

As Phoebe waited in a chair outside Steven's office in the Hoenn league building with clothes that covered her from head-to-toe and neatly combed hair, the conversation between members of the Hoenn League went as followed:

" Sweet mother of pearl, Drake, where did you find this girl?"

"What does it matter, Glacia? She needs a new job. We need a new secretary. You should be thanking me."

"I am thanking you, and I'm sure she's a lovely sweet girl. But why this one? Where on earth-"

"Doesn't matter. Normally when you're thanking someone, you should start by saying 'Thank You.' Would be a great start."

"Drake. Just because you're head of the elite four, doesn't mean you can just pick a random girl none of us know, without any background-"

"Sidney. You came from one of the worst backgrounds anyone could possibly have, and we still hired you as an elite. She's just a secretary."

"Rude."

"Truthful."

"I bet he's still pissed about Drake! The Musical."

"Don't you dare mention that monstrosity in front of me. Now Steven, do you have any problems with the girl?"

"...No?"

"Wonderful. Glad we're all on the same page. I'll see that she starts tomorrow."

That's how Phoebe Anela magically found herself going from being a prostitute to being the top adviser to the Hoenn's toughest trainers overnight. Phoebe supposed that elite took pity on her when he offered her a job. She was correct in her assumption, but Hoenn's elite four did really need a new secretary. That wasn't a lie.

Drake introduced Phoebe to the group. There was the champion, Steven, who offered a friendly wave. He was still relatively new, so he wasn't going to question the top of the elite four's decision. There was Glacia, who had a nice smile without a trace of judgment, Phoebe could tell. She suspected that she was going to warm up to her the fastest. There was Ishmael, who looked slightly frail, but greeted her kindly. Then there was Sidney - mostly quiet, mostly kept to himself, but welcomed her aboard.

Phoebe sat in the comfy chair at her new job in the Hoenn League. Her Banette out of her Pokeball, making circles around the desk mischievously and let out giggles once she spilled a few pens. Life was always a game for Banette, and according to the Pokemon, this job was no different. Even if it was considered one of the highest honors in the land.

"I can see you're getting adjusted," said Phoebe. Banette smirked back at her trainer. "But I need you to promise me you won't scare my bosses."

Banette's smirk morphed into a pout. She cocked her head to the side in confusion. It will be hard.

"I know it'll be hard," sighed Phoebe. "But these are important people. Not my... former clients. They're not idiots. They're smart people, and they're giving me a chance. A... chance to make something of myself. To be someone important. Not what I... had before."

It was my goal to scare Ship Man.

That Phoebe had to laugh at. "Drake, you mean? Oh no. Especially not Drake. It seems like nothing can scare him. But perhaps if my job is more secure as the new receptionist, then you can have your fun. What do you think?"

Mm... Again. It will be hard. Sableye is also getting restless.

"Sableye will be fine," remarked Phoebe. She leaned back into her chair. "Hard to believe I'm here."

Your human family will be happy. Will they not?

This was without a doubt true. Phoebe's family back in Lilycove never knew about what she did prior, none of them suspected it except maybe her grandmother and the thought of her knowing broke Phoebe's heart more than anything. Her grandmother was arguably her best friend in the world, and Phoebe couldn't help but shake the feeling that she knew. Phoebe was deeply ashamed.

Phoebe didn't intend on it at first. Really she didn't. Her mother was sick. She needed money for treatment, to go to more chemotherapy sessions. When you're down on your luck and desperate, then you end up doing things you never thought you'd end up doing. So the moment Phoebe turned eighteen she hit the streets. She was thankful at least for her survival skills on Mt. Pyre and her ghost Pokemon protected her from any real danger from creeps, pervs, and all sorts of scum that lurked in Hoenn.

There weren't many. A few here and there, but Phoebe hadn't faced any real danger. It's not like they would get the chance once Phoebe called out her beloved Banette to scare them away. But really, ghost Pokemon weren't that scary. At least that's how Phoebe saw it. Her precious ghosts were so adorable, really. The cutest. Okay, so just because Agatha of the Indigo League had ghost types and she's all scary doesn't mean that every ghost-type specialist was. Look at one Fantina Dumont. She wasn't scary.

Her family was happy when Phoebe quit her late shift "job" to become a secretary after being discovered by the head of Hoenn's elite four. It wasn't a difficult job, really. Like Drake had said, it was just paperwork and answering phone calls that she would transfer over to the one of the elites anyway if they weren't busy. For the first three months at her new job, Phoebe kept a low profile. She occasionally made smalltalk to the elites and champion, nothing beyond that, until one day.

"Going on your lunch break soon, Phoebe?" Phoebe yelped in surprise, but sighed with relief when she saw it was only Glacia, looking at her in concern. Phoebe was so deep into her paperwork that she hadn't even noticed the time.

Phoebe cleared her throat. "Um, yes. Are you?"

Glacia smiled. "You're welcome to join me, if you'd like."

Oh. Okay. Phoebe took her offer. Both of them were in Glacia's office, enjoying their lunches. Neither of the two spoke for the first five minutes. That was until Glacia decided to break the silence by speaking casually as she picked at her food, "I'm from Galar. What about you? Are you a Hoenn native?"

"Yes, but I have Alolan blood."

"Ah, interesting. Your grandparents are refugees, I presume?"

Phoebe looked up from her meal. "That obvious, is it?"

"I'm technically a refugee too."

"...Oh."

"I don't have to worry anymore about the politicians in the Galar region, they're long dead now," shrugged Glacia. "So now it's pretty much an open secret in Hoenn that my sister and I were the daughters of a man who exposed Galarian secrets. Hoennians are a respectful people. They never bring it up." Then she laughed. "At least not to my face."

Phoebe cracked a half grin. Glacia grinned back, then returned to her food. "So what's your story, Phoebe Anela?"

Oh.

"What do you mean?" Phoebe asked, hoping Glacia wouldn't detect a slight apprehensiveness in her voice.

But Glacia did. "Don't sound so nervous, relax," she said, then held her hands up in defeat. "Okay. Drake let it slip to me that you can communicate with ghosts from Mt. Pyre."

Phoebe wondered for a moment if Drake had told them about her past, as in, the last job she had. Probably not, Phoebe thought, but something told her that neither of them would judge her even if Drake did tell them. Even Sidney, whom Phoebe thought would be the most callous toward her, was friendly overall.

"That I can," said Phoebe. She trained in Mt. Pyre for most of her life. Her grandmother was a frequent visitor there. She, too, could communicate with the dead. "I've got my own Pokemon, too. I think ghost Pokemon are rather misunderstood, don't you?"

"...That they are," said Glacia. "A lot of Pokemon are misunderstood. Some of their trainers are misunderstood too. Take Sidney for example. He specializes in dark-types, and those Pokemon frowned upon due to some of their trainers using them for bad. Pokemon shouldn't be blamed due to humanity's worst. Holland is an elite in Unova who also specializes in dark-types, but they have totally different opinions. They argue after the meetings we have. Sidney tries, bless his heart, but Holland's still stuck in his old ways."

Phoebe frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm just making conversation, letting you know how the league works," said Glacia. "Technically I shouldn't be telling you this, but Drake says you're trustworthy and could be sworn to secrecy. He's quite fond of you, you know. He also let me know that he caught you training in Victory Road once. Great stuff, he says."

Phoebe briefly wondered why Drake wouldn't confront her on this directly.

"Oh, Drake would never tell you to your face. He doesn't like handing out compliments, says it makes people get big heads." Ah, okay. "So Phoebe Anela, do you think you're a good trainer? Any good at all? You must be, if you can take out those strong Pokemon that lurk in Victory Road. I wonder why you haven't taken on the league, dear."

The younger girl considered Glacia's words for a moment. Phoebe knew when she met her that she was going to get along with Glacia the best, and the woman had told her some things about her past which was her way of conveying trust. Phoebe knew, she knew, that she could trust Glacia. But she still didn't have to tell her anything.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," said Glacia, then she laughed again. "I'm not into that business. Before I became an elite, I was trained under the legendary Hal Hemsworth. Before he took me as his student, he asked me what was my story and why I had come to the Hoenn league. I came to Hoenn with my little sister to escape those who probably wanted us dead. I told him, and he took me in. Needless to say, he shouldn't have been so persistent, which is why I won't pressure you."

And that's precisely why Phoebe told her. Everything. Phoebe started at the very beginning, from accompanying her grandmother as a little girl on their trips to Mt. Pyre and how she learned to communicate with ghosts. Then Phoebe told her about her mother's treatment for cancer costed too much that Phoebe started to sell her body the moment she turned eighteen in order to pay for her treatment. That she kept this secret from her family. That she couldn't help but shake the feeling that her grandmother knew.

Glacia was quiet. Then she asked gently, "How is your mother doing now?"

Phoebe offered her a watery smile. "In remission. We found out two days ago." It was the best day of Phoebe's life. She suspected it wouldn't have been possible if Drake hadn't offered her a higher paying job as their secretary.

Glacia matched it. "I'm glad, dear." Phoebe didn't want to talk about it further, and thankfully, Glacia picked up on that. "Do me a favor, Phoebe? Do you think... do you think you could continue your training your Pokemon in Victory Road? I know you can't exactly take on the Hoenn league because we work the same shifts, but on time off, go to Victory Road. Or even Mt. Pyre, if you'd like."

"How come?"

There was a twinkle in Glacia's eyes. "Oh no reason, really." Phoebe knew that the blonde was hiding something from her, but she trusted her and wouldn't pry. She would do what the older woman said.

That was known as the day Phoebe and Glacia forged something special. In later years, Hoennians would remark it was the closest friendship the Hoenn league had in history, and no one could come close. Very rarely would you see Glacia without Phoebe, and Phoebe without Glacia. A dynamic pair. Folks would see them gossiping together. Oh, it wasn't malicious or anything, they just liked to talk. Even league members love to have their fair share of gossiping, and Hoenn league members were no different.

Phoebe was shopping one day at the Lilycove Mall, and was stopped by one of her fellow streetwalkers but now in uniform of one of the makeup departments. "Millet?"

Millet's eyebrows rose in surprise, then she smiled. "Pheebs! It's been a long time."

"You..." Phoebe started, then her lips turned down. "...You work here now?"

The woman let out a giggle. "Of course, now why wouldn't I? Ever since you got a big job, then why can't the rest of us try to move up?" Phoebe was flabbergasted. Millet let out another giggle, though far more sheepish than the last. "Well... I'm trying to work my up. I've got a real eye for makeup, they say. I've been told I might be able to do makeup for the contest coordinators around town. Isn't it grand? It'd be my first big break."

"And you got a job here because...?"

"Because of you, silly. I'm not the only one. Tammy's looking into going into contest coordinating herself. Lisa quit too. I think she's going to become a full-time Pokemon trainer, and maybe after getting all the badges she'll go compete in the LNS in Unova. Last time I heard, she's gotten... her fifth badge? Sixth? I don't remember. She's learning fast."

Millet rattled on more names, and what they were doing, how they were living. Phoebe couldn't get what Millet said earlier out of her brain. Because of her. All this was happening because Phoebe stepped out of that life. But what they didn't know that she was technically taken by of the legendary Drake Wyvern for this opportunity. It was simply based on chance, pure luck, and somehow that decision by one dragon-tamer caused this domino effect.

Things were starting to change in Hoenn. Before Phoebe knew it, Hoenn's reputation as "Hookerville" was starting to diminish. Phoebe would much rather have Hoenn be known as having floods and being last in the LNS than that.

"So, Sableye," Phoebe said in Victory Road, grinning at the ghost-type. "Are we ready?"

Sableye grinned at her. She was more than ready to face more Pokemon that lurked in Victory Road. Sableye was, by far, the most mischievous of Phoebe's ghost-types. While Dusclops was described as almost pleasant, Banette being a little more than unhinged, Sableye was one of her ghosts that she couldn't always keep in line. Try as Phoebe might, she couldn't stop Sableye from giving Steven the creeps. Sableye for some reason found annoying Steven to be a good pass time. Well, at least Drake found it funny.

Phoebe kept training. Training, training, training - that is, when she wasn't the league's secretary. But the now twenty-two year old Phoebe was starting to get nervous. She started to notice that her hours were being cut. Not dramatically, oh no, but it was becoming noticeable. She didn't want to bring this up to her higher-ups because she didn't want any problems. They were lovely to her. They had been nothing but lovely to her. It felt wrong to complain about something like that. Besides, it gave Phoebe more leeway to train at Victory Road and at Mt. Pyre when she wanted, so it wasn't like Phoebe was going to complain anyway.

And then Phoebe started noticing a new pattern that she wasn't sure she liked. Steven said he wanted to accompany her to Victory Road to see her fight the wild Pokemon in action. At first, Phoebe went into survival mode. She thought the champion of Hoenn was trying to cop a feel. He was a man around her age and charismatic and good looking and probably thought he could get away with it. Even though Steven had been friendly to her, Phoebe hadn't forgotten about a certain champion trying to do that but with another region's elite, and he was still working. Phoebe was cautious, as she had every right to be due to the past life she had. You could never be too careful.

"Oh, you don't know?" Glacia had told Phoebe, with a giggle. "You really, really don't know? You're not exactly Steven's... type."

"What is his type? I'm a pretty, full of personality, and a young girl. What wouldn't be Steven's type?"

"The last one on the list."

Oh.

Well that explained why it wasn't shocking when Steven didn't do any of that with Phoebe. It also explained why the relatively new gym leader of Sootopolis stopped by the league more than necessary to inquire about new 'funds' for his gym. It did indeed explain why Steven's eyes would light up every time Phoebe informed him Wallace was here.

No, Steven didn't do any of those things with Phoebe at Victory Road. He did ask her a lot of questions, mainly about what strategies she'd use against certain typings in Victory Road, how she would go on about trainers facing her ghost-types and how she'd combat them depending on the Pokemon they used. Like Phoebe told Drake, she told Steven that she wasn't stupid and answered every single question correctly, and when Steven had a followup question, Phoebe didn't miss a beat. She was clever. They all knew she was clever. He offered her advice too.

"Do you know Agatha of the Indigo League?" Steven asked Phoebe, one day.

It was a stupid question. Of course Phoebe knew Agatha. A legend. Even though back when she was a prostitute she never paid attention to league members, she knew Agatha. In fact, there were two outside league names that Phoebe knew. Fantina and Agatha. Both specialized in ghost-types. Like Phoebe did. Something about ghost types...

Phoebe was nice enough not to point out how dumb of a question that was. "Yes, I know Agatha."

"The reason why she's so successful is that she relies on gimmicks and not pure power," Steven replied knowingly. "Things like poison, confusion, sleep, and so on. It's all about status effects. She raises her Pokemon's evasiveness so you can't hit it. Inexperienced trainers come in to face her thinking they could spam hard-hitting moves, but her gimmicks shut the trainer's team down almost immediately."

Phoebe could imagine.

"So..." Steven went on, turning on a dime to fully face Phoebe, "...what are your thoughts on that?"

Now that was a good question. Phoebe told Steven so, and he chuckled. The best part Phoebe learned about Steven's questions was that he was patient, and let her take the time to answer them, not that she needed to most of the time. This was not one of those times. Phoebe certainly needed time to think about that one.

Phoebe heard rumors that trainers would sometimes forfeit a match against Agatha because the ghost-elite would poison and confuse their Pokemon so bad that they would end up harming themselves. It was a form of psychological torture for the Pokemon and its trainer. Trainers would be so distressed that they would freeze up and completely blank.

Phoebe told Steven about the rumors she heard. Steven confirmed that it was true. That's when she finally had an answer.

"It's a good strategy," Phoebe allowed. "It's Agatha. She's brilliant, so it's not surprising. But it's..." She hesitated a bit here, swallowing a lump in her throat. "...it's cruel. I couldn't imagine doing that to a trainer's Pokemon, I'm sure my other strategies would work just as well. All that matters is that the Pokemon is defeated and I win the battle. Agatha's a great trainer, one of the greats, but I don't think she has to do all that in order to win. I think she's bored and is trying to make things more interesting for herself."

It's a good answer, Phoebe knew this, but she wasn't sure if it was the answer Steven was looking for.

"...I'm sure you've heard the rumors that Ishmael is leaving the league in a few weeks."

What?

"What?" Phoebe voiced aloud.

"Oh apparently not. Well, yes, Ishmael is leaving."

Phoebe frowned and crossed her arms. "As the league's secretary, I should've known this. But instead, you start cutting my hours more and more, and I overheard Sidney saying that you're bringing in this new secretary in a few weeks, which makes me believe that I'm fired, and on top of that Ishmael is leaving without a replacement, and-"

Phoebe stopped rambling when she saw Steven break into a knowing smile.

Wait a minute.

Wait a minute-

It finally hit her. She stared at him. "No... really?"

Steven shrugged. "You gave me the answer I was looking for," he told her, as if she had the audacity to be surprised. "This whole time I'd been with you in Victory Road I really was just interviewing you to see if you'd make a good elite, and I've seen you battle, answer every one of my questions correctly, and you're responsible. A bit... daydream-like in personality sometimes, but smart. You'd be taking over Ishmael's second slot, so you'd be the room after Sidney's. Do you want it? Because, really, it'd be too much hassle to find somebody else when everyone else agrees it should be you."

If you told Phoebe two years ago that she would go from being a prostitute, to the league secretary, to Hoenn's first ghost-type elitist in such a short amount of time, she would've thought you had some screws loose. And if Phoebe Anela said you had some screws loose, then you had some screws loose.

Two weeks go by, and Phoebe was declared the Hoenn league's newest elite.

The first thing Phoebe did with her power was to find any lingering street walkers that have yet to find better jobs. Phoebe told them that the Hoenn league was looking for those to travel to other regions and spy. Phoebe handpicked them herself. Steven had reluctantly admitted he could use those that were street smart to see if the other regions were planning something, regarding the state of Hoenn. The former street walkers were hesitant, until Phoebe said the Hoenn league would pay them well. Naturally, they accepted. Those that had some level of education would be accepted into a Hoenn league internship program. Steven was adamantly against it at first. But then Phoebe asked him if he wanted Hoenn to be known as hookerville forever. Steven said no, but still not convinced. Then Phoebe told him half-jokingly she would send Banette to haunt him in his sleep.

Steven signed the papers without a second thought to grant Phoebe permission. But today was Phoebe's first day on the job which entailed battling trainers. Phoebe could hardly sleep over it. Finally, she could get to some battling. When she woke up to hear the Tailow chirping outside her window, she thought it was a good omen.

"So who's the first challenger we'll be facing?" Phoebe mused aloud. She was pumped and excited, secretly hoping that Sidney would lose to their first challenger so Phoebe could have a stab at a battle. Would it be someone from Hoenn, or perhaps on outsider region looking to take points? The possibilities were endless! Really, she wanted to prove her worth right away, and if Sidney sent challengers away at the start Phoebe knew she wouldn't get the chance to battle. She hoped she could battle the first challenger.

Phoebe would get her wish.

Not in the way she wanted.

They stared at the name first on the list. Phoebe had a vague familiarity of the name, but Drake, Glacia, and Sidney and even Steven knew that name well. The name that was constantly brought up in LNS meetings and argued about, the name that sent shock waves throughout the world, the name of the person that allegedly acquired one hundred and eight souls of the damned, the name of the person that was set to challenge them.

Today.

Drake, Glacia, Sidney, and Phoebe looked over to their champion, wide-eyed, when they saw Steven's face pale.

The champion shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "...Fuck."

Cynthia Shirona was on a mission. She was glad to find out about Lucian being accepted as an elite, which confirmed her theories about him being a strong trainer. She got the sense she could trust him with her plan. Bertha, too. It was Bertha who inspired her all those years ago, when she declared in a speech that the "Sinnoh League Boys Club" was no more. She was a trailblazer, an icon, the spark that Sinnoh needed in order to rise from the ashes, and Cynthia wanted every part of that.

When Fantina's popularity in Sinnoh skyrocketed, Cynthia pounced on an opportunity. She had to take on the Kalos league. It was by all means a vacation. Cynthia wasn't being arrogant, the Kalos league truly was a warm-up. She hoped Lucian and Bertha got the message. Cherrypicking Kalosians that actually battled worth a damn to serve the Sinnoh region was her idea. When Sinnoh would be at the top of the LNS (not if, but when, Cynthia would insist) would Cynthia repay Kalos when she got the chance. That is, when Cynthia became champion of Sinnoh.

That day wasn't today. Sinnoh's still kind of a laughingstock right now due to the current champion's idiocy, and Cynthia's main mission was to overshadow that. Cynthia had another champion to conquer, and that was Steven Stone of Hoenn – who's final Pokemon had fainted under her Garchomp's power. It wasn't particularly easy to defeat him, but not exactly difficult either. She gave Steven credit for being able to take down Roserade and Togekiss, but that's as far as he had gone. Cynthia had no interest in the Hoenn champion's position. She wanted to take those fifteen points, and move onto her next region to conquer. Her loyalty was to one region, and one region alone.

The Sinnoh motherland.

Don't worry Bertha and Lucian, Cynthia thought. Just hold out a little longer, I'll be there soon.

Chapter Text

Chapter 32- Marshal

If there's one thing the Unova League could agree on as a whole, it was that Marshal was definitely the most... unusual of hires. What it made it most unusual was that Alder insisted that in later years Marshal would come to be known as the champion's right hand man, having authority on some things that not even Drayden Mcleoud would get wind of until minutes later. The political sharp mind of Drayden wasn't to be passed up on, so it came as a surprise to most Unovians that Alder placed his trust in somebody so... simple-minded. Crueler Unovians would remark that he was thick as two short planks and was only good for hitting things, and utilizing his Pokemon. Since Unova placed a value on intelligence, it was shocking to see that Alder seemed to value Marshal in such high esteem, when according to them he was anything but.

Very quickly, Marshal was not stupid. Far from it. But here's the thing about Marshal. He could spar excellently, and his skills on the battlefield were nothing to joke about, but he was never swift mentally. At least not to the level of Unovians. He was average in that aspect, in comparison. But what made Marshal exceptional, wasn't his brains, or his sparring, or even how powerful of a trainer he was. What made Marshal exceptional, was his loyalty to one man, which was Alder. Alder, who had taken Marshal in as a young child, and raised him as his own. Alder, who knew that Marshal could be counted on, because the boy hardly had anyone else to go to.

Marshal didn't know who his parents were or where he originally came from. He didn't know if he had another name before Marshal, but that didn't matter from the moment he was dropped in a basket on the steps of Lacunosa City's orphanage as a baby. No birth certificate for reference, even. He was just... there. Completely still, wide awake, like he was fully aware of the people watching him. It was said that when Marshal was picked up from the steps, he had stared like he was at attention, and didn't move an inch. And so he had been given a new name.

Marshal.

A militant.

It turned out as the years went by, the director who named him was right on the market. The directors of the orphanage were perplexed by the boy. Marshal didn't pick fights with the other children in the orphanage like many of Lacunosa's orphans did. He did what he was told, followed all the rules, and kept to himself. He rarely spoke unless he was directly asked a question, most of these questions answered with a "yes, sir" or "no, sir." If he didn't know the answer, Marshal would shrug with an, "I don't know, sir."

The kids teased Marshal for his quiet, almost meek demeanor. Normally Marshal ignored their taunts. They usually talked about how slow he was and how his brain had to be damaged because he didn't always get things so quickly in comparison to everyone else. Marshal shrugged this off, because he focused his interests on trying to read. Words were always hard for him, jumbled up and it didn't always make sense, but Marshal was the master of persistence, and above all, patience.

One thing that the Unova region insisted on was having no limitations on reading material. Books were scattered across the region. Drayden Mcleoud had proposed to issue out books everywhere, not just in libraries and schools. That's how Marshal was able to find good reading material in the orphanage. Not as good as the schools, and especially not as good as the luscious libraries located in every single town, but good enough to keep up with students that didn't come from orphanages. Barely.

The books Marshal read were about martial arts. It was simple enough, and he immersed himself in every book about it he could find. It helped that Marshal was one of the nicer kids, not getting into any scraps despite his buttons being pushed constantly. So once every so often a director would slip him a book from a library outside of Lacunosa that contained more material. Still, the directors of the orphanage wondered why the boy wouldn't fight back, or if the boy would ever fight back, or if he even could.

They found out the answer when Marshal was thirteen-years-old and puberty had hit him like a train and put the words from his martial arts book to practice for the first time.

One of the boys knocked the book on martial arts Marshal was reading out of his hands. These were the same boys that were merciless, cruel, would probably grow up to end up locked away in some loony bin or penitentiary. The one that knocked the book out of his hands was known for finding wild Patrat to torture and drown for kicks. Marshal liked those Patrat. They were cute little guys that lurked outside the orphanage. Marshal had found out yesterday that his favorite Patrat drowned in the nearby lake by him.

Marshal stood up from his chair. He caught the boy's wrist in a sudden death grip. The boy who seconds ago was laughing and jeering at him was now wide-eyed with fright, trying to break free of the hold but Marshal's fingers were like bars of steel. And then he started squeeze with strength as brutal as a sledgehammer on concrete. Marshal wouldn't understand that expression. No weapon was needed. He didn't need a sledgehammer to inflict pain. His huge hand was more than enough.

A bone cracked. And down the boy went on the floor.

Marshal's expression never wavered. Not even when the boy started to wail in agony on the floor crying for his mother that he didn't have. Marshal stepped over the boy to retrieve the book that had fallen, and went back to reading like nothing happened. He knew what the directors of the orphanage said about him. Oh sweet innocent Marshal, so gentle, so merciful, could never hurt a fly. Simple Marshal, who never had an original thought if he could help it, so dumb.

Well the directors were no longer saying that after what Marshal did.

The little psychopath had to go to the emergency room, so directors of the orphanage kind of had no choice but to punish Marshal. This would mean being locked in the storage closet for four hours. But one of the directors did manage to sneak him out after two, and gave him a lollipop. The director said it was because this was Marshal's first offense, but in reality was likely because the directors had taken secret enjoyment that the monster was in pain. The fact that it was quiet mild mannered Marshal that did that to the boy made it even better. And it did make for an amusing story, to be honest. Marshal didn't know why it was so funny, maybe it was because it was him. Marshal still didn't get it.

The directors let children go outside for two hours as long as they stayed in the town and be back before dark. Marshal's favorite thing to do was to walk beside the large walls that surrounded them. It was said that a meteor came from the sky containing a monster. At night the monster would appear and take away people and Pokemon to eat them. That's why the walls were built in The Lacunosa Legend was old as time, proven to be untrue, but old people liked to talk. The residents still didn't leave their homes at night.

There's no one around when Marshal goes outside one day, or so Marshal thought. It's starting to get dark out, and he really should've been making his way back, but the sight of that boy with a cast on his wrist caught his attention. He's still up to his old tricks, but instead of a Patrat he was torturing, it was a... Mienfoo? Mienfoo weren't seen around these parts. Marshal really thought the idiotic brat would've learned by then, especially when Marshal marched his way over to him and the kid could only smile maliciously in response. You would think he would run and leave the poor creature alone.

Marshal seemed to forget about the consequences from last time, though it was more likely he didn't really care, and he punched him square in the face. That's when the boy wailed again, clutching his nose, and fled back to the orphanage. The Mienfoo stared up curiously at its savior, and he stared right back. Marshal reached into his pocket, the oran berry he was saving for a later snack, and handed it to the Pokemon. The Mienfoo proceeded to nibble on it.

"Quite a scene."

That wasn't the voice of one of the directors. For a moment Marshal thought that the Mienfoo said it despite very few Pokemon being able to talk until he turned around to come face-to-face with Unova's champion, Alder, looking at him with calculating eyes and oh Arceus Marshal thought he was screwed. "I heard a bone crack. How old are you?"

Crap, crap, crap.

"Thirteen."

"Is that Mienfoo yours?" Alder asked, pointing to the fighting-type. Mienfoo jumped up and down eagerly. Strange, for wild Pokemon, it was quite... happy. Even the Patrat that Marshal used to feed weren't as excited to see him as this little guy was.

"Er, no... No, it's not mine."

"What's your name?"

"Marshal."

"Marshal what?"

"...Just Marshal," shrugged Marshal. "I'm from the orphanage around here. I don't have a last name." In the orphanage, a surname wasn't needed, just a first. Apparently 'Marshal' was enough to go into their database. Marshal wondered why most of the other boys had last names.

Alder's expression was unreadable. Then, he handed the boy a Pokeball. "Check if the Mienfoo has a trainer." The younger boy stared. "Go on, go catch it." Marshal did so. Apparently the Mienfoo didn't have a trainer because it practically leaped inside. Finally, the champion grinned. "Congratulations on your first Pokemon."

Oh.

"The orphanage doesn't let us keep Pokemon until we grow out of the system," said Marshal, then he looked down at the ground. "So I can't keep Mienfoo even though I want to. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"...Keep that Mienfoo with you," Alder told him. "And wait."

Marshal almost disobeyed him. He wanted to follow the rules of the orphanage, do good, ever since he had gotten into trouble a few times. But then Marshal decided that it didn't matter anymore as he was pretty sure he was going to get in trouble for punching that same boy, there was no point.

And he would be correct. Marshal managed to hide the Pokeball from the directors. He hid it in the pocket of his coat that he insisted on wearing at all times. The orphanage was always cold. They found out about Marshal punching the same boy. It turned out Marshal broke his nose. Marshal was expected to stay in the storage closet for an entire day, because the boy couldn't just keep breaking bones and causing so much damage, even when it came to the little psycho that was just about to drown that Mienfoo.

Until four hours in, the storage closet was unlocked, and the head director told Marshal that he had an esteemed guest. Marshal frowned because he never had someone request for him. Most orphan kids didn't. The ones that did had parents that couldn't afford to care for them with empty promises that they would come back for their children. Marshal, for a moment, was glad he didn't have any parents. He was brought into a room with all the other kids, staring up at Alder in wonder.

But Alder only had eyes for Marshal. He pointed to the boy, spoke a few words to the director, and that's how Marshal found himself following Alder into his grand home with a new bed made just for him. The champion had plucked Marshal from the orphanage personally and Marshal was still reeling in shock when they shared a meal in Alder's home.

"Do you know why I took you from that orphanage, boy?" Alder asked. Marshal shrugged at him. "Because you protected that Mienfoo from being hurt. Because you dislocated the kid's jaw. The directors told me that kid had knocked a book on martial arts out of your hands once, and you broke his wrist by squeezing it."

Marshal glared defensively. "He tortured my favorite Patrat." He missed feeding him oran berries...

"Such strength needs training, and I'll be the one supervising that. Well, I won't be the only one. Do you know Georg?" The fighting-type specialist of Unova's elite four. Marshal had heard stories, and nodded. "He'll be teaching you how to use fighting-type Pokemon, and tutor you in hand-to-hand combat."

Marshal nodded obediently. Given that the champion had given Marshal a way out of the orphanage, Marshal felt he owed it to him. Anything to get away from those orphan kids that would claim that one day they would paint the walls of Lacunosa with his blood.

As the years went by, Marshal credited Alder with being his mentor, even though most of the time it was Georg that was training him in martial arts and how to use fighting-type Pokemon, like him. The callous fighting-type elite snapped at Marshal whenever he made a mistake. These mistakes were few and far in-between, so it wasn't often. Georg would occasionally compliment him and Marshal would be happy, but when Alder complimented him Marshal was euphoric. He soaked it up like a sponge.

But more often than not Marshal spent time using fighting-type Pokemon rather than learning martial arts himself. Georg explained to him why that was the case.

"You know Bruno, yes? The fighting-type elite of the Indigo League? Well I'll let you in on a little secret. I spar with him frequently. He always wins. I have no problem admitting that Bruno is much better at it than I am. But that doesn't matter in the LNS. I stack up more wins in Pokemon battles than he does. That's what counts."

Marshal decided not to point out that it was likely because Georg had been an elite since the dawn of time, so he nodded instead. If there's one thing Marshal learned since being trained under Alder and Georg, it's respect - something that was earned. Marshal had respect for Georg, who was an accomplished martial artist and iconic elite in his own right. Marshal had a hell of a lot of respect for Alder, who had been champion for so long without anyone being able to stop him. Champions that were defeated by a trainer in a different region would lose fifteen points, and that had not happened in a long time in Unova.

It's why Unova was the second best in the LNS, falling short of the Indigo League because they had elites and gym leaders that were monstrous.

Marshal would sit in the corner of Georg's chamber room and watch as the elite took down challengers. Once in a while when Alder got a challenger, Marshal would sit in for that as well. Technically they weren't supposed to do that, so Marshal stuck with watching challengers from Unova that would keep their mouths shut unlike outsider trainers.

When Marshal grew out of his teen years, he noticed something interesting. He noticed that the other Unova elites were more welcoming toward him. Back when Marshal was first starting out, the elites were curt and respectful, but remained distant.

So it came as a shock when Cecelia asked if he wanted to join her for a cup of tea. Admittedly, he had a bit of a crush on her, but never acted on it. Cecelia was happily married and Marshal was all about respect. Besides, she's years older than him anyway.

Dalton wanted to play a game of cards with him and Marshal told the ghost-type specialist he didn't gamble. Dalton had stated that there would be no stakes. He hated gambling. During these card games Dalton would ask how his training with Georg and Alder was going, and that they say that he's improving every day.

Marshal caught Holland smoking a cigarette outside the league building, like he had many times before, but instead of ignoring Marshal Holland offered the man a cigarette. Marshal didn't smoke. He knew that Alder did every now and then after a drink, most league members had their own vices whether that be alcohol, smoking, or sex. Marshal took the cigarette that Holland lit for him. Alder found him. He told Marshal that smoking kills and that he was going to have a word with Holland. Marshal decided not to point out Alder's hypocrisy, when he knew he had every right to do so. But he did privately agree that smoking wasn't his thing. Bad for the physique and all, you understand.

Marshal straight up asked Georg why this was happening.

"Come on, boy. Use your head," Georg said to him. "I'm the oldest elite here, the oldest by a long shot, and I'm not getting any younger."

This was the hard part, and something Marshal would always have trouble with, which was reading in-between the lines. Back when Marshal was a boy at the orphanage, the directors had given him mental puzzles to try out and he never did well. Oh Marshal wasn't stupid, but the directors assumed he had an unspecified learning disability. It was something that went unspoken over the years, and because Marshal could understand basic reading and arithmetic, they left it alone.

And Marshal thought maybe they had a point, because Marshal's learning disability in no way affected how to spar, nor did it affect whether or not he could shatter the ribs of a psychopathic prick that drowned Pokemon, and it certainly didn't mean Marshal wouldn't make an exceptional Pokemon trainer.

Nonetheless, Georg frequently told Marshal to use his head more. Marshal thought he had an understanding of what Georg was trying to say, but he wanted to make sure, so he asked Alder if he was planning on making Marshal an elite when Georg retired.

When Alder told him yes that inspired Marshal to train better. Not necessarily train harder, because Marshal doesn't think he could train any harder, but smarter. He followed the Bruno Hefner Method, it was called, and started sparring with his Pokemon. He's no Bruno, Marshal always lost, but he could sense his Pokemon as well as himself get better. Marshal wouldn't stop until Alder dragged him out of the league's training area or his hands were bleeding. Sometimes it was both. Marshal didn't want Alder to change his mind.

He wouldn't.

Alder thought Unova was at a good social and economic standing, coupled with one of the best educational systems in the world. It was far better than when he was a young lad, and he knew that Unova was going to get better. There had been no wars, no serious political disputes that could turn into a war, and Unova was developing more as a nation. The days of Unova being in a depression were long gone, thanks to the brilliant political mind of Drayden Mcleoud, the businessman inquires of Clay Wesley, and the entertainment star Brycen Abagnale who made people feel alive again.

Oh, and himself being a good champion. Alder gave lectures. He gave speeches. Unovians were a studious bunch that were eager to learn. One of them was his protege Marshal who's hoping to take over from Georg one day. Alder knew that day would come, but he delayed it just in case, and kind of enjoyed the way Unova was growing. People's eyes lit up more. It seemed like nothing could make the Unovians on edge, even if Sinnoh was starting to get closer to them. The Unova league was calm.

Then Cynthia Shirona from Sinnoh had defeated Hoenn's champion and everyone in Unova proceeded to shit bricks.

People forgot about the Spyro-Agatha scandal very quickly after that announcement.

Alder didn't want to even think about Hoenn right now. They talked about it enough at the latest LNS meeting, with two of those Sinnoh elites looking particularly smug, like they knew, and after that disaster Alder needed a cigarette. Or twenty. After the fifth cigarette he lost count. Just like that, the same woman who defeated Kalos' champion and then started a wildfire again when she defeated Hoenn's, the Unovians were tense like a coiled spring. They knew what was coming, they all knew what was coming, and were training tirelessly. It was almost as if Unova stopped sleeping. Alder knew that he was losing sleep over it, not that he would tell any of his fellow league members that.

Two weeks ago, Alder had returned from Nimbasa City after seeing a breathtaking dance performance that had gotten international attention. The interpretative dance was paying homage to Lucian and Sabrina, evidenced by two psychic dancers, one male dancer in a maroon suit and a female dancer in a red and black dress with masks on their faces. Every time they attempted to remove their masks and their eyes glowed they would be pushed down to the ground and stepped on as they moved to the front. It ended with the two psychic dancers removing their masks and letting their eyes glow. Alder had gotten goosebumps.

Now Alder had goosebumps for all the wrong reasons.

He was warned by Drayden years ago. On some level, Alder expected Sinnoh to increase their numbers. They had the advantage of adding a few more competent league members and a damn underground program and damn Kalosians swarming in Sinnoh to battle for them. Alder was starting to think Sergei had the right idea on being concerned about Kalosians coming in.

But no one could've ever anticipated that arrival of Cynthia Shirona in their lives, and she was becoming too big of a name for trainers - gym leaders, elites, and champion's alike - to ignore. It became clear she was on a mission. The woman was a force of nature like a hurricane sweeping through, region after region, leaving an impression on every single person in her wake. Alder tried to think, pray, and hope that Cynthia would just defeat the Kalos league, not go for any regions in the LNS. Didn't do him any good.

Alder also thought Drayden had a point, when he stated that Agatha's move to embarrass Spyro was a terrible one. Not really based on a moral level, but a strategic level. It may have fueled that blonde woman, that Alder learned had a fucking Garchomp what the fuck.

"Alder."

Alder's in his office right now, trying to make sense of it all even after a week had gone by, and Georg was just standing there like a tool. Alder let out a heavy sigh and motioned for Georg to take a seat across from him. It was a very trying day, so before Alder could ask what he was doing here and that it better be important and to make it quick, Georg handed an envelope for him to take. Alder stared at him expectantly. "Well?"

And thus Georg dropped the second bombshell of the week. "My resignation letter."

"...Oh fuck, you were submitting it today? Shit." Alder wasn't one to swear so frequently, unless he's had a couple, but he's stone cold sober because what the fuck. Everything's so fucking fucked, because they're down an elite, even though Alder and Georg knew who should replace him but doesn't know if Marshal's ready, and Cynthia goddamn Shirona was going to show up with her goddamn Garchomp and, once again, what the fuck.

"Alder, you're sweating. You've known I was leaving for a week now, you can't be too surprised."

And Georg was too fucking nonchalant about this whole thing. Alder had the urge to either let out another string of profanities from his mouth or punch something. Alder decided he had sworn too much for the day and opted for the latter, slamming his fist on the table. "Damn right I'm sweating! This entire league has been on edge."

Georg raised an eyebrow. "Because of the Cynthia girl? I've talked to the gym leaders. Lenora hasn't seen her at all, and you know how the other region's trainers like to go to the relatively newer hires before taking on the more experienced ones."

"She defeated the Kalos and Hoenn league, she's not like the other region's trainers. She has damn Garchomp. Do you know how rare the Gible evolution line is? And even if you do get a Gible, do you know how hard it is to train them? Hell - Lance, Axel, Drake, and Drayden don't have them, and they're dragon-tamers, for Arceus' sake."

"Enjoy it now that she isn't here," Georg told him. "So we train a little harder. We know that she has a Garchomp, so we can figure out a way to combat-"

"'We?' As in including yourself? No, Marshal has to figure out a way to combat it."

"Marshal is as ready as could be. He beat me four times in the past month. Four. I'd say he's surpassed me in abilities as a trainer. Old age catches up to you, you know. Marshal will start tomorrow, and he'll figure something out. You know, it could be worse. Phoebe had to face Cynthia as her first challenger on her first day on the job."

"Yes I know that." It was what Hoenn's newest elite that specialized in ghost-types had talked about restlessly at her first LNS meeting. Then she giggled and said she was craving fruit punch. Yet another kooky league member, Hoenn really knew how to pick them. "This is serious, Georg. Sinnoh's starting to close the gap between us."

"I thought we didn't care about the LNS?"

Alder glared. "It's Sinnoh."

"So if it were say, Hoenn, that was getting closer, you'd feel differently?"

Unova's champion tapped his fingers on the desk. "Drayden... is concerned." There could be a shift in power, and Alder found he liked the way things were now. Even if Unova was still regarded as second-best. They were always second best, always, and Alder had no problem with that.

"And so what, it's not like-" Georg was cut-off mid-sentence as Marshal knocked on the office door, looking sheepish - yet somehow alert at the same time. Completely still, waiting for a command, like a good little soldier. Georg gave the boy a smile that he only started doing in recent years. "Marshal."

Marshal looked at Alder for approval to come in.

Alder nodded once, resigned, and told him to close the door. "Yes Marshal?"

He looked at Georg. "So I'm assuming you're telling him right now?"

"More or less, yes."

"Georg," Alder snapped, then at Marshal's look of utmost confusion, Alder proceeded to explain, "Marshal," he started off seriously, "Are you aware of what's been going on in the Unova league as of late?"

"...The blonde woman who defeated Hoenn," said Marshal, frowning. "What makes you think she's going to come here? It's a long way from Hoenn to Unova."

Alder liked the boy, always had, but Marshal wasn't always so swift when it came to certain matters. So one could understand why Alder was so concerned about having Marshal take Georg's position at this time. It's not Pokemon battles, oh no, if anything Georg's words rang true about Marshal surpassing him in terms of ability. But when it came to brains, quick thinking, the mind you had to have in order to be an elite, Alder had his doubts. Especially in Unova. Unova's minds were sharp, and Alder knew that when he plucked Marshal from the orphanage all those years ago that Marshal was anything but. Oh, it's nothing personal, it's simply business, you understand.

"Marshal," Alder tried again, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice, "The destination isn't the issue. The travel from Hoenn to Unova isn't what's stopping this trainer. She defeated Kalos, defeated Hoenn, don't you think she'll try and take a stab at Unova considering their numbers are increasing?"

Alder could visibly see the gears shift in Marshal's head. "...I see." He said nothing for a while, then, determinedly: "Well it looks like I'm going to have to train much more while I'm an elite so I can stop the woman from getting to you, isn't that right?"

Alder allowed a hint of a smile. Try as he might, he would never be able to hide the soft spot he had for what was once the thirteen-year-old he ran into at the orphanage. "That you will." Just for a moment, did Alder feel himself relax for the first time in a week.

Too bad it wouldn't last.

Chapter Text

Chapter 33- Brawly

It was unfortunate pattern that most of those that specialized in the fighting-type within the Pokemon leagues had loads of emotional baggage.

You have Bruno of Kanto who's parents died and later he would have to live with the guilt of not stopping the Saffron City Massacre. There's Chuck of Johto, with parents unable to care for him, which left him to be raised by Cianwood's elders and hardly saw his wife. Then there's the Unova's Marshal, who didn't have a last name, left on the steps of a city's orphanage without a clue where he came from. And in later years Sinnoh's Maylene, sweet, angry, vicious little Maylene, with her gambling father who left and a mother who couldn't take it anymore. Some assumed that people who specialized in fighting-types did so because they came from hardship.

After all, everyone loved an underdog. Underdog trainers brought on the most excitement. Some folks would be reminded of the phrase that first they'd ignore you, then laugh at you, then fight you, then win. The hardcore league fanboys than would bet heavily on what they thought were the strongest gym leaders, elites, and champion would be blow away by the underdog, who came out of seemingly nowhere, and surprise everyone within range by how strong they were. That's how it was when those other four fighting-specialists walked into their respective leagues. Underdogs in battles could be very good, and those four fighting-type specialists had more to prove due to their background.

However this was about Brawly Hale from Hoenn, who had no hardships like them whatsoever. This wasn't to diminish Brawly's accomplishments at all, but some people just had a harder start to life than others, such as those league members that specialized in fighting-types. They also had a reputation for getting violent if buttons were pushed.

Brawly was not one of them. He wasn't one to lose his temper. In fact, it was argued that Brawly didn't have a temper at all. He was a relaxed and carefree native of Dewford Town, born to loving middle-class parents, with Brawly being the third of five children. Brawly didn't hate being a middle child. He got life advice from his two big brothers, that he could hopefully pass down to his two little sisters.

Of course his big brothers teased him for being the runt of the brothers, all big brothers did, and yes, his little sisters occasionally wanted to play dress-up with him and Brawly always rolled his eyes and said no, but Brawly couldn't have been happier with his family. They went surfing together. His mother won awards for it and his father was more suited to work in the fishing industry with his older brothers joining him. His little sisters were expected to join as well. They stuck together like glue. Family was family.

Which was why telling his family he was leaving for the Kanto region would be a very, very difficult feat.

"I just don't know how I'm going to do it," Brawly confided in his room to his trusted champ, his Hariyama. "It's not like they'll say no. They've barely ever said no to me their entire lives... even when I thought they should... but still."

Hariyama let out a grunt in response.

"Yeah, yeah. I know already. Aurora's supportive of me, and that should be enough. But what if it isn't?"

Brawly knew with the fighting-type Pokemon he had that he should've at least considered trying to take on the Hoenn league. And that Brawly should at least get a few badges before even thinking about going to another region. Brawly knew, he knew perfectly well within a year, that he could become Dewford's new fighting-type gym leader. Brawly wanted to. The Dewford gym leader, Aurora, was already talking about leaving to move to Galar of all places in three years, and it was entirely possible Brawly could succeed her.

It's not arrogance, either. Brawly had been working as Aurora's top gym trainer for four years now. Not too often in Hoenn did a thirteen-year-old get a gym trainer position, but Brawly persisted for Aurora to take him in. That she did. She didn't regret it. Brawly would at least give the trainers a bit of a hard time before they faced Aurora. Steven Stone himself stopped by for gym checks and had seen Brawly battling a trainer. Since then, the two were friendly with one another... even when Steven spilled into a litany about rocks. Brawly didn't understand the obsession personally but hey, whatever rides your waves.

Hariyama rolled his eyes and let out another grunt. Brawly took the hint and scowled.

"Okay, okay. Fine. I'll tell them tomorrow."

Brawly told his family the following day he was planning on leaving. Naturally, they were shocked.

"Kanto," Brawly's mother said, crossing her arms. "Kanto," she repeated. "What, pray tell, is in Kanto?"

Oh right. So why was Brawly going to Kanto? Oh no, it's not the LNS, trainers would usually only take that challenge when getting all eight badges in their own region. And Brawly didn't care too much about that, ever since Hoenn had moved down to last place and the champion at the time offered a mere shrug as a response to it.

"Seven Island," grinned Brawly. "Aurora thinks I should go for it, she's letting them know herself. She occasionally spars with them, too."

Them, was referring to Bruno and Chuck from Kanto and Johto respectively. Martial artists, black belts, and others that specialized in fighting-types went to Seven Island to spar with one another in the Sevault Canyon. Bruno and Chuck went there every now and then after league hours. Aurora told Brawly not to expect them to give him a lot of advice about Pokemon. They were from rivaling leagues, after all. Bruno and Chuck would give advice, just a little, but not too much. As it had been said, regional pride ran deep.

"Brawly, sweetheart," his mother went on, in what she hoped wasn't in a patronizing tone, but it wasn't how her teenage son took it, "You've lived in Dewford all your life. You have your sisters here, your brothers, your family. You could join your brothers and your father in the fishing industry instead, we talked about this."

Brawly crossed his arms. "Why do you think I took a gym trainer position?"

His mother bit her lower lip. "Dear, we thought it was a little phase, this Pokemon business, this obsession with battling and martial arts, we thought it would go by. We didn't think you'd want to, I don't know, make a career out of it? You can't possibly think-"

"Aurora says that I have a real shot at becoming Dewford's gym leader," Brawly interrupted, his frown deepening.

"And how is going to Seven Island in Kanto going to help?" Brawly's mother pressed.

Brawly did what he did best: smile. "Because I'm going to learn from Bruno and Chuck."

Though Aurora claimed that Bruno and Chuck wouldn't tell him much, the plan was to ask as many questions as he could so they would feel somewhat obligated to answer the nice young apprentice of Aurora's. Yes, there's regional pride and whatnot, but Aurora was friends with Bruno and Chuck. Maybe they could let some cool tips slip to him. What the Indigo League didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

Brawly had something that not a lot of Hoennians have, which was resourcefulness. Hide it behind a cheesy goofy smile and no one suspected a damn thing. Brawly learned how to be resourceful from an unlikely place - his little sisters, who would bat their eyes and smile and say that they were so sorry for eating the last package of lava cookies that Brawly had been saving for the weekend. His parents ate that excuse up, like his sisters ate those lava cookies.

It's why Brawly enjoyed playing dumb for the trainers that waltzed into the Dewford gym expecting an easy fight against a lowly gym trainer that they were required to face. The looks of shock he would get was astronomical. Playing dumb was absolutely worth it. Oh, it wasn't normally done in a malicious way, but when a trainer from an outer region laughed about how coming to Hoenn to take on their league would be like a vacation, Brawly would make sure that wasn't the case. He wasn't a fan of cocky, overconfident trainers that turned their noses up at Hoenn's gym leaders. The ones from Sinnoh as of late, the bloodthirsty Kantonians and Johtonians, and even the Unovians could be mean.

Why couldn't everyone just relax?

Brawly's mother let out a resigned sigh. "I think you're crazy, but, if you think this will help, then go for it."

Family was family. Family supported family, even if Brawly had different aspirations outside the fishing business. So Brawly's brothers and sisters and parents hugged him goodbye, and wished him good luck. Not that Brawly thought he needed it, because he knew he was set for life. Get stronger, get better, so Aurora would declare him ready to take over Dewford's gym. Brawly traveled to Seven Island, got past some of the trainers demanding to battle him, and was making his way to the Sevault Canyon. The plan was perfect. He heard that Bruno and Chuck would be here today from the whispers of the trainers on Seven Island.

And then two Sinnohnian trainers arrived causing havoc in front of the Sevault Canyon, and the plans Brawly had went to shit.

"Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!" taunted the Sinnohnian girl, grinning at Bruno and Chuck. She's got this mad look about her. She had to be around Brawly's age, and so did her partner looking equally as having a couple of screws loose. "Marble, we get to take out two Indigo League members at once! Sinnoh's going to be thrilled when I tell them!"

Marble? The boy's name is Marble? Arceus, Sinnohnians gave their children the silliest names.

Bruno crossed his arms. "We don't take battles when we're training at Seven Island, young lady." Chuck appeared behind his mentor, looking just as serious. "I'm happy to take you on once you've gotten all eight badges from Johto or Kanto and beaten Lorelei, however right now-"

"I'm not a 'young lady' my name is Gemma. You ought to remember it." Definitely so, hard to forget a name like 'Gemma.' If Brawly had a name like that, he'd want to smash his own birth certificate himself. "Considering I'll take you down with my Pokemon. I don't need all eight badges, either. Right here, right now. With just one Pokemon."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "You seriously think you can take down twelve Pokemon with just one? You must be bonkers."

"Not bonkers, just confident."

Nope, she was definitely bonkers. Especially if she didn't have any badges from Kanto or Johto. Even Brawly knew that, and he wasn't the smartest cookie in the jar. Oh speaking of cookies, Brawly was hoping that after this debacle that he would get some Lava Cookies. Perhaps he was feeling a little homesick.

Brawly stepped forward, making his presence known. "You'll have to get through me first." Bruno and Chuck looked at him, eyebrows up. Brawly couldn't tell if they knew who he was. Gemma and Marble however looked at the Hoennian with nothing but contempt.

Marble narrowed his eyes at him. "Oh, are you a Kantonian? Perhaps a Johtonian? Wait, no, you don't seem like one of us, either-"

"Hoennian."

And thus came the laughter.

"Please, please, please let me fight this one," giggled Gemma, to her partner. "Will be a good warmup, I think, before we get to the real trainers."

As it had been said, Brawly never lost his temper. Not once. It was a waste of time. The girl was clearly quite mad, and Brawly didn't pay much mind to mad people and the words that would spew out of their mouths. He heard about Sinnoh's little Grand Underground program, also known as Giratina's Playground, and he suspected that these trainers were from there.

"I am a real trainer," Brawly said evenly. "Send out your Pokemon, if you're so confident." He could feel Bruno and Chuck's eyes on him.

Brawly watched as the Sinnohnian pair clasped each other's forearms in unity. That's how Brawly knew they were definitely from the underground. When Brawly first started as a gym trainer in Dewford, Aurora explained that she noticed a pattern of Sinnohnian trainers from the underground usually traveled in pairs, and only now did Brawly notice the platinum pin of a pickaxe attached to some part of their clothing. Those were the ones that got the Explorer's Kit by being the best in their class. Brawly had seen them before in the gym. Some made it into a pin, a necklace, a bracelet, and so on. A clear sign of undergrounders. They battled with each other outside the gym to see who would take her on first. They would clasp each other's forearms, and then begin a dazzling battle. Whoever won would have the honor of facing Aurora first.

One would think they were fighting to the death. Brawly had thought they looked absolutely ridiculous.

Right now battling each other wasn't the case, because Gemma and Marble clasped each other's forearms and Marble seemed to be letting the berserk girl have her fun. Gemma hurled out a Pokeball, revealing her Weavile. "One-on-one, then. Come on Hoe-Boy, let's see your Pokemon!"

The color drained from Gemma's face the moment Brawly sent out his Hariyama. Why the hell was she so surprised? And to think that she could defeat two elites that specialized in fighting-type Pokemon with her Weavile alone? Well, no one ever said that the underground trainers had any sense. At least that's what Aurora would remark.

Brawly gave her an innocent smile. "What's the matter? If you're so strong, then I'm sure you can face a fighting-type. After all, that's what Bruno and Chuck specialize in. You would know to come prepared."

Gemma scowled. "Weavile, hail."

"Punch through it, Hariyama." As the hail spread throughout the area, Hariyama smacked the pelts with ease. "Vital throw."

"Dodge it, Weavile. Quick!" Weavile was indeed quick, avoiding Hariyama due to bits of the hail that Hariyama hadn't managed to punch through and therefore couldn't see Gemma's Weavile. "I didn't come all the way here to lose to some Hoennian, do you hear me?! Do you hear me?! I'm never going back, ever! For the glory of Sinnoh, now and forever! If you think that Sinnoh is going to be the losers of the battling world, then think again you swine!"

Brawly didn't know what the hell she was talking about, but whatever. The girl was shrill and clearly not mentally well, and besides, it would be best to focus on the battle at hand. She was so wrapped up in her insanity and patriotic fervor that she didn't even notice that the hail had stopped. "Now use arm thrust."

"Dodge it!" Gemma shrilled, but it was too late. The girl was clearly panicked once Brawly had uttered a fighting-type move. Hariyama was merciless, twisting the Weavile's arms in such a way that it was almost considered diabolical, again and again. Several arm thrusts later, Weavile dropped to its knees. "Arceus fucking-"

"Relax, will you?" advised Brawly, still smiling. "You put up... a fair fight." The lie came so easily to Brawly's lips. Gemma knew he was lying. She glared at him because she knew that he was lying. But Brawly paid no mind to the girl after defeating her Weavile, and turned to her partner. "What about you, then?"

Marble ushered Gemma to the side and spat on the ground. How charming. "I'll make quick work of him, Gemma, don't worry."

Bruno and Chuck were still watching Brawly. Terrence sent out his Staraptor. Brawly knew this was likely because Marble thought he could win by having a type-advantage. It was supposed to be a threat. Brawly wasn't threatened. Staraptor managed to hit Hariyama with an aerial ace, but Brawly's Hariyama after training with Aurora for so long had become very, very bulky. It's almost as if Hariyama absorbed the blow like it was nothing. Brawly commanded his Hariyama to use its seismic toss attack, and it was too much for the bird Pokemon. Staraptor couldn't fly anymore, its wings were damaged and couldn't attack, and Brawly pounced on that and told Hariyama to finish it off with vital throw.

"Well then," marveled Brawly, pretending not to notice the rage on Gemma and Marble's faces, "If you couldn't get through me, what makes you think you beat Bruno and Chuck?"

Marble spat on the ground again. "Let's go, Gemma. We have to get our Pokemon to a Pokemon Center." Gemma flashed Brawly a particularly nasty look (to which he offered a friendly wave at and a smile) before following her partner away from the Sevault Canyon. Seconds later, they were out of sight and earshot.

"We'll have to alert Spyro about his arrogant rabid dogs," said Bruno, to Chuck. "Far too many of them lately since one of Sinnoh's trainers defeated Hoenn's champion, and they'll have to be removed from their program." Chuck gave a grunt in response.

Oh right. This was about a woman that had a Spiritomb and a Garchomp. Cynthia Shirona, was her name. She had taken on the LNS of the Hoenn League, and conquered it. Not many trainers could say that they defeated an entire league. The most talented trainers would stop after getting eight badges from a region outside their own. Far too risky, some say. A lot of trainers made the mistake signing up to take on the elite four and champion was thinking that the first elite was only a tad better than the last gym leader they faced. They would be in for a rude awakening when Lorelei, Cecelia, Sidney, and nowadays even Ferro would send them home packing due to the dramatic point reduction.

Brawly was fortunate enough to not go against Cynthia when trainers were required to face at least one gym trainer in order to battle the gym leader. Aurora had heard from Wattson that this woman was no joke, that the woman who defeated the Kalos league had come to Hoenn. Brawly had watched her battle Aurora. The fighting-type specialist lost horribly. She wasn't from the underground so this raised even more questions. The Hoenn league had tracked her progress, but no one in the elite four expected her to immediately go sign up to take them on champion after receiving her eighth badge. Aurora had said to Brawly that Phoebe complained about it for hours in a league meeting.

"Heard she's going to Unova next," said Chuck. Bruno looked at him strangely. "Er... well, I mean, those are rumors."

Well bully for Unova, then.

"Sinnohnians," chuckled Brawly. "...they're crazy, man."

Bruno and Chuck exchanged a look. Brawly looked closely, and he swore that he saw hints of a smile on each of their faces.

"...You're Aurora's student, Brawly," said Bruno. Brawly slowly nodded. "This is Chuck, and I'm Bruno." Chuck offered a hand in greeting. "Very good stuff you did. It's clear you're Aurora's student. Care to spar?"

Brawly was happy to oblige. He went up against Chuck first, and whenever Brawly made a move, Bruno was quick to give him advice. Focus on your opponent. Don't let your eyes leave him for a second. Sometimes waiting was the best thing to do, because the first to move was the first to make a mistake. Brawly didn't expect to beat Chuck, not at all, but this was what he was looking for. It's nothing against Aurora, she was a lovely lady, but Brawly's starting to outshine her in their sparring matches. Bruno and Chuck would give him a bit of a challenge. Bruno certainly did.

"Dammit," Brawly remarked after losing, but he was smiling.

"Don't beat yourself up," said Bruno. "You're good." Chuck looked at his mentor strangely. Perhaps this was because Bruno rarely openly admitted what was a fact.

So Brawly continued to ask questions. As many questions he could think of. Questions among the lines of what it was like being league members in the Indigo League, and pushing the envelope just a bit and asking about Nugget Bridge. He asked questions about fighting-type Pokemon. How to use them adequately from their perspective.

That's when Bruno shut him down. "You seem to have a good handle on that yourself," cut in Bruno, before Chuck could open his big mouth. "It helps to boost evasiveness. Have moves to combat a fighting-type's weaknesses. You know, I'm sure the things Aurora has already told you."

Well, it was worth a try. But Bruno and Chuck did tell Brawly that he was more than welcome to spar with them again. So he did for six months.

Drake was confused as a Wingull in a thunderstorm. He was even more confused because he was confused. Being confused was not one of Drake Wyvern's defining characteristics, so when he spotted Wallace coming by more often to Steven's office to talk about... things, it came as a shock that Drake was confused by the pair. It's no secret that they liked each other, or even were dating each other, but now they spoke in hushed tones as they passed Drake's office, occasionally glancing over at Drake as they whispered, and Drake could only make out the words "champion" and "matches" and the question, "Would he even agree?"

This introduced another emotion that Drake wasn't all that familiar with: curiosity.

Such moments of pondering would have to wait, because Aurora of Dewford was going to retire soon and would be instating Brawly as the gym leader, and Drake had to write out the boy's contract. Stuff that Steven should be doing, but he's too busy whispering to Wallace and giggling about stuff Drake didn't know but wanted to know and... and...

"Good evening, boss man!"

Phoebe was in his office. Accompanied by his Flygon. Wait a minute, how the hell did Phoebe get ahold of his Flygon?

"Banette took one of your Pokeballs when you were wrapped up in your paperwork," Phoebe giggled sheepishly, handing Flygon's Pokeball to Drake. The dragon-tamer stared at the Pokeball, then at Flygon who's head was tilted to the side, then at Phoebe. "Sorry about that. Banette's pretty mischievous, as you know."

Drake took the Pokeball. "Flygon can stay out of his Pokeball for now," he allowed, sighing.

As long as Flygon didn't try to nibble on the paper. He had no time for his games. The last time Flygon was left alone in Drake's office the dragon had munched through a month's worth of paperwork. Everyone else but Drake found that amusing, until Drake demanded that if the others found it so funny, then they could do it instead. They did do it. Followed by Sidney muttering that Drake was still pissed about Drake! The Musical. The dragon-tamer let out a shudder he couldn't contain. Stupid Arceus-damned musical.

Phoebe took the chair across from him and peered over at the paperwork. "Anything I can help you with?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you. Just confirming some things to prepare for the new gym leader of Dewford. Brawly will be taking over."

"Hmmm, Steven talks about him. Brawly, I mean," said Phoebe, leaning back into her chair and crossing her legs. "Do you like him?"

"Nice boy," Drake said, shrugging. He really didn't have any comments to make about Aurora's protege. This was all Steven's idea, to be fair. Even if Drake did dislike having to listen to Rich Boy Problems every now and then, he truly did trust Steven's judgment on this. The boy was training with Bruno and Chuck currently. He was pleasant in his own way, cheery, if not the sharpest tool in the shed. What Drake really wanted to know about was whatever kind of fuckery was going on with Steven and Aqua Vanity, over there.

Maybe Phoebe knew.

"Phoebe," Drake began, with a rare smile. "Do you know what's happening with Steven and Wallace?"

The ghost-elite blinked. "Er... I know they're dating. Winona knows too, and she couldn't roll her eyes any harder. She gossips to me a lot about Wallace, and I think it's all Trainer School Drama. Shouldn't league members outgrow it?"

Drake let out a bark of laughter. "Oh Pheebs. League members are the worst offenders. What one league member knows, everyone knows. Do you know if Wallace and Steven talking about anything else? They tend to look at me as they pass by and whispering."

Nicknames aren't one that Drake used often but Phoebe was the exception in private. Normally Phoebe came into his office to avoid doing her own paperwork, like she was right now. At this point, Phoebe would ramble to him about nonsense, that he pretended not to care about. He would listen. Admittedly, he found her kookiness to be entertaining. He had a soft spot for the girl, but don't tell anyone. Even if it was blatantly obvious, as his colleagues would say.

"They do the same with me too!" Phoebe marveled, slamming her hand on the desk. Drake blinked slowly at the... rather extreme reaction by the girl. Well that was Phoebe. Always will be a mystery to him, Drake supposed. Not that he really minded. "Oh... sorry. But I agree! Something funny is going on. Whatever I hear, I'll let you know."

Drake smiled again. "Thank you, Pheebs."

Phoebe stood up and mock-saluted him. "No problem, boss man!" And she left.

Drake resumed his paperwork. He stared down at the name.

Brawly Hale, Drake thought to himself. Then he let out a chuckle, thinking about the wackiness of his colleagues. Good luck.

After six months, did Brawly return to Dewford, greeted by his parents, his sisters, and his brothers. He went surfing with them, talked to them about his future plans as Dewford's gym leader when the time came. He wanted to capture the entire gym in complete darkness and for trainers to feel their way around to find him. He remembered what Bruno and Brawly said about not wanting your opponent to see your next move, and Brawly took that literally. His family laughed it off. Brawly wasn't kidding.

Brawly opened up the latest news from the Hoenn Inquirer.

"...Aurora from Dewford has admitted that she is retiring and has named her successor! She wants Brawly Hale to take her place. Brawly Hale, whom our sources claimed had once trained with Bruno Hefner from Indigo's finest Elite Four, and Chuck, a gym leader from Cianwood in Johto! If that's the case, then I'm sure that Dewford Town will be in good hands. In other news, the production of Wattson: the Electrifier! has already received rave reviews..."

Brawly shut the newspaper after that. He turned to his companion, his Medicham. "If a Hoenn production company tried to make a musical out of my life, then I would probably throw myself off Mt. Chimney." Medicham, known for his serene and tranquility compared to the rest Brawly's team, stared at his trainer and let out a hum of disapproval.

"Okay, maybe I'm being dramatic. But look what they did with Drake Wyvern. I hope as a league member the media never do to me what they did to that guy. I saw it once. Cringed through the whole thing. Then again, when I watched The Drive of Bruno Hefner documentary, I couldn't take my eyes off the screen. What are they going to call my musical? Brawly the Brawler, the musical? Get real."

(This conversation was overheard by Berenice Hale, Brawly's sister, who had secret ambitions to go into the film industry. She would propose this idea eight years later that would become a smash hit, much to Brawly's grief).

"Anyway," said Brawly. "The inquirer was right about one thing."

At least Aurora seemed to have faith in him, that's what the inquirer was right about. She was retiring soon, very soon, and that she wanted him to take over in a week. She gave him full creative control before she left. The other gym trainers respected Brawly enough to fuel his vision for the future of Dewford. He didn't have to worry about the gym trainers getting so ansty over their new boss.

"Now I have to go to a party now," said Aurora, smiling. "I'd invite you, but you'll be going to plenty of league parties as a Hoennian. Apparently Steven and Wallace have a big announcement to make."

"Is this about them dating, because don't worry, I already know," said Brawly, chuckling.

"Everyone in the league knows, but how do you know?"

"I caught them in Granite Cave a few days ago. They were terrified, but then I said hey dudes, I got nothing against the gays, you go for it!"

Aurora laughed. "I'll let you know what they say at the party, I'll save you the trouble."

Wallace's money since becoming a gym leader had increased tenfold, so the first thing he did with those big fat league checks was buy a grand estate in Ever Grande City. It's no secret that league members made a lot of money, perhaps too much, but Wallace was going use it lavishly. He had plenty of money as a coordinator too which helped investing in his dream house. It rivaled that of Juan's and now Wallace's place was the hotspot for the league parties that would go from seven pm until four in the morning. The league members would rise at seven despite how tired they were to face trainers, yet would remark that it was absolutely worth it.

Wallace only invited Winona out of politeness, and also because Glacia and Phoebe would frown at him for leaving her out. She went, of course. Everyone in the Hoenn league went to a Wallace party. Everyone who was anyone went to a Wallace party. If one didn't go to a Wallace party, you would be left in the dark of all the crazy shit that happened while you were gone, such as Drake downing an entire bottle of vodka without bringing it back up, Phoebe's superb gymnastic skills while being stoned out of her mind, or Wattson belly flopping into the pool when it was less than sixty degrees outside. Again, you never wanted to miss something you would later regret not going to see for yourself.

But this was the party that none of the league members wanted to miss for very different reasons. For one thing, Juan had returned from his vacation in Kalos. It was a welcome back party for him. Not only that, but this was Aurora's last week in the league before she had Brawly take over her post. It was a retirement party for her.

And then there was Steven and Wallace's announcement. Now, it was no secret between the league members and even some Hoennian civilians that Steven and Wallace had started seeing each other. That's not what this was about. Most people knew about that already. There was a reason Wallace wanted to wait until his mentor returned from Kalos.

Half the league members were roaring drunk, but Wallace and Steven knew they had to be sober for this announcement. Okay, Wallace was half-sober, but still functional.

"What's going on?" Sidney asked, collapsing on the sofa. Phoebe was giggling madly on the chair beside him. She was always such a lightweight compared to the others.

Drake eyed the pair. "If this is about you two going out, it's a new world. No one cares. I'm alright with the gays."

Wallace blinked. "I'm bisexual."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

Steven shook his head. "That's not why we called this party," he said, looking at his lover. Before Wallace could even open his mouth, Juan cut in.

"If this is about your twelve step skincare routine, I already told you that no, you do not need to add retinol to it. You're young."

"My skin is showing signs of aging, Juan."

"Because you are aging. That is apart of life. That's normal. Besides, you don't need all that nonsense on your face anyway."

"Which is why I don't have wrinkles and you do."

"Okay, you know what? Fine. Add retinol. Go for it, Wallace."

"There are three reasons we held this party," Steven interrupted, to get the group back on track. "One, we would like to congratulate Aurora on her retirement." Cheers and whoops spread throughout the living room, along with holding their glasses up. Aurora winked and held her own. "We'll give Brawly a proper Hoennian welcome in a week."

"Don't give him too much to drink, he's still a boy!" Aurora warned lightly, her tone playful. She needn't worry. Their glasses went down.

"And then..." Steven continued, gesturing to the Sootopolis gym leader.

"Oh, right!" Wallace exclaimed, then, he looked at Juan and grinned, bringing his glass up again. "Two, which is for my mentor, my mentor returning from the lovely Kalos region, welcome back Juan, I miss turning your hair grey." More cheers, whoops, and a mix of laughter escaped from the league members, and they all took another drink.

This time, Wallace's grin widened significantly. Time to drop the bombshell. "Which... leads us to the third reason." Phoebe started to whisper to Glacia, who merely shrugged in response. Sidney raised his eyebrows in surprise, while Drake looked skeptical. Wattson was eager, he usually was, and Winona started filing her nails in disinterest.

Juan let out a sigh. "What do you have up your sleeve, boy?"

"It's not just his idea, it's both of ours," remarked Steven.

"Even better," Drake said sarcastically.

"So..." Wallace began, "...Hoenn is last place in the LNS. That's something that probably won't change, as we're far behind, but what if I were to tell you that we can play their game in our own way to drive the other regions crazy?" Now Juan looked terrified, and if Juan looked terrified, then it was a clear sign everyone else should've been too.

"...and what would that be?" Wattson wanted to know.

Wallace dropped the bombshell. "Steven and I boot each other out of the champion's seat every now and then."

Silence.

...

...

...

"...Wait a second," Juan broke the silence, frowning. "If you defeat Steven, then I..."

"Would return as the Sootopolis City gym leader," Wallace said cheerily. And then he took a sip of wine. After that, everything went to hell in a handbasket.

Winona was screaming at Wallace for his stupidity, and then Juan made a statement about how Wallace was going to make his hair turn full-blown white instead of grey, Wattson was laughing hysterically with Phoebe, and Drake sighed, grabbed a flask hidden in his jacket, and took a long drink. Aurora looked as though she couldn't have been happier that she was retiring in a week but felt sorry for what Brawly was walking into.

"Why?!" Juan asked Wallace angrily. He sharply exhaled. "Why?! What is the logic in that?! What, on earth, made you think of that?!"

Wallace said nothing for quite a while.

Then, he shrugged, and said with a snicker: "It'd be funny."

Phoebe fell over in laughter. At this, Juan groaned. No, Wallace refused to lose Juan on this: "Hear me out, Juan. Hear. Me. Out. I can hold my own against the elite four, no problem. I've beaten Steven before. I'm just saying... in a few months, I can defeat him again. And he could defeat me. Back and forth. Back and forth. It would drive the other region's crazy having to keep up on who's the champion, whether it'll be Steven or me at an LNS meeting, it'd be hilarious."

"So your plan is to annoy the other region's to death?" Juan asked doubtfully, rolling his eyes very, very hard.

"Precisely," said Wallace. "It'd be funny. Also, even if you said no, I'd end up doing it anyway."

"Naturally. Of course. Nothing's changed."

Glacia looked at Steven. "You agreed to this? So the sex must be pretty good." At that comment directed to her boss, the others broke into more good-natured laughter.

"I'm agreeing to this," Steven began, crossing his arms, "Because I'm tired of playing their game, really. Let us do it our own way. And if that means the champion changing every now and then, then so be it. And that the sex is good."

"I knew it," said Glacia, and took a sip of wine.

"About being tired of playing their game or the sex being good?" Phoebe wanted to know.

"What do you think, Pheebs?"

Hiccup. "Ah... Understood."

Wallace looked at Juan, and started to pout. "Come on, please? Pretty please? With sugar on top? I'll tell you what, half of my salary will go to you, old-timer."

"I don't need your money," scowled Juan. He turned to the elites. "What do you four think? You think if Wallace defeats Steven you can handle him as your new champion?"

"Temporarily," grinned Steven. "Because I'll kick his ass after a few months."

Phoebe giggled. "In more ways than one."

"You know Phoebe, I'm still your boss, I can push for your termination," Steven said lightly. It was an empty threat, of course. "So?"

Glacia, Drake, Phoebe, and Sidney exchanged looks. Then, each of them grinned.

"Go for it," chuckled Sidney. "The other region's have to notice us for something, right?"

"This is true," Drake allowed. "And the idea of annoying Axel makes me happy."

"Ooh, I agree!" chimed Phoebe.

Glacia chuckled as well. "I think it'd be funny. That could be our thing. Alternating champions. It's not like it's against the rules, of course. Just... dancing around the system."

They all looked expectantly to Juan.

But Juan only had eyes for Aurora. "I'll take over if Wallace is the champion. But Aurora, I feel so bad for what your boy Brawly is walking into."

This time, everyone broke into laughter.

"No worries, I think he'd like this too," marveled Aurora, with a soft smile. She held her glass up. "Our Hoenn league family. A dysfunctional one at best, but it's home."

They all took a drink.

Chapter Text

Chapter 34- Misty

There's a popular saying that went something like this: "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, shame on both of us." Misty Williams personally believed that if you fooled her once, you earned a smack upside the head. Nugget Bridgers learned this lesson quickly once interacting with the preteen on the blasted route 24, also known as the home of Nugget Bridge, where trainers seemed to go there with the goal of breaking your spirit. Misty refused to be reduced to those crying, sniveling trainers that would run home to mommy because the older trainers were mean to her. She grew up with three older sisters that were far from kind. This was nothing.

Misty had three older sisters that were apparently Arceus' greatest gifts, or so that had been explained to Misty by her older sisters themselves. Oh, and her parents. Lily, Violet, and Daisy could do no wrong. But little Misty, well... she was prone to just doing everything wrong. So foul-tempered, her father said. So unladylike, her mother said. If Misty was lucky, her parents would just refer to her as "girl." Accurate, yes, as she was in fact a girl, but Misty had a damn name, and she would like for it to be used. And her sisters called her the runt. Usually after that Misty would get violent, which she knew was probably proving her parents right, but after a while she stopped caring. It's not like her parents paid any attention to her. Usually they spoke about Lily's modeling, or Violet's acrobatics, or Daisy's new position.

Daisy was the Cerulean City gym leader. It was a position Misty thought was handed to her on a silver platter with a pretty bow. Cerulean's gym was never great, per se. Not at the standard of the other gyms sprawled throughout Kanto. The Indigo League was desperate to find a temporary replacement and Daisy happened to be there. It was absolutely disgraceful, in Misty's opinion. The moment that it was announced that Daisy would be getting a position Misty had defied her parents and set off to Nugget Bridge.

Most Nugget Bridgers preferred to pour out their anger and frustrations in Pokemon battles. Misty didn't need to use Pokemon to win a fight. She preferred to confront them directly using her fists. Trainers would try to defend themselves against Misty's blows, try to beat her in Pokemon battle, or make her cry in frustration. Most of them had failed on all counts. Misty would think that these idiotic Nugget Bridgers would know better by now to not go after her. She refused to be broken. This was her game.

Nugget Bridge was a place where Misty could run wild. Only when no one from the league was around, anyway. She refused to make small talk, just shut up and battle, she'd say. The girls her age vehemently loathed her and the boys her age that hated her only agreed to battle her because they were trying to "cop a feel." That was until Misty would bare her teeth and hiss that she would tear their bodies from limb-to-limb if they so much as looked at her, in a leering way. She knew this was her game, she knew how good of a trainer she was, and the sooner that she made herself better the faster the Indigo league would realize that they made a terrible mistake in hiring Daisy. Misty's hoping that she'll be able to replace her sister.

Trainers that were the most desperate and/or angry had the tendency to be the best trainers in the leagues. Whether it be an elite, a gym leader, or even a gym trainer (if one counted them, as its debated constantly in the leagues) they were usually were good at their jobs, better than most trainers that had everything handed to them. Because these trainers in particular had something to prove, something to show, and their anger reflected that in their battles. Misty was one of these, and she knew it. The thing was, Misty battled better when she was angry. Enraged, was more like it. Everybody knew that too because if Misty was angry she would send Starmie out and everyone would groan.

"Daisy's little runt is here!" one of the Nugget Bridgers, who bore the unfortunate name of 'Fritz,' in Misty's opinion. Misty licked her lips. It was a hint, a warning. Fritz did not do what he ought. "Little runt, more like little bitch-"

Fritz received a bruise on his right eye for his troubles. It matched the one on his left from last time.

However Fritz was nothing compared to one of the top battlers at Nugget Bridge, that went by the name of Lucinda. Facing Lucinda in a battle was akin to facing the darkness that lurked within your soul. The memory of facing her would linger well after the battle. The girl would carry through the coup de grâce with a shit eating smirk, several taunting comments about your abilities as a trainer, and a Golem that would rollout, again and again.

So Misty ordered her Starmie to use water pulse, again and again. Lucinda screamed, calling her every vile name under the sun, but Misty laughed. She battled her with laughter on her lips, that this girl, that this crazy trainer could even think to insult Misty, because it was nothing in comparison to her three sisters over the years. She laughed and laughed and laughed which made the other Nugget Bridgers exchange odd glances. Misty figured that the only way to combat crazy was to act crazy herself, and it was crazy enough to work, and because it worked, Lucinda refused to battle her again.

When Misty's buttons weren't being pushed, she would be one of the regular Nugget Bridgers that showed up at a lecture hosted by Agatha and sometimes Lance or Lorelei. Neither of the three elites took notice of Misty. Not even Lorelei, whom Misty held in high revere and esteem, would cast a second glance at her. Years ago, Lorelei would be one of those Nugget Bridgers, who refused to have her will shattered by the brutality of the trainers. Like a snowball's chance in hell Lorelei would allow it. Misty admired that.

But Misty held a bit of a grudge against Lorelei, too. Because it was Lorelei who picked one of her older sisters to take over from the last Cerulean City gym leader a few years ago. Lorelei had paid no mind to Misty at all, and sure, Misty was much younger than her sisters, but she knew she was better. It made no sense to Misty. They hired a damn thirteen-year-old to be gym leader of Saffron City. Rumors clung to the prodigious Sabrina Harlow, that when the former fighting-type specialist gym leader of Saffron City tried to come back recently and take back the gym which ah... resulted in his... disappearance. So why couldn't Lorelei hire little Misty? It annoyed her to no end, and she despised as much as she admired the ice-elite.

"It's so fucking stupid," Misty confided to her Starmie, on the Sea Cottage located northeast on Route 25, away from the Nugget Bridgers. "The Indigo League doesn't know shit. Sorry for my language, Starmie. Really, I am. But they picked damned Daisy. She wouldn't know a Pokemon battle if it hit her in the face."

Starmie watched its trainer curiously. Then it leaned into Misty. The girl couldn't help but smile warmly, and enveloped the water-type in a hug. Most people would say Pokemon like Starmie weren't capable of kindness, or warmth. Clearly they hadn't met Misty's Starmie. Five years they've been together, and Misty couldn't imagine a better partner.

"Thank you, Starmie. One day, I swear, we'll make the Indigo League realize they made a huge mistake."

Lorelei was having league problems.

It's not the battling, it never was. It was the part she loved the most, being able to cut down many challengers before they could reach the second door. She's heard the rumors about herself, that she took secret vindictive pleasure in tearing down trainers from the outer regions, especially those pesky Sinnohnians, but was it really a secret? Lorelei had cultivated a reputation for herself over the years, her attacks being as cold as a frostbite, leaving outsider trainers numb and weakened and very, very vulnerable. The Kantonians and Johtonians, of course, loved her for this. The regions outside of that, well, let's just say that she left a lot to be desired. Lorelei would remark they were jealous.

So no, it's not the battling. It's the other duties of an elite that have nothing to do with battling. It's no secret that elites of a region did routine gym checks. Nowadays, Sergei will split it between all four elites because the Indigo League was a combination of Kanto and Johto, and Agatha was getting older and could only go so far. Agatha had taken great offense to that, but relented. Lance was assigned to Blackthorn City, of course. He would be impressed with Clair's progress and tell her to watch the language in front of younger challengers. This would end in swears being cast in Lance's direction instead. He was also given Goldenrod City, Violet City, and Azalea Town.

Bruno was given Cianwood City, naturally. It mostly consisted of Bruno and Chuck chatting and then having a spar, followed by Bruno asking how Chuck's wife was doing and would be met with a shrug. He was assigned to Olivine City, Ecruteak City, and Pewter City.

Agatha was given Cinnabar Island, Vermillion City, Fuchsia City, and Saffron City. For Cinnabar Island, the woman would usually scowl at Blaine's antics but pass him. For Vermillion City, Agatha wouldn't make much note of Lt. Surge's progress before making a comment on Lt. Surge's requests for funding the electric-type gym. She had stated that no electric-type gym leader used so much funds, and there never would be, so he shouldn't be push so much to electrify a gym that could power up a city alone. Fuchsia City was fine as always, with Koga being more cheerful than usual because he and Aurelia were able to have a child, after all.

Saffron City was the gym Agatha worried about the least, and whenever she showed up at Sabrina's gym she left a chocolate bar on her desk to remind her to keep up with Pokemon battles. It always worked. There was also an... incident of Walter trying to come back after training for years to destroy Sabrina in battle and take back the gym. The man's attempt was almost laughable had not been for Sabrina's retaliation. Walter was now in a rehabilitation clinic. It was an incident that was covered up quickly.

That left Lorelei with the four remaining gyms.

There was Mahogany Town, which Lorelei cheerfully volunteered for due to an opportunity to rub it in that she was her old mentor's boss before passing him with flying colors. Celadon City was somewhat fine, but Erika would give her with a new perfume that had yet to come out and Lorelei scored her a tad higher compared to Pryce, just to piss the old man off. There's Viridian City, where Agatha flat-out refused to go to, and Lorelei said nothing as she did her gym check. It was fine, but Lorelei was starting to agree that Giovanni was a 'filthy slime ball' as Agatha oh-so-graciously put it. Bastard. How the hell Sergei hired such a man, Lorelei would never know.

And then there was Cerulean City.

That's when the league problems started. The gym passed the inspection, but barely.

Agatha demanded to speak with Lorelei in her office after receiving her reports.

This was going to be a long day.

"Okay, so, I know this looks bad-"

"I warned you, Lorelei, didn't I?" asked Agatha. Lorelei peered over at Agatha's Gengar by her side, as always, silently snickering at Lorelei's misfortune. The ice-elite pressed her lips together at the ghost. But Lorelei smiled when her Cloyster that was out of his Pokeball sprayed water in Gengar's face, having sensed Lorelei's annoyance.

Still, Lorelei stepped in. "Cloyster, I can handle myself." But Lorelei knew she was due for another battle against Agatha sometime this week. Perhaps when the two women had time, because as you know, the other duties of being an elite consisted of so much damn work. Like this Cerulean City issue, that Lorelei had inadvertently contributed to.

Lorelei met her superior's steely gaze, and blanched like she was thirteen-years-old in Four Island, when they first met. "Now tell me Lorelei, what are you going to do about it?"

Ah, fuck.

The ice-elite's jaw dropped. She checked herself, adjusting her glasses. "Me? What am I going to do about it?"

"Don't give me that look," remarked Agatha, rolling her eyes. "Think about it. She's been doing horrible work at the gym. The right thing would be to remove her. However... this gym has a reputation of being unstable in comparison to all the others. Lance played a big role in Clair becoming a gym leader. She learned a lot from watching him when she was small. Then there's Bruno, who sought for Chuck to get a position in Cianwood. Now, what do you think I'm asking you to do?"

Lorelei blinked, then raised an eyebrow. "You want me to take on a student in case Daisy continues to shirk her work?"

"Yes."

"And how long will I be training them for?"

"If they face-off against the gym leader and win against her eight badge team, then they can take over. But I want someone young," Agatha pressed. "For your sake, and mine. If they're young, they're more likely to listen to you. Then they can last in the position longer, and grow into it. I do not want someone that is old that will grow tired easily after ten years."

Lorelei grinned. "Blaine is just fine, you know. Very energetic."

"That man is a few sandwiches short of a picnic."

"...Now I'm really, really hungry. Can we have lunch together?"

"Lorelei."

"Agatha."

"See that you find an apprentice, and yes, give me ten minutes and we'll go."

"Okay. Wait a minute, Agatha," said Lorelei, frowning. "The Cerulean City gym is a water-type gym. I specialize in ice-types."

"What's your point?"

Lorelei's frown deepened. "It would feel wrong."

Agatha scowled. "You have a Slowbro, Cloyster, and a Dewgong. You are just as much of a water-type specialist as you are an ice-type specialist. I knew when I picked you up from Four Island when you were thirteen. Put it to good use."

Lorelei stood up from her desk. "Where am I going?"

Agatha grinned. "Nugget Bridge, of course. Make an announcement."

Five days later, Lorelei walked circles around the trainers that battled on Nugget Bridge. After so many years, why it was called that, Lorelei wouldn't ever know, and she didn't care either. She observed, her eyes scanning the many trainers that were expecting her arrival today for a reason, anticipating for her visit. What the trainers shared in common was that they acquired water and ice type Pokemon, and Lorelei knew why. But she had no business of signing autographs today.

The woman watched carefully and calculated, through process of elimination (like Agatha taught her), to find what she was looking for.

Too skittish, too reckless, too bloodthirsty, not bloodthirsty enough. No, not him, too old, and she's too young...

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a girl with spiky orange hair that looked no older than fifteen, that had taken down not one, not two, but three trainers in a row. She also tackled them afterwards because they had spat in her face when they lost. Lorelei took notice. She held back a smile.

When the battles were over, Lorelei lined up each of the trainers in a row. She waited a little longer than necessary, glared a little harder than usually did, and was a little colder than normal, because she liked to build up the tension and make the trainers sweat. Lorelei knew how important she was to them; she was their icon. She was Lorelei of the Indigo elite four. Idols mold future idols, that's what happened to her due to Agatha's influence. Lorelei was here for a reason, and she had reached her decision.

Lorelei pointed to the spiky-haired girl. "You're with me. The rest of you, get the hell out of my sight until you get better." Because she was Lorelei of the elite four, they listened. Some of them groaned, some of them swore under their breath, but the glare that Lorelei sent them made them scramble away.

The young girl stared up at her. "Oh..."

"What is your name, how old are you, and where are you from?" Lorelei demanded of her. There was something familiar about the girl, which was why she had caught Lorelei's attention - other than her tackling her opponents after she beat them, of course.

"Misty Williams," the girl said, a bit terrified. "I'm fifteen. I'm from Cerulean City."

Lorelei looked at her in realization. "Your older sister runs the Cerulean City gym."

"Yes."

There was resentment in the girl's voice. Lorelei's no stranger to family problems. She remembered her own parental issues, and how ever since Agatha plucked her from Four Island that she hadn't seen her parents since. They hadn't called her, nor spoken a word to her, ever since she got a league position. They were not a fan of Lorelei disobeying her parents to go to Icefall Cave, much less when she had gone viral for catching her Lapras, and very much less so when Agatha took her under her wing. When Lorelei did try to call them, each call went to voicemail, and eventually the phone line started to disconnect entirely.

Oh well. Lorelei had lost count how many times she had confided to Agatha about her problems with them. She appreciated that Agatha listened. At the end of the day, there was so much work to do as a league member that there's hardly any time for family. The league was more of a family to Lorelei, and she suspected that's what Misty needed. Possibly. Maybe Misty was spoiled, or maybe her parents were terrible people. Could be either.

Agatha told Lorelei something once, in a blunt fashion as per usual. When molding future league members that were young, there are two approaches that were guaranteed to work depending on the person. Some of them needed drill sergeants, and some of them needed a substitute mommy or daddy if an actual parent was terrible or dead enough. Agatha always went for the former. Lorelei immediately thought of Bertha when it came to the latter. She hadn't decided on what her approach would be yet for this girl.

"Her gym leadership is subpar at best," Lorelei pressed, hoping for a reaction.

That's precisely what the ice-elite got. "I'm better than her," Misty spat, her fists curling to her sides. "I just have to prove it, and I want to take it from her. I want to make her eat their words, I just need your help in doing that."

Lorelei looked at Misty, at first unknowingly testing her. This was a tactic that Pryce Rimbach would do to see if any of his potential apprentices had the stomach to work with an icy bastard like him. Lorelei mentally cursed herself once she realized she was doing what her old mentor did, but she couldn't help it - damn it, she was getting older - anyway, most people would shy away from her hardened stare and avoid her eyes, even when she hosted lectures at Nugget Bridge.

But not this one, who stared right back. It wasn't anything Lorelei had ever seen before since, well, herself.

Bold. Committed. Vengeful.

Feral.

Lorelei almost smiled, but not quite. "Let's get to work then."

"Order your Pokemon to use a move, girl!"

After only two weeks of training with Lorelei after league hours, Misty Williams learned exactly where Lorelei learned her strategies from. And that was Agatha. Because Agatha was terrifying. So was Lorelei, arguably just as much as Agatha, if not more, because Misty had idolized Lorelei since she was ten-years-old and got her Staryu for the first time.

Whenever Agatha came to Nugget Bridge, she was the same way as Lorelei. Cold, direct, and straight-to-business. Right now, Misty had disappointed Lorelei yet again. It seemed like Misty couldn't do a damn thing right for her. Misty was never quick enough when battling one of Lorelei's newborn Pokemon, usually her Seel, and would always fall.

"No, Misty. You can't freeze up every time you face one of my Seels. This Seel is a baby, and it's quicker than yours!"

Misty had enough and glared at the woman. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're kinda nasty?"

"So I have been told. Do you know why that is?" Misty said nothing. "Because if I don't push you hard enough, then you won't be able to beat your sister. You have to beat your sister against her eight badge team. Given that you're young, it will be a difficult feat. But you show a lot of promise."

"...You just seem like the coldest mentor. Not surprising, considering you're an ice-type specialist," said Misty, with her arms crossed.

Lorelei let out a bark of laughter at that. "Did I ever tell you? Pryce Rimbach used to be my mentor. And he told me I was a degenerate of a girl despite my talent. So really, I could be colder. You've endured far worse at Nugget Bridge, I'm sure. Pryce prepared me for the trainers that wanted to hang me, spit on me, and throw toilet paper on me."

Misty frowned, shuffling her feet awkwardly. "Sorry."

Then, Lorelei let out a regretful sigh. "No, I'm sorry. The Indigo League's been on edge lately, it isn't your fault. Just... be quicker, next time."

Oh, right. The blonde bitch from Sinnoh was on everyone's minds, still. The media was focused on a woman from Sinnoh, of all places, and was just waiting for her to unleash a bloodbath in battle. Rumor has it that Lorelei had once faced her in a battle and lost most terribly. It was said that right before their battle a challenger asked Lorelei what she thought of this trainer, and Lorelei's response had been to order her Dewgong to use sheer cold on the trainer's Meganium. It didn't miss.

But really, Lorelei wasn't that cruel, Misty found over time. And it wasn't just because her words rang true about Nugget Bridge. It was no secret that Agatha had taken Lorelei from Four Island herself after that Lapras video went viral and had her train at Nugget Bridge. Lorelei would also give Misty the best darn cupcakes she ever had after training. So really, things could be worse. Lorelei also had Misty watch some old footage of never-before-seen battles that didn't make the cut to her latest collection.

Lorelei quizzed her on each tape, each question more specific than the last. What did the trainer do wrong? What did the trainer do right? What could the trainer have done differently that would've ensured their win, and what was the mistake they made that cost them the match? How could your water-types have an advantage over its weaknesses against electric-types?

"My Quagsire," Misty replied knowingly to the last question, which earned a satisfied smile from Lorelei.

"Yes, your Quagsire has a ground-typing as well. Electricity will have no affect on Quagsire, and combats electric-types with its ground-type moves. Now..." Lorelei paused, her smile disappearing as she turned more serious, "How will your water-types combat a grass-type?"

Misty opened her mouth, then closed it. "Um..." She proceeded to think about it, and then blanked. "I'm not sure."

Lorelei nodded once. "Good. It's important to let your mentor know that you're not sure of something." Misty watched as Lorelei went over to turn off the television set that showcased her battles over the years.

"Here's some advice," she told Misty. "You have a Starmie, which is a psychic-type too. Many grass-types have a dual poison typing. Don't limit your Starmie's moveset. Take advantage of it. Also..." Lorelei gave a hint of a smile. "...many water-types can learn ice-type moves. My Slowbro is one of them. I'm sure you can figure out what to do next."

Every other day, Lorelei would train Misty privately against her Pokemon, and each battle Lorelei would move up her team with the level of number of badges received. Misty found that she was fairing quite well against Lorelei's five badge team, which, would probably be equivalent to that of a gym leader's seven badge team. Misty could taste victory against her sister, she could just taste it. Misty's free time consisted of training at Nugget Bridge, where trainers groaned upon her arrival, and watching some of Lorelei's tapes.

Free of charge.

Here's something not a lot of people know about the relationship between mentor and mentee. If you take into consideration that a mentee may not have had a stable home life, they tend to seek it with their mentor - especially if the mentee would see their mentor more than their family. This was absolutely the case for Misty. The teenager started to let things slip to the older woman, about her family, how unstable it was, and how Misty was planning on moving out as soon as she defeated her sister.

Lorelei listened to her. She validated her feelings. When Lorelei met Misty's family, Lorelei later remarked that she understood immediately how she felt. Lorelei hadn't mentioned training Misty for the sole purpose of defeating Daisy, but she did hint constantly that Misty was a better trainer than she was, much to Misty's delight and awe.

Her mother had caught on, saying she didn't appreciate the competitiveness and cruel nature of Lorelei. Lorelei didn't even acknowledge the middle aged woman, instead she faced Misty and remarked that thank Arceus she was getting good training, because she'd want to eventually work hard enough to get away from a mother like that too. Needless to say Misty's mother wasn't impressed, especially considering that Lorelei said that right in front of her.

"You're a complete madwoman!" Misty's mother snapped at Lorelei, "I don't care who you are, you don't talk to me like that!" And then colorful swears started to form at the edges of Misty's mother's mouth, words that Misty had grown accustomed to over the years in her house when arguing about bills or other things. Their house wasn't filled with warmth or laughter or other happy things that families were supposed to have. Lorelei wasn't phased by Misty's mother's behavior.

"Well that was mortifying to listen to. And you wonder why I want this child with me. Have you been drinking?"

"How dare you! Did you ever stop and think, that maybe you're wrong for allowing Misty to compete against her own sister-"

"Not at all, I know I'm right. It's my word that's law, my title, my name, what Lorelei Isbert wants, Lorelei Isbert gets."

Misty looked between her mother and Lorelei apprehensively.

"This bitterness. I'm not sure if I want Misty around that. Her sisters are good for her." Misty thought that was absolutely rich, coming from her mother.

And Lorelei told her so. "Her sisters are good for her? Belittling this girl and comparing her to her sisters constantly? Nope, I don't want this child with you, I want her with me. It's the precise reason why she's with me. I don't want her with you."

"You think because you're an elite four member, that you can do whatever you please-"

"Absolutely, yes. Finally you say something correct."

The conversation ended with Misty's mother throwing Lorelei out of the house. Lorelei turned to Misty. "It's like the woman doesn't have a brain in her head. If it's there, then it's not in working order. I hope to Arceus whatever she has isn't genetic."

But it didn't matter what Misty's mother thought. All that mattered was when Misty did well in her lessons, Lorelei would smile and say, 'You did good, Misty' which was all Misty wanted to hear. She soaked up the praise she was desperately craving like a damn sponge. No one had ever defended Misty with the exception of Lorelei.

After a year of training with Lorelei, the ice-elite told Misty to go to Nugget Bridge, and that there would be a special guest waiting for her. There, Misty found that Agatha was watching Misty with calculative eyes. Misty had heard Lorelei whisper to Agatha that she thought she was ready to face her sister. The thought made Misty grin.

But Agatha wasn't smiling. "Let's see, then."

"Okay Misty," Lorelei started off. "Take out your Quagsire, and..." She pointed to the first victim - er, Misty meant trainer. "...you. One-on-one."

Misty's Quagsire defeated that Raichu like it was nothing. Then Misty's Quagsire defeated another trainer's Machoke. And then a trainer's Vileplume. Misty's Quagsire gave no hint of tiring itself out, pumped out and ready to take out the next Pokemon that crossed its path.

But then Lorelei said, with a knowing smile: "Okay Misty. Now take out Starmie."

All the Nugget Bridgers proceeded to groan.

Starmie was merciless. Misty took note of what Lorelei said, taking advantage of Starmie's psychic powers along with its powerful water pulses and its earth shattering ice beams. It took seven Pokemon out with one hit. Her Starmie was a monster, and Misty knew that she had Lorelei to thank for that.

Lorelei was smiling. "That's my girl. Good girl." Those five words were music to Misty's ears.

Misty didn't recall a moment in her entire life where Agatha smiled on television. She grinned, she smirked, but rarely if ever smiled. So when Misty got to see Agatha give off a hint of a smile she knew that she would treasure it forever. In later years, when Misty told others that she made the Agatha give off a hint of a smile, they wouldn't believe her.

"The battle will be in two days after gym hours," said Agatha, to Lorelei who nodded. Then, she faced Misty. "You better not make Lorelei regret taking you in, girl."

Misty wouldn't.

When Misty returned home because her mother demanded to talk to her, she was greeted with a smack to her face. Misty rubbed her cheek gingerly, wincing at the pain until it dawned on her that it was Daisy who did that. Realizing why Daisy did that - as evidenced by the betrayal and tears in her eyes - did Misty cheer up immensely.

"So I take Agatha told you about our match," Misty replied, with a shit-eating grin.

"How could you?" snapped Daisy. "You little bitch."

"I've been called nastier by you," said Misty, unfazed. "I don't care. I'm going to defeat you, take the keys of the Cerulean City gym, and-"

"Mom!" Daisy interrupted with a shrill. Misty couldn't roll her eyes any harder. Of course Daisy would go to their mother whenever she was frustrated. Unfortunately for Misty, as she learned over the years, it always worked whenever Daisy did that. Case and point, her mother flew into the living room with a maddened look in her eyes. "Tell her, please."

Her mother let out a sigh. "Misty, why are you competing with your older sister for this position?"

"Lorelei told me I'm ready," emphasized Misty. She didn't miss the way her mother scowled upon hearing her mentor's name. It was arguable that Lorelei did more parenting to Misty than Misty's own mother had done for sixteen years. "If Lorelei of the Indigo League says I should be gym leader, then I should be gym leader."

"You think because an elite says so, that you should get the job by default?!" Daisy shrieked, glancing over to her mother for help.

"By default - Daisy, you're the one that got the job by default!" Misty snapped.

"It was actually Lorelei that chose me, thank you very much!"

"Well she changed her mind!"

"Girls..." Their mother tried to interject, but went ignored.

"You think that you can handle gym leader duties outside of battling?" Daisy went on frustratedly, crossing her arms smugly. "There are other things you have to do, that you aren't prepared for?" After a year of training with Lorelei, Misty learned how to detect desperation.

That's when realization dawned on the younger girl. "You're choking, aren't you?" Daisy said nothing, but her eyes said it all. "You're choking. Even more of a reason that I should be a gym leader instead of you."

"Call up Lorelei," Daisy retorted.

Misty raised an eyebrow. "And why am I doing that?"

"Because we're battling right now."

Whatever Misty was expecting, it wasn't that. "Right now?"

"Yes, right now. If you're so confident, you don't need to prepare in two days. We're settling this right now."

Misty couldn't have been happier with this decision. In Misty's eyes, this meant that she would get the gym leader position two days before she was expected to. So Misty called up Lorelei and explained the situation with her.

"Family dilemmas," Lorelei said over the system, and Misty could hear the disdain in her voice. "Just so you know, Misty, depending on the outcome - you might not be in good standing with any of them."

"'Depending on the outcome,' and by that you mean if I win?"

"...Yes."

"I already told you I don't care about them, I've told you countless times," said Misty.

She could hear her mentor's sigh on the other end of the line. "...Agatha and I will be at the Cerulean gym in thirty minutes. Make me proud."

Misty knew she would do just that. Sure enough, thirty minutes later a disgruntled Agatha and Lorelei showed up in the Cerulean City gym. The gym trainers smartly parted out of the way so Agatha and Lorelei could make their way through the stands to find their seats. They weren't the only ones that were there as well. Misty's other two older sisters Violet and Lily were present, each pair of eyes burning with hatred as they glared at the runt of the litter. Misty paid them no mind. She had to focus on her goal.

"Four-on-four," Agatha told the competing sisters. Misty and Daisy nodded in agreement. In Daisy's eight badge team, she only used four Pokemon. It would make sense.

On Misty's one year anniversary of being Lorelei's student, her mentor had gifted her a Lapras. Misty opened up with the water/ice type Pokemon right away. Lorelei's words rang through her head as Misty faced off with Daisy's Seaking, which Misty knew was Daisy's strongest water-type. The first thing Misty realized was that Daisy was threatened right from the get-go if she was opening up with her strongest Pokemon. The only reason Misty opened up with Lapras was to simply show off that Lorelei had gotten it for her. But Misty knew that if she could take out Daisy's Seaking, then Misty could fly right by her sister's team.

But Misty did struggle more than she would've liked to. It was understandable, since Lapras was a relatively new member of Misty's team, so that was expected. Lorelei had told her that with newer Pokemon can take a while to adjust to a trainer's strategies and way-of-thinking. Misty concluded that she made the right decision to bring Lapras out first.

Misty did manage to take out Daisy's Seaking, much to her sister's annoyance.

"You're cheating," spat Daisy, returning her fallen Seaking. "Your Lapras is using psychic attack. This battle should be about who's water-type Pokemon is stronger."

Fine, Daisy could have it her way. When Daisy sent out her Seadra (why she didn't evolve it into a Kingdra, Misty would never know) and ordered it to use water pulse on Misty's shell-amored Lapras, Misty commanded her Lapras to use water pulse as well. The two water pulses were pressing firmly against one another's, and it was a gamble to see which Pokemon's water pulse would come out on top. It was Misty's, but barely. Seadra flew back several feet, but was mostly unharmed. But the point was made abundantly clear - Misty did not come to mess around, she was dead serious about snatching that gym leader position.

Lorelei's words continued to ring through her head as Lapras managed to take out Daisy's Seadra, and then Daisy's Golduck, but unfortunately for Misty that by the time Daisy was down to her last Pokemon, Lapras had taken a considerable amount a damage and fell to Daisy's poisonous Tentacruel. No matter, Misty thought, she would bring out her secret weapon. Her true ace, her true team player that Misty had since she was a little girl, which was her Starmie. This battle was all hers.

"You have a Starmie, which is a psychic-type too," Lorelei's voice in Misty's head persisted. "Don't limit your Starmie's move-set. Take advantage of it."

And Misty did just that.

Game, set, match - with Misty still having three Pokemon that were still standing tall. Misty looked over to Lorelei and Agatha from the stands, her heart rate accelerating wondering if they were excited as much as she was right now over her triumphant win. She could only imagine what her mentor was thinking.

"Well then," Agatha finally spoke. "Misty is the winner. She'll take over from Daisy starting next week."

"But she can't!" Daisy shrilled. "Agatha, you-"

"Be quiet, girl. She annihilated your entire team and still had Pokemon left to spare," cut in Agatha. Lily and Violet started to protest, but when Agatha sent a glare in their directions it shut them up immediately.

Misty glanced over to Daisy, and then to her other two sisters, her mother, and father on the other side of the stands. That's when Misty's heart rate was accelerating for an entirely different reason all together. No one was happy on that side. Because maybe, just maybe, her family would realize what she was capable of. But no, they were bitter and jealous. They were hateful. Despite Lorelei warning her about what would happen, Misty didn't expect that it would actually... happen. But looking at the wrathful looks of despair on each family member's face, Misty reached her decision. She didn't need them at all. She didn't need their approval. She was never going to get it.

Misty continued to stare at her family. It was almost funny, really. Actually, it was funny. It was really, really funny to the point where Misty couldn't help but burst into high pitched, almost maniacal, barely sane laughter. She laughed and laughed and laughed because of course. Misty's goal was just to get noticed by her family, and oh boy did she do just that but in the worst way possible, and that was funny. Of course. Just... of course.

She didn't know why Lorelei was looking at her in concern. She didn't know why Lorelei was trying to call her name to get her to snap out of it. She didn't know why Agatha raised an eyebrow and sent a look in Lorelei's direction as if to say that her protege was batshit crazy, and that made Misty laugh even more, because the ghost-elite was probably right. She was usually right. Misty didn't care anymore, because she got what she wanted. It was hilarious and Misty continued to laugh and laugh and laugh...

Lorelei gently put her hands on Misty's shoulders to usher her out of the gym, but Misty was still laughing even as she let her mentor do so. It was almost like she couldn't stop, because the whole thing was just ridiculous, and what was it people said, that laughter was the best medicine?

"What's going on in that head of yours, girl?" Lorelei asked, wide-eyed. Her protege kept laughing. She shook her her shoulders lightly. "Misty, what's going on? Talk to me."

"I did it," Misty giggled. "I did it, I did it, I did it... and now, well they notice me now, don't they? They can't help it. I'm a reminder for them. I showed them, didn't I?"

Lorelei looked as though her heart was breaking. She pulled Misty in for a hug, something the elite never did. Misty was trembling in Lorelei's arms. Misty didn't know if she was shaking because of the laughter, or the crying. She couldn't tell anymore, and honestly what the hell did it even matter anymore? "...That you did. You did show them."

The new water-type gym leader choked out one last laugh, or sob. "I showed them."

Misty wouldn't hear a word from her sisters for as long as she's alive.

Chapter Text

Chapter 35- Shauntal

Journal Entry #1.

April 7th.

...I don't know where to start. Grandma thinks that getting this journal will help me deal with my 'feelings' after mom died. I may be thirteen, but I'm not stupid. She never took care of me, so I was placed in the custody of my father when I was seven who's not that much better. Dad drinks. So it was decided not too long later that I live with grandma, it's probably for the best, because I can't watch my father die to addiction, too. Watching someone drink themselves to death I'd imagine is just as bad as a needle.

I found her. My mother, that is, when she overdosed. My grandmother and I were trying to get my mother more involved in my life, because she was supposed to have been clean and turning over a new leaf. I found her in the basement, unmoving. Her hair disheveled on her ashen face.  And once her hair was limp and no longer with life, her eyes. Vacant. Bile by her mouth. She had been seizing. She had been suffering, suffering for so long, though. My grandmother had come downstairs and ushered me out of the way.

We called the paramedics. Nothing they could do.

It's not the writing that helps, it's my Chandelure. My Chandelure talks to me. I can understand her. It's a gift inherited from my mother. The gift which caused her to turn to drugs in the first place. I can tell my grandma blames herself because she has the same gift.

I haven't seen my mother's ghost, or heard her voice even once, so I'd like to think she's crossed over to a better place. Or that she hates me. She doesn't, though. She tried to take care of me. She really did, but addiction is an illness that I will never understand unless I experienced it myself. I hope she finds peace, wherever she is.

I bear no ill will toward my mother, she had her own demons, but I wish that everyone would stop walking eggshells around me because of it. People whispered in the funeral parlor, that if my grandma doesn't watch over me properly that I'll end up the same way. I'm not planning on it. How could one be so cruel to a child? It's almost like they're waiting for me to end up like that, that they're placing bets on it. It's cruel.

A journal, though. My grandmother is insane for thinking of that solution, because you won't catch me writing in here again.

Thirteen-year-old Shauntal Withers huddled in the corner of the funeral parlor. Her Chandelure was at her side the entire time, and Shauntal was grateful because she didn't think she would get through this without her. Shauntal was used to going to funerals, her grandmother took her on trips to funeral parlors to have better interactions with the dead, but going to the funeral of your mother (and in her grandmother's case, her daughter) was far more daunting. Ghost whisperers weren't taken too seriously, anyway.

Shauntal's grandmother kept telling her to look at the person, but it's always been hard for her. Everyone kept saying that they were sorry for her loss, wanted to help, but Shauntal didn't understand why they wanted to help now. Come to think of it, she had never seen more than half of these people in her entire life. Cousins, her grandmother said. First cousins, second cousins, third cousins, Shauntal couldn't recall having so many relatives. They've isolated her for years due to her abilities, why bother starting now?

At least Shauntal didn't have to go to school today.

The girls in school would whisper and giggle at Shauntal's 'antics' as they said, when it came to Chandelure being by her side. Those girls didn't understand. Shauntal needed Chandelure with her, unless they wanted her to have a 'freakout' in front of them. Shauntal didn't know why they would laugh at her. Laughing was supposed to happen when someone told a funny joke, or people were happy. Her grandmother told her the truth, that they were treating Shauntal as the joke.

"I can talk to ghosts," Shauntal had told the group of girls one day. "Chandelure talks to me a lot. She's friendly."

The girls had exchanged a look. Then they exchanged smiles. Laughter. Shauntal had asked her grandmother why they were laughing, when she hadn't said anything funny.

They had been laughing at her. Not with her. They were laughing at the girl that could talk to ghosts. At least Shauntal could take comfort in knowing that hey, it could be worse, that ghost whisperers could be discriminated and hated like they were in Johto, or she could've been born a psychic. This didn't comfort Shauntal at all. More so that they were laughing at the daughter of a woman that had drug problems, and a father who was a bar on two legs. A daughter who was autistic.

People treated Shauntal as if she were this emotionless and quiet robot. That wasn't true at all. They obviously hadn't heard Shauntal's deep lectures about the beauty of ghost-type Pokemon. She could do so for hours until someone stopped her. They've never heard her laugh in the way people should, full of joy when Chandelure would cheer her up after an overstimulating day in school. At least her grandmother would treat her like a person, a human person with feelings. People often talked about the bad things with autism, the side of autism that the public would never see. The extreme meltdowns, the sensory issues, and so on and so forth.

Shauntal would disagree, it's all anyone would talk about or show.

Which was why at her mother's funeral people stared at her like she was going to have another episode. Shauntal wasn't going to have a meltdown. But there's so many faces she had to make eye contact with that looked at her like... that. So many whispers of the ghosts that hadn't crossed over. None of them being her mother. Shauntal was pretty sure she was shaking at this point, and swallowed a nervous lump in her throat. Not here, not here, not here.

I'm here for you, Her Chandelure spoke. I'm here, I'm here, I'm here...

Shauntal privately reflected that she wouldn't want a random ghost whisperer at her mother's funeral. Because now she knew how the others felt.

Journal Entry #54

November 12th

I take it back what I said three years ago about never writing in here. As you can tell, this is my fifty-fourth entry. Grandmothers are rarely wrong. Come to think of it, I don't think she's ever been wrong in her entire life. I wonder about her, though. The life she lead before having my mother, and after my mother met my father, and how she had to watch the two of them go toward a destructive path. Sometimes I debate in my head what's worse, dying, or watching someone you love die? It would seem like an easy answer, which is the first one, but depending on your religious beliefs it might be the second. At least if you're religious you believe you're going somewhere better. Your loved ones, like my grandmother, would have to watch them deteriorate, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

In less morbid news, Cofagrigus, Jellicent, Golurk, and Chandelure are bored. They're tired of battling with one another, and want other Pokemon to battle with. I'm thinking on taking on the Unova League, but I don't expect to get any badges anytime soon. Not when my writing is starting to pick up. It's getting more attention than I thought, which I consider strange because I never thought people would be interested in reading things that I would be interested in reading. Unfortunately, the books I've been reading are quite limited in what I desire to read, which is saying a lot coming from Unovian, therefore I decided to write these things myself. It's how authors are made, I suppose.

Oh, did I tell you? I won Unova's National Poetry Contest! And I'm their youngest winner in fifty years! The thing is, it took a while to write that. Three years, to be exact. I had to find the proper words to describe my grief regarding my mother. I have a few stories, not yet published, but maybe so. These things just take time. But these stories are so personal, so very personal, but grandma says those are the best stories to tell. I'm someone that people could relate to, because I've been through a lot in my life. That particular poem, though, was extremely personal. More personal than I've ever gotten in my novels. And it's not like I thought those novels would ever see the light of day.

My poetry was so popular that I got to meet Alder himself, Unova's undefeated champion! He said he was moved by my poetry, and then he told me something else...

"Mr. Champion sir," Shauntal greeted, bowing to the man. "It's an honor to meet you."

Alder waved it off. "No need to call me that, just call me Alder. I was particularly moved by that last line in your poetry. I, too, have lost someone dear and close to my heart."

Shauntal decided not to point out how her mother's death wasn't that much of a loss, that it was her trying to explain her grief in words. Shauntal was a writer, as her grandma always told her. She always had a story to tell, and the best way to express that was in words. In her poetry. In her storybooks. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir."

"It was quite a long time ago," Alder said, with a chuckle without any humor. "So, do you have any other stories coming up? I'd imagine so. If your poetry is anything to go by, I suspect that you'll be signing books because you'll be so popular!"

Shauntal never cared for the fame that other people in her region got. Like say, Brycen Abagnale for example, and the fame he got for his movies. Shauntal thought that having cameras in your face was rather daunting, and wouldn't wish that on anyone. She knew she wouldn't be able to handle it. All the bright lights and loud screaming, no thank you.

"I don't see that happening," Shauntal said, with a sheepish smile. "I was thinking, while I'm writing, that I could take on the Unova League."

Alder's eyes gleamed with interest. "I didn't know you were a trainer. Any you like in particular?"

Shauntal grinned. "Ghost types, they're so beautiful. They talk to me, actually. It was a gift inherited from my mother."

"Really now? Well, you ought to meet Dalton of the Elite four." Shauntal knew who he was. The man also had the same ability Shauntal did, to speak with the dead. Perhaps maybe he had seen or heard her mother? Not likely, but Shauntal did think about it. "Maybe he'll see you when you challenge him."

And Shauntal took Alder's advice.

Journal Entry #76

January 24th.

Could you believe it? The #1 bestselling author in the Unova region! And I'm only nineteen! It's maddening that Alder was right about people asking for their copies to be signed. Then again, Alder's endorsement helped. He mentioned in an interview that he's picked up a book of mine, and suddenly everyone's buying copies. Even Brycen, Clay, and Drayden are getting into it. I didn't think the WLQ, as everyone called them, enjoyed to read. I always thought they were just champion boozers. I suppose not.

People are strange when they see me in public. They get so excited, and it's a little unnerving. I for one am used to people looking at me with uneasiness when they first meet me. But don't worry, once my readers interact with me when I sign their books, do they get a little uneasy. I don't mean to be awkward, I don't, but it seems like everyone else in the world got a 'How-To' manual at birth on interacting with people, and I wasn't given one. My grandmother would still sometimes have to explain to me that a joke was a joke, and I didn't always get that joke. They don't seem like jokes. I wonder why people don't make it more obvious that it's a joke, then grandmother said it would defeat the purpose of the joke. Perhaps I'll never understand and remark that I hate being autistic. My grandmother tries to say that autism is a superpower and to stop that talk.

I'm not too sure. I consider myself to be just a person.

My grandmother wants to know if I've met anyone special. So do readers of my novel. I have not. I don't really like boys. Or girls, for the matter. I never have, and I suspect that I never will, and that's perfectly fine with me. It's not a case of not being in love, or anything, I have been in love. There was a few boys in my class that I had crushes on, wanted to go on dates with them, ooh, I get butterfree in my stomach just thinking about them, but don't tell anyone. Then I think about being... intimate with them.

Sex is not interesting or appealing at all. I remember what girls would say in my class, things that my grandmother would smack me for even knowing. One time, I stayed up late to watch one of my favorite television programs. The plot was interesting, but I always had to look away when there were sex scenes. They serve no purpose to the story. Why even bother putting it in? To bring in horny viewers? If it's to get me interested in sex, then it's having the opposite effect. It's not interesting at all. Sex is just...

Eh.

My hand has been cramping all day, so forgive me that this is a rather short entry.

"Will you please, please, please sign my novel?" gushed a fan, looking up at Shauntal with a hopeful glint in her eyes. Shauntal smiled lightly and took the novel out of her hands to sign. "Shauntal, how come you don't have a boyfriend? A girl as pretty as wonderful as you?"

Shauntal paused in her writing to stare at the fan in shock. It was a very odd question to answer, not to mention very personal. Then again, a lot of Shauntal's writings were very personal, so it didn't shock Shauntal too much that a fan wanted to know more about her life. "I'm not really interested in boys."

"Oh, are you a lesbian then?"

No, Shauntal didn't think so. She didn't like girls either. "No, I'm not interested in girls."

The young fan's expression was puzzled, then, a lightbulb went off in her head. "Oh, so you're asexual then. You don't like anyone. That makes sense." Shauntal quirked a brow, pondering over that statement as she handed the girl's book back, who let out a 'thanks' and skipped away happily.

Asexual.

...Yes, that did make sense.

Journal Entry #84

April 15th

Because I've been so busy with writing novels, I've managed to only get four badges under my belt in four years, Lenora and her husband are quite lovely, and I'm making my way to face off with Clay Wesley. I've heard things about him, most of which that are not good. The Underground Boss, they call him.

I'm twenty-three-years-old, and I'm only halfway through the league. Well, that's alright with me. I already melt Dalton of the Unova elite four. He's utterly brilliant. Dalton said that he wanted to meet with me. We talked about my gift, that Dalton also shared. He said that the first time he was exposed to the dead he was terrified and cried. It was a real conversation, with a person that I wasn't awkward with, not once. The conversation was smooth, and I didn't find myself tripping over my words. I was comfortable.

I did explain that being a ghost whisperer along with being autistic was not a fun experience. Dalton had asked me why I referred to autism as a disability. I explained why. He supposed I was correct, but said that my brain could do things neurotypical people cannot. That's at least what Cecelia the psychic-type elite told him, the woman was interested in psychology. Why I'm hyper focused in my writing and produce great work. I never really thought about it that way. It made me feel good. Perhaps my grandmother was right after all. I needn't be too surprised, she always is.

Not everyone could handle the gift of being able to talk to ghosts. Some folks with such an ability go completely mad, or turn to vices such as alcohol or narcotics. Other folks that have the ability to speak to the dead are simply labeled as 'crazy.' There are horror stories of children with the ability to speak to the dead being pumped up with anti-psychotic pills they don't need. I'm thankful that Unova isn't a place where there are more skeptics of ghost whisperers like other regions are. Johto is one of these, though I suspect more often than not they do believe their children can speak to the dead, but would rather see their children outgrow such an ability.

But a lot of children unknowingly see dead people when they're very little and do outgrow it, so it's not completely wrong. Where do you think imaginary friends come from?

I am not one of them. I didn't outgrow my ability. But Arceus knows I've tried in the past. It'll never, ever go away.

My heart bleeds for those children in particular, because anti-psychotics won't do anything. Children get a bunch of ghost energy at first. Voices, spiritual energy, dead people, all of it, and eventually you learn to tune it out so you can function, so you can live with it. Some people only have the ability to communicate with ghost-Pokemon, and not humans who died.  Phoebe Anela from Hoenn was one of these, and she explained in an interview that she had gained that ability by training at Mt. Pyre. This is true, but rare. Spending time at cemeteries of Pokemon can help you become acquainted - too acquainted - with the dead. With ghost-type Pokemon. It's a sign from the legendaries.

I suspect that ghost-type specialists can speak to and understand ghost Pokemon over the years in the leagues. Those like Agatha Bychkov come to mind.  She's mentioned in an interview once that she rarely goes on vacation, but when she does, she goes to Lavender Town because she feels very much at home there.  I wonder if that woman has achieved some sort of immortality. There are rumors of achieving such a thing in the far future, but I'm not sure. And I'm not sure if that's one gift I would want, it sounds daunting. Fantina Dumont could maybe understand her own ghosts, not others. Again, it's only rumors. It's clear that the woman cares more about coordinating than battles.

I haven't met Fantina or Agatha, but I have met Phoebe who's pretty new to the Hoenn league. She was nice, probably one of the few girls that laughed when a joke was a joke, and was very cheery for a person that could communicate with ghost Pokemon. She was interested in my abilities, that they could go further than that of a ghost Pokemon, and we had a nice long chat about it.  Then she asked if had fruit punch on me. Then she giggled. I was confused. She mentioned that on her first day on the job she faced Cynthia Shirona, and she hopes that no one else goes through that, because it was quite a hellish battle. I couldn't imagine being new and being blindsided by such a powerful trainer.

But then she asked how medication worked in Unova, for those that could see beyond ghost Pokemon. She's pushed for that in Hoenn, and given how liberal the region is it comes as no surprise that she would get her wish on making it more accessible and less expensive.  Granted, Unova does have a medication for ghost whisperers specifically to tame the voices, to keep the spirits at bay, or at least make the spirits cross over into another world. Thank Unova for having competent doctors, scientists, and researchers, I suppose, even back when I was a little girl.

Other regions weren't so lucky during that time. There are a handful of ghost whisperers, aura-guardians, and psychic humans scattered across the world. They are a minority, and of course there was blatant prejudice against those humans, out of fear, or out of disbelief, or both. Medications for ghost whisperers and psychics to calm headaches or voices or spirits were very, very expensive compared to the Unova region. Sinnoh was one of these, very much so, and then Lucian Darrow walked into the Sinnoh league and demanded for the prices to be lowered and because he was the man that invented an easier pathway to their underground they listened.

Lucian showed up at a book signing of mine once, while he and Bertha and the other elites were attending a league meeting in Unova. They waved off the cameras as Lucian walked in my direction, and for a moment I thought the man was going to be very demanding.

I was wrong. He was actually pleasant in his own way, if not a tad peculiar as we talked. He asked for my autograph and said he was a fan of my works. He let me pet his Espeon that's with him at all times. He explained that Espeon was there to warn him of migraines and to be there when his sensory issues got to be a handful, which I can understand. I don't get why people say the man is insane. He's not insane, chances are he's probably autistic like me. According to a Unovian study, psychics seemed to have a higher rate of autism spectrum disorders, as do ghost whisperers and aura guardians.  Though I also suspected he came from a world of pain, I can sense it in my bones.

And it was confirmed when Lucian asked if I could speak to ghosts. I said yes. Then he told me that if I ever hear from a man named Lester Darrow - whom I could assume was Lucian's father - that he had a message for him. I smiled and said that I would love to and it would be an honor to deliver the message.

Lucian told me the message with a far too cheery smile on his face, the happiest I've ever seen a man and suddenly I see why people say that about him.

I'm not going to write it out here, for your sake and mine, because even I could hardly put it into words.  Trust me, you don't want to know.

He has every right to feel that way, though. I understand it. From what I gathered, his father was a psychic, and well, took some inspiration from Saffron City and yeah. I get it. I read once that if a psychic uses their powers aggressively on another psychic this alters your brain chemistry significantly. Not his fault. Nothing he could do. Psychics and ghost-whisperers click well over that aspect, that sometimes there's nothing you could do about the cards you're dealt with in life. It's hard. His mother wasn't alive either. I haven't seen her at all, as I was sad to tell him. Some people just cross over as soon as they go.

I'm wandering off topic. Dalton wanted to know about the ghost-types I had. He wouldn't say why, and I was a little scared. Until I found out we had the exact same Pokemon.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Dalton grinned. "You already did, Shauntal."

Shauntal grinned back. "You've spoken to the dead. They've spoken to you. Have you... have you by any chance heard from a Maurice Withers?"

There was a noticeable pause, as the implication sunk in.

"I'm afraid not," sighed Dalton. "If it's any consolation, and I'm sure you know this yourself, that if you don't hear from a loved one that's died then that means that they've crossed over to a better place. Now, I've heard from Lenora that you've given her Pokemon quite the scare. In a good way, of course. Nothing bad. She likes you, and says you're strong. May I see the Pokemon you have?"

Shauntal furrowed her brows. "How come?"

There was a twinkle in Dalton's eyes. "Just curious."

So Shauntal showed off her four Pokemon. The Chandelure she's had since she was a little girl, the Golurk, Jellicent, and Cofagrigus.

"We have the same exact Pokemon," marveled Dalton, with a light chuckle. "I'm looking forward to facing you in battle one day, young lady."

That changed everything. That's when Shauntal knew, she knew, that she should consider taking on the Unova League more seriously. She could always write, Shauntal always wrote tirelessly like it was running out of style, as if she were to be dead tomorrow if she didn't, so it wouldn't be a problem balancing the two.

Journal Entry #104

I'm twenty-four years old. I channeled all my energy in getting all eight badges of the Unova league. Clay was actually a decent fellow. Brycen was surprisingly warm for an ice-type specialist. Drayden talked about my books, and how all the children of his dragon-tamer academy could never put them down at lunchtime. All three of them got a book signed by me, free of charge, well, considering that I beat all of them in battle.

None of it was worth it, because now I can't stop crying.

I've sat through my mother's funeral due to drugs. Then my father's funeral due to alcoholism. This time, it's my grandmother's to illness. The woman who took care of me. The woman who pushed me to be a writer, who always had faith in me, and supported me in taking on the Unova League. And now she's dead. I haven't seen her yet. I hate that I haven't seen her yet. It feels like nothing means anything anymore. I am numb, angry, and depressed at the same time, and I'm wondering how that could be.

What was I made for?

Shauntal knew this was going to happen. Logically, she didn't expect her grandmother to outlive her. The concept of death in Shauntal's life was something she understood too well, starting with her mother, then her father to alcoholism, but neither of them could come close to her grandmother. None of them at all. Her grandmother raised her.

But to Shauntal's surprise, when Alder had found out about her grandmother's passing when he wondered why she wasn't challenging the league, he personally showed up at the funeral. It wasn't just him, either. The entire Unova league showed up. Including Dalton and the gym leaders Shauntal defeated. Unovians knew how to have respect for the dead. The quiet, serious, mournful types. Shauntal appreciated the warmth she got from them, they were so kind for just... being there.

Despite this however, Shauntal wanted her grandmother back. To tell her what to do. What's her new plan? Does she stick to her original plan of writing successful novels and taking on the Unova elite four? But no, Shauntal hadn't been able to write anything in days. Not since finding out her grandmother had slipped into illness. Writer's block had never happened to Shauntal in her entire life, and she thought her life was over based on that alone.

It was a beautiful service to be fair. Shauntal made the entire service without crying once.

At the service. But when Shauntal returned to her grandmother's house, she burst into tears on the sofa into a pillow. It was the pillow her grandmother stitched herself, and it still smelled like her. Shauntal had done something she hadn't done since she was a very small child, which was to bang her head against the pillow. Her grandmother would stop her whenever she did that. Didn't matter now, because she's dead and that's it. No one's there to stop her.

She felt a presence; no, not her grandmother's presence. Shauntal gripped the pillow in fury - who gave a damn that her grandmother probably crossed over to the other side, Shauntal wanted her grandmother back. Now. Couldn't she just stay bound to earth with Shauntal until Shauntal herself died?

No, no it wasn't her grandmother at all.

"Shauntal, calm down."

Shauntal stopped banging her head against the pillow just to glare at Dalton in disbelief. She may not understand social cues, or when a joke was a joke, or reading in-between the lines of what girls said, but Shauntal knew that you should never tell a woman to calm down, especially one that was grieving the one relative that gave a damn.

Dalton sighed and gave her a sympathetic look. "You dropped this on the way over here." He handed Shauntal's journal to her. "May I sit?" Shauntal wordlessly nodded. Nothing felt like anything anymore, so why should she bother on people coming in and out of her grandmother's home.

Shauntal felt... Arceus, she couldn't describe it. She could never pinpoint her emotions, always getting hung up on them.

"...I haven't seen my grandmother," whispered Shauntal, wiping her eyes. Dalton said nothing. Shauntal let out an angry sniffle. "And I know what you're going to say, 'Well that means that she's crossed over!' Well I don't want her to! I want her to be here, with me! Without her... without her... I have nothing. I'm nothing."

"Write."

Shauntal glared at him furiously. "I just said I have nothing!"

"No you don't," Dalton said softly, so calmly, it made Shauntal want to rip her hair out. "Write."

"...I can't write a single thing, none of my stories, none at all... all I feel... is..." Shauntal trailed off.

"Who showed up at the funeral?" Dalton pressed.

"All of the league members, I know. Alder didn't have to do that," snapped Shauntal. "But I want my grandmother back. And she isn't here. And she isn't coming back. Ever."

"That's not what I meant," Dalton told her. "Shauntal, I've read your novels. You pour out your heart and soul in words to strangers that can relate to you. You make people feel like they aren't alone, like you must feel right now. But you aren't alone. You have people. You have that, and your novels, and managing to get all eight badges in the meantime. You're a great talent, Shauntal, please don't say you don't have anything."

Shauntal looked at Dalton with tears in her eyes. "What was I made for?"

"...Write."

So Shauntal did.

Journal Entry #178

October 16th.

The story of my grandmother, my most personal story to date, is being bought not only by people in my own region, but millions of people across the globe. An international sensation, they say. A story of how a young girl like me continued to push forward in the face of adversity. It's one to use an example. Me, a young girl that could communicate with ghosts, was a shining example. I never, not once, had been told that by anyone else except by my grandmother.

It's been a year. I still miss her terribly so, but at the same time, I know she's moved on to the other side. The thought makes me happy. I'm not really that religious, but my grandmother was a pure woman, a pure soul, and it would only be right if she went to a pure place. I remember what she said, when she was in the hospital, which was that I could do anything my heart desired, to reach for the stars and more.

Dalton wants to meet with me for some reason. He along with Champion Alder. They're probably wondering when I'm going to challenge the elite four again, or if I'm going to challenge them again. I had beaten Marshal, and have come close to beating Dalton, but not quite. Perhaps they want me to take on the LNS because they're very close to being beaten out by Sinnoh?

I'm not sure. I'll find out tonight.

"You're leaving," Shauntal emphasized to Dalton in Alder's office, crossing her arms. Dalton merely nodded at her, smiling. Shauntal rolled her eyes at that. "I was due to battle you again, Dalton. Only after I got past Marshal first. I've done it before, and I could do it again, my team and I have been working very hard. Now you tell me you're leaving."

"I'm working on another project," said Dalton. "I need to put all my time and energy to help grieving families. Decided to do some good for the world, and I'm traveling wherever I can to help people lose their fear of ghost whisperers. Did you know that a majority of people don't believe in such a thing? I can't decide what's worse - not believing that we exist, or being afraid of us. It's rather sad, isn't it?"

Shauntal pressed her lips together. "And you cannot do that while being an elite?"

"Mm, I'm getting rather old, Shauntal. Pokemon Battles tire me out."

"Dalton."

"Shauntal, dear, you're a smart capable woman. If I'm leaving, then you must understand why you're here." Shauntal glanced over to Alder, who was sharing an identical smile to Dalton's. When the implication sunk in, did Shauntal groan and roll her eyes.

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no. I'm a novelist. Not an elite-"

"You have all eight badges," Alder supplied. "You can hold your own against Dalton-"

"Oh no..." whined Shauntal, smacking her forehead. "This explains so much. Isn't Marshal somewhat new? Why would you want to hire another new elite in so little time?"

Dalton shrugged. "You'll grow into it. Also, Alder had taken Marshal in since he was a thirteen-year-old boy. Marshal isn't as new as people think he is."

"Oh and if you do accept it, Lucian sends his regards and his congratulations."

Shauntal's eyebrows shot up. "You spoke to Lucian? And... what?"

"We've mentioned in the latest meeting with the other regions that we were looking to replace me," said Dalton, with a shrug. "I mentioned you. Lucian put the damn book down. He said he was a fan of your autobiography, that you're a strong person in the face of adversity, and he said he wasn't too surprised that we were considering you."

"So he basically knew before me... and wait a second, doesn't he allegedly give three compliments out a decade?"

Alder snorted. "He likes you, for some reason, which is rare from him." Shauntal furrowed her brows. "Oh, not like that. I'm just saying the man isn't really friendly with most people. Bertha's the only one he's really warmed up to. Maybe Sabrina, on a good day, at least that's what I've heard."

Shauntal sighed. "I'm going to end up doing this, aren't I?"

"Yes," said Alder. "You are."

The young woman raised an eyebrow. "And why do you think that?"

"Because Alder knows you. And so do I."

Journal Entry #180

November 1st.

I'm a member of Unova's elite four now. It just so happens, I'm not alone. Marshal is really serious when the others are around, but one-on-one he's good at holding a conversation. He can be quite the personal fellow. Cecelia is warm and friendly, and invited me over for a cup of tea. Holland, cold and mysterious Holland, had remarked that he thinks I'm quite a talent, and an adequate successor to Dalton. Though I am not a fan of the way Holland holds a dislike towards the psychic kind. I'll keep my head down, for now. But Holland says I know I'll make Dalton proud. The last thing Dalton told me before he left was to never stop writing.

I'm not going to stop writing. Never. You'd have to kill me to take my quill away, and I'd like to imagine even in the afterlife, I'd still manage to write. Oh yes, I know that it makes no sense, but it's an expression, or so Alder has explained to me. Let a girl live. Oh, I mean that in the literal sense.

Alder is quite a good boss, I have never seen a champion so powerful like him before. I know this, because I've watched in face off with two challengers that managed to pass by the elites. Neither of those two had come close to beating Alder. I suspect that no one will ever take him down for a very, very long time. The way he utilizes his Pokemon is so utterly brilliant, that it seems like he's unstoppable.

Journal Entry #185

November 22nd

The last few sentences in entry #180 had been disapproved today.

It's nothing I've ever heard before in my life. The sound of one hundred and eight spirits, giggling and screaming and is more powerful than people could ever hope to know, more damaging. Mischievous and cunning. Extremely detrimental. Some folks say we should've worried because of her Garchomp, but I disagree heavily on that.

Pardon my language, journal.

Goddamn you, Phoebe Anela.

The LNS leaderboard went through yet another change.

Sinnoh was second place, and in a poetic fashion, was when Cynthia had defeated Alder in a close knit battle. Alder knew this day was going to come. He was notified months ago, even before he hired Shauntal, that Cynthia had just defeated all eight gyms of Unova. Alder was waiting, just waiting, for Cynthia to come and challenge him. She had smiled at him, like she was smiling at him now, a smile that promised only one thing.

His defeat.

Alder had the opportunity to learn what Cynthia's entire team was because he put up a good fight. For a moment Alder had thought that he had a chance against her. He even was able to face and defeat her Garchomp. He sincerely thought that he would take the win until she was down to her last Pokemon.

What came out of that woman's pokeball was too horrid to name, but it was purple and swirly and very, very mischievous.

And now, Cynthia was standing here, fully aware that she had defeated him a minute ago.

"What took you so long to get here?" Alder couldn't help but ask.

"The journey to Unova is a long one, and I wanted to train more so I could defeat you," said Cynthia. "You're a tough champion, Alder, I commend you. You had been a trainer longer than Steven Stone has been alive, so it's no surprise I had to train up my team a little more before defeating you. I also wanted to ensure that Sinnoh's numbers were high enough that when it came time for me to defeat you, Sinnoh would get past you in the leaderboard."

The woman continued to smile. She smiled.

"Are you going to take on the Indigo League?" Alder wanted to know.

Cynthia let out a soft hum. "Well, I already beaten Lorelei before, so I'd imagine I could probably take on the rest of them."

"So are you?"

Beat.

Cynthia almost appeared amused. "What do you think?"

Then she walked out of the chamber room without saying another word.

Chapter Text

Chapter 36- Morty

When Morty was eight-years-old, he confessed to his mother that he spoke to the dead. After that, his mother took him to a psychiatrist.

The psychiatrist prescribed him medication for his "delusions", despite that Morty insisted that what he saw and heard was very real. His mother smacked him across the face, and snapped at him to stop uttering that nonsense. And because Morty loved his mother, he stopped bringing it up - until five years later.

When he was thirteen, he snuck past his mother and went inside Ecruteak's Burned Tower. There, he spoke with the ghosts that his mother affirmed weren't real. But they were real. He saw his father who died when he was two from a boating accident that hadn't crossed over. He was dripping head to toe in water. Sometimes ghosts that didn't cross over and were earthbound reflected how they died. It had been over a decade, but ghosts had no concept of time. For his father, it seemed like it was yesterday he drowned.

Going into the Ecruteak's Burned Tower was not a fun experience. Morty tried to ignore the earthbound spirits that looked similar to his father, as in, their spirits reflected their deaths. Gunshot wounds, stabbed faces, gaunt eyes, bruised bodies, the young, and the old. Even when Morty was a child the voices were hard to ignore, the voices that were sometimes louder than whispers. Those in school that were fearful of ghost whisperers would hide it and say they didn't exist. Ecruteak citizens were a superstitious people, believing in the myths regarding Burned Tower, but not superstitious enough to believe that there were humans that could speak to the dead. It never failed to amaze Morty.

From the moment Morty laid eyes on the drowned man, he knew that this was his father. Morty told his father about the pills his mother forced him to take. It just so turns out, Morty's father had passed down his paranormal abilities to speak with the dead, as he had started to explain to Morty.

"Morty, son..."

"Save this shit," spat Morty angrily.

And then his father left. Crossed over. In his face. The bastard. All of Morty's life he had been told that he was just a freak, and his mother had to have known about what he was able to do. His father passed down something that made his mother furious with grief, and Morty was paying the price for it.

He told his mother all of this, rightfully so, and she slapped him again. At age thirteen, Morty realized that he couldn't stay with his mother any longer, so, he left on his own. He could get a Pokemon, maybe, though he showed no interest in battling. Ever. Battling to Morty was a waste of time, and it's not like he had the motivation to be the very best. What a crock of shit. He was planning on dropping out of school anyway, despite the pleas of his teachers and headmaster. It's not like anyone at school saw him as anyone but a freak that claimed to speak with the dead, not the boy that would have flawless test scores without even needing to study, and the boy that was top of his class.

How the hell did the government expect Morty to sit through class and listen to some bullshit authority figure ramble on and on about academics, when it's clear that every single teacher he had was afraid of him, weary of him, and now they all of a sudden gave a damn because they were going to lose their top student. He kept Ecruteak's Trainer School's numbers on the higher end. Morty was done playing their game. Fuck that. The school only allowed people to drop out as long as they took the league challenge. Morty told him that wasn't going to happen, but he would become a trainer. The headmaster told him that it was no use, because a boy with his problems was not going to go far.

Morty's response was to spit on the floor in the headmaster's office, declare a final "fuck you," and hurl a chair into the wall. It earned him an expulsion, but for Morty, it was full permission to drop out of school. In the end, Morty Mornell had to become a Pokemon trainer.

Morty did not do it in the moral way most people would. He had to be sneaky. Most nights, he had snuck out from his mother's home - but this time, he needed Pokeballs if he was going to be a trainer. His mother wasn't one, so he couldn't steal any of hers. He would have to get it from somewhere else. That's how he ended up going to his city's PokeMart, stealing as many Pokeballs as he could, and bolting without anyone noticing a thing.

Most of those days were spent at Burned Tower, in which, Morty had come across a specific Gastly that wouldn't leave him alone. It wasn't in a pestering way; it was friendly. Morty did not understand his town's fear of ghosts, as they were misunderstood creatures. Morty could understand that because well, he was misunderstood.

Not thinking twice, Morty threw the Pokeball in the Gastly's direction.

It practically jumped inside.

So Morty had a Ghost-type Pokemon.

...Now what?

It just so turns out, Morty had to battle with his Pokemon more often in order to earn more money, because right now, he was starving. The Pokemon Centers pastry cakes weren't cutting it anymore, and he thinks that those trainers he stole money from three days ago while they were sleeping were onto him. Five days ago, Morty had stolen money from another group of trainers and they had found out, and he's still recovering from that scar they left on his right eye.

Case and point, one of the trainers from three days ago approached him outside on Route 32. "Dude. Are you good?"

Whatever Morty was expecting, it wasn't that. "Um..." he began hesitantly, rubbing his eye. "Yeah. 'M fine. Why?"

"...We heard you take those pills," said the trainer. Morty felt his body freeze up. "'Cause you're crazy." He knew he recognized that trainer; it was one of the kids he had grown up with in Ecruteak City. He didn't pick on him or anything, but he definitely knew him.

"I'm not crazy," spat Morty.

"How much?"

Beat.

"Excuse me?" Morty asked incredulously.

The trainer let out a low whistle. "Man, you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Here, Morty was almost afraid to shake his head no. The trainer sighed once Morty did manage to do it. "Okay. Well... they're like a way to get high. Y'know... Like grass? You've smoked grass before, haven't you?"

"Grass?"

"Damn dude," sighed the trainer. "Okay. Do you have those pills with you?" Morty did. He couldn't get rid of them, though they had never been touched. It had always been apart of him in a bad way, and yet it still lingered. Morty took out his prescription bottle. "Oh shit, sweet. I'll take a pill. Here..." The trainer reached into his pocket and put out an alarming amount of money in Morty's hand. "Sorry I'm short. I think someone stole money from me while I was sleeping a few days ago."

Now, given that Morty had never seen this amount of money in his life (especially, considering he didn't know his pills could be sold for such a profit) he had many options here. The first option would be to decline his offer and return the money being handed to him now, and keep the pill. The second option would be to confess that he had stolen his money from a few days ago, and let him have the pill as a way of compensating for the fact. The third option would be to confess he had stolen his money from a few days ago, and to decline him from taking his prescription pill. The right thing to do, Morty knew, was the last option.

Morty Mornell did not always do the right thing.

"Here you go," Morty plopped the pill into the trainer's hand, and pocketed the cash being handed to him presently.

"Thanks, man. I'll see you around? Same place? Here?" Morty could only nod, still processing over what just happened. "Thanks. The name's Ricky." The trainer, well, Ricky shortly left afterwards.

A month passes, and within that time Morty catches two more Gastly. The first one he ever caught evolved into a Haunter, and he asked if Ricky could trade with him in order to evolve Haunter into a Gengar - which he happily complied as long as he could get the remainder of his pills. Within that time, Ricky taught him about what "grass" was and what it meant, and after trying it himself, Morty decided that he liked it very much. But it was illegal. And a dangerous business to get into if you're selling it. The right thing to do was to not get involved. Morty was planning on telling him that when he had mentioned dabbling in it to many trainers across Johto.

"Teach me how to do this," was what Morty actually ended up saying because fuck it, he needed the cash.

And did he get the cash. Let's just say, among Johto's black markets, Morty had garnered a reputation. They called him the YoungSeer because he was able to predict based on intuition when the cops would come to make sure nothing funny was going on, and on top of that, Morty was young when he rose into power as the best grass dealer in the markets. Morty never gave out his name, but if you mentioned the Young Seer, folks that went to these markets would know who you're talking about.

You could get anything in Johto's black markets. Illegal weapons, drugs, whores, Pokemon, information, banned books, and hitmen if you were crazy enough. Morty stuck with his drug ring, which was arguably the least insane out of the following, and he never sold anything more than grass, despite his underlings insisting they should expand their horizons. Morty believed that anything else above grass was going to age very poorly, and it was far more dangerous than what he was doing. The risks weighed more than the rewards. Dealing in anything above grass was the kiss of death. If you were caught dealing anything besides selling marijuana, you would be locked away for quite some time.

He's one of the youngest drug peddlers in the markets. His agents told him he was the most ruthless, which Morty found to be hilarious for another reason. That was because Morty also had a reputation for being one of the few running their drug ring that was actually good at Pokemon battles, so in case someone wasn't willing to pay up, Morty would order his ghosts to haunt the trainer until they found the money, by any means possible. And by haunt Morty meant having his ghosts follow them home while pulling jokes as so many ghosts did. Morty took no excuses the trainers had. Times are hard? Find the damn money. A trainer robbed you blind? Find the damn money. Oh, a piano fell on you? Find the damn money. Morty also thought this was hilarious because, in comparison to the drug dealers he knew that served things far worse than dope, he was pretty tame.

Morty was so good with Pokemon battles that one of his buddies dared him while he was high to get all eight badges in Johto. In three years, Morty did end up doing just that. He had wanted to stay low on the radar, but he couldn't help himself. Maybe it was a way of proving that he would be able to compete in the Johto league without some trainer's school education, as so many of them do. But Pokemon battles weren't Morty's shtick, he thought. The ring that he ran was where his passions truly lied. Morty ran it like it was nobody's business, and it wasn't.

"No, no, no... If it doesn't reek, then the shit's no good. It's brown, for fuck's sake. I can tell. I'm touching it and it falls off my fingers. It's supposed to be sticky. What the hell is this? Don't hold it out in the open! What the fuck is the matter with you?"

He could've been a bit more mellow about it, but it was a risky business; some of the street rats that participated weren't as discreet and were thick-headed, you know how it is. Those that weren't quick enough to catch on were dismissed. Morty didn't care at the time, but he would.

"Fucking ridiculous, fucking hell. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck..."

Things are a little... uneasy in the Indigo League.

It wasn't often that Bruno swore, but when he did, he put it to good use and made sure everyone within range could hear about it. Agatha figured that he had a good reason to, and he did, but that doesn't stop Lance from telling him to watch his mouth. Bruno simply told him to shut up. Lorelei barked out some laughter at the exchange, until Agatha sent her the same glare she gave her when the ice elite was a young girl, and she went quiet. Bruno was normally a calm person, but once every so often that angry, abandoned orphan boy would come out and show its colors. This appeared to be one of those times, as Bruno was very, very frustrated.

Agatha knew why he was frustrated, and she herself resisted the urge to throw the second chair in their meeting room right now. The first chair was already broken (when she found out the news ten minutes ago, which was why they were here), and Lance told her that they couldn't just dip into the league funds to buy a new one; he already had replaced the last chair she had thrown a month ago.

Lance rolled his eyes. "Bruno, calm down and watch your mouth."

"I already told you to shut up, I'm not hearing it. This is total bullshit. And our champion isn't even here. What the hell is it with these gym leaders and elites disappearing left and right? Johto's numbers are already shit enough, but now Ecruteak is in the gutter. Can we please vote to have Johto have their own Pokemon League? Because they're dragging us down, and our numbers down."

Lance held a hand up. "Kanto and Johto are too close to each other. It's always been tradition that we've been together. Isn't that right Agatha?"

Agatha didn't reply right away. She blinked. Then she said, "I'm sorry Lance I can't pay attention to anything you're saying because your choice of cape for today is so awful."

"Oh my Arceus-"

"It's so distracting. Your cape is so long that I suspect you're hiding rabid Zubat in there to infect me, and too bad for you, it would only strengthen me."

"Of course it would."

"Lance has too much Johtonian pride, he simply won't do it," remarked Lorelei, with a wry grin. Lance glared at her. "Besides, Johto would fall apart if they had their own elite four. It would be a bigger joke than Sinnoh's used to be, you know, back in the day..."

"And now Sinnoh is starting to catch up," Agatha couldn't help but snap.

Things are more than a little uneasy in the Indigo League, because Sinnoh was rising in the numbers, and it was concerning. Agatha heard that Cynthia had taken down Alder in Unova, snatching away points like it was nothing. Agatha had three glasses of wine the night she found out, because the woman beat Alder. Sure, the match was close, but Alder wasn't Unova's undefeated champion for nothing. It wasn't like when the woman defeated Steven Stone, where he was still inexperienced and had room to grow. Not that Steven Stone would have room to grow because Wallace Fontaine booted him out of the spot and vice-versa every now and then because apparently that was a thing nowadays. It's the wild Arceus-damned west out there in Hoenn, and there's nothing the other regions could do about it because Hoenn's not breaking any rules, it's just a nuisance.

Agatha informed her gym leaders and elites to train hard to combat such a woman because she figured it wouldn't be long until her own league would be next. It was the reason Agatha told Lance to take her fourth slot, and she would move down to third. Lance defeated Agatha in battle only once, and usually one wouldn't be moved up to the fourth slot under those circumstances, but Agatha needed to scare Cynthia away faster. The ghost elite was working overtime, and she wanted the others to follow suit. No one had time for Ecruteak City's troubles. If you told Agatha when she was a little girl that Sinnoh would be a potential threat, she would've laughed in your face.

"...then fucking Steven and Wallace are playing this little game with us, switching the championship position like it's going out of style, making us fix our paperwork to change the names to address the current champion, over and over. Who is it today, huh? Steven? Wallace? Who the hell cares. It's just a championship position who gives a damn?"

Agatha sighed. "Bruno-"

"And long was this Ecruteak Gym Leader there for? It's the fifth one we've gone through in years," Bruno went on anyway. "Who's gonna take his spot?"

"Igor had been a native of Ecruteak City all of his life," Lance replied knowingly. "He told me that he got destroyed by another ghost-type specialist that can apparently communicate with the dead."

"Who?" Agatha demanded.

There were people who could communicate with the dead, such as that new elite from Unova named Shauntal and Phoebe of the Hoenn league. It would be quite beneficial to have someone in the Indigo League who could do such a thing, but unfortunately a lot of people within Kanto and Johto didn't believe in it. Ghost whisperers weren't as detested as say, psychics and aura-guardians were, but they were certainly not approached with friendliness like the average trainer was. People knew that psychics and aura-guardians were very real and were horrified of them, while it was easy for some people to pretend that humans couldn't speak to the dead.

"Morty Mornell is his name, and I've checked our league logs, and he's gotten all eight badges. He's seventeen," said Lance.

Agatha raised an eyebrow. "And he hasn't challenged us? Why? If he has no interest in going forward, then he could be Ecruteak's gym leader."

"That's not an option," emerged a new voice, belonging to the champion who just settled in the league meeting room.

Bruno snorted. "So nice of you to grace us with your presence, Sergei."

Agatha didn't bother to even greet the man, she got straight to business: "Why isn't he an option?"

Sergei let out a sigh. "I just got a call from Ecruteak's police department. Johto's black markets have been found and shut down, and well..."

Agatha pressed her lips together. The Indigo League was aware that some form of black markets went on, but as long as the region remained calm and productive, they looked the other way. This was back when the only things sold at these markets were forbidden books and information, weapons for self-defense because they're incompetent with Pokemon, and cheap grass. But then some of Agatha's agents, that had come from Saffron's Psychic Institute trained by Sabrina Harlow herself, had reported that there were rumors of poached Pokemon used as slaves, hitmen, sex trafficking, high-valued drugs, Slowpoke tails, Arceus damned organs, and those were things the Indigo League could not abide. The black markets had gotten way out of hand, so the league had to step in. You give the damned Johtonians an inch, and they take a mile. Now no more markets. Boo-hoo.

While it was good that Johto's black markets were shut down, what Agatha was hoping for was proof that the Viridian City gym leader had been involved in illicit activities himself. Giovanni was slippery as an eel, and despite several investigations of the gym with a fine tooth and comb, nothing. Agatha refused to believe it. In a meeting with the gym leaders of Indigo, Giovanni would lick his fingers as he ate a collection of rabuta berries when they broke for lunch like the sociopath he was.

Agatha had hoped they were radioactive. They never were.

Sergei continued, "You know that drug ring that had been operating for the past three years and we weren't able to find out who was running it... well..." He let it trail off from there. "It's a mild business. Just a pot business, but it had gotten very, very well-known. Folks called him Young Seer. Refused to sell anything above pot, too risky, he said, well at least that's what his agents would say about him. He said getting involved with anything above pot was like the kiss of death."

Smart boy, Agatha thought. She didn't voice this to anyone.

"A teenage boy was operating a drug ring under our noses?" Lance asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Arceus, that cape is an awful choice, Lance."

"Sergei."

"It's green. Along with your red hair, you look like a damn Christmas ornament." Lorelei let out a snort at Bruno's description, until he turned on her. "Sorry. You're ginger. You don't get to laugh."

"Ooooo, gingers, so scary," Lorelei mocked.

"Forgive me, but I just can't trust gingers. At least you don't have curly hair. I especially don't trust gingers with curly hair."

Lorelei rolled her eyes. "Well I hope to Arceus that we don't meet a league member with red curly hair. Anyway, about Morty Mornell. Where is he now?"

"In a holding cell," said Sergei. "He has been for a few hours. He's giving the officers a hard time."

Oh? This was getting very interesting indeed. Agatha wanted to hear more about the boy. The police officers in Johto were oafs, so the idea of a teenage boy riling them up did amuse her slightly.

"So he's in legal trouble, I presume. Anyone have his file?" asked Agatha.

It was Lorelei who pulled up the file through the Trainer ID network they had for Kanto and Johto. She navigated it on her laptop with silly little stickers of Cubchoo holding snowflakes as a design on the front. Agatha couldn't help but scowl. Everything was online, nowadays. Not to mention Lorelei's tastes were terrible. Cubchoo, really? Sometimes Agatha would never understand that peculiar, daring, mischievous girl she plucked from Four Island. The ice-specialist had moments where she was particularly nasty as a predator stalking its prey, almost rivaling Agatha's cutthroat attitude to challengers, but this was also the same girl that had a Poke doll collection and cute stickers. Even when Lorelei was thirteen Agatha could hardly understand that contrast, but as the years had gone by, Agatha had no sense of the girl. As long as she did her job, who the hell cared?

Case and point, Lorelei handed the laptop to her with Morty Mornell's file, equipped with his picture. Agatha stared at the golden-haired boy that had an expressionless, cold face with eyes as dark as the abyss that stared back hard. Letting out a soft hum, Agatha did some more digging into his file.

A boy that can communicate with the dead, having been ostracized by his hometown, was written off as 'schizophrenic' despite his abilities. Top of his class until he dropped out. The other gym leaders noted that others should watch out for this one, because he was sneaky, using strategies of confusion, poison, sleep, to throw their targets off. It worked, while still being able to run an entire drug operation right under the Indigo League's noses, and he was able to get eight badges of the Johto league.

Agatha couldn't help but let a chuckle escape her lips, startling everyone in the room. The boy was clever, in his own way, but because of him participating in the league it lead to his own downfall, getting caught. She tapped her fingers on the desk, wondering what she was going to do with this one. Having a ghost whisperer in the Johto league would be pleasant, but he most certainly had gotten himself into a bind with the law. He was certainly unique. Unconventional. He got eight badges using ghost-types. However he was also, technically, a criminal. A small offense, at least in comparison to the other criminals that were caught in the black markets, but still a criminal. What to do, what to do...

The boy was not the worst of the lot. That Agatha could say for certain. He probably wasn't a bad kid, anyway. Just needed discipline and structure. He was probably bored. He needed something to keep him busy, to keep him out of trouble. Oh, what to do...

"He started this whole thing when he was fourteen," Agatha reiterated, just to make sure. Sergei met the question with a nod. "And he's seventeen now. He stayed under the radar for three years while still getting eight badges from his region? And what's this about the officers?"

"He called some of them trainer rejects because they're so shit with training Pokemon that they have to have a firearm instead."

Oh, she liked this one. A trace of a smile appeared on Agatha's lips. She stood up from her seat. "...I think it's time I pay him a little visit about a job offer." The implication of those words sunk in. Lorelei, Bruno, and Lance stared at her in horror. "What?"

Sergei was the only one that dared to confront her on this. "Agatha... no way. No. Way."

"You want to ensure that this won't happen again, yes?" asked Agatha. "I have a way of doing so. Fix both of our problems at the same time, yes? Now I must be taking a trip." Because when push came to shove, the public trusted Agatha more than it came to their own champion. Everyone knew it. Because it was Agatha, her colleagues listened.

A normal looking man had come up to Morty.

"So," he had started off by saying, "They call you the young seer because you are able to predict when the cops were coming when running your business?"

Morty had raised an eyebrow. "Sure?"

"Not even seeing the one that was right in front of you?"

Fuck.

The man had chuckled and revealed a badge. "Yeah. Welcome to your shitshow. Put your hands behind your back."

Morty didn't know what happened. He and his underlings running the market had been very careful, they had gone over three years without being caught by any members of Johto's police department. They were precise and spoke in code. Morty had plenty of his underlings scattered across the region to help, a lot actually, but he should've known it would come back to bite him in the ass. Those were the dumbass suckers that were hoping to cut a few corners in life by applying to work for Morty. But still, Morty was always careful. He didn't talk to most of them. He was reluctant to have his words overheard and remained indifferent to anything his underlings reported. Really, Morty thought he would be in this business a long, long time based on how discreet they were, and because he had been doing this for three years he thought he was completely off the hook.

But then Morty was arrested due to some snot-nosed little bastard who ratted on him and all the markets. It was probably Augustus who did it, the damn canary he was with no spine at all, to save his own behind. Officers did a raid, taking names, pointing fingers, and never had so many officers with Arcanine showed up, and chaos erupted. Trainers and dealers scrambled like rats to protect their contraband, whether they sold it or kept it for themselves didn't matter. Anyone who participated would be put in a holding cell. Their operations were exposed to the harsh light known as justice.

The only positive thing about the markets being disbanded was the mistreated Pokemon that were liberated from their lives of exploitation. Time and time again Morty put his foot down on poaching Pokemon, saying that was yet another business that Morty refused to partake in, that it was very dirty. Morty could take comfort in knowing that his business was the least immoral of all the markets. He always thought that to himself. Didn't do him any good, didn't matter now, he was so royally fucked.

How did Morty screw up so horribly? How the... well, what the fuck was going to happen to him now?

The seventeen-year-old scoffed for the fifteenth time that day, bouncing his leg on the floor where he sat in the holding cell. He didn't know how long he was here for; three, maybe four hours perhaps. The other occupant was humming nonsense, and if he didn't shut the fuck up then Morty was going to strangle the life out of him.

"There's an official from the league that wants to speak to you," the officer told him.

Morty glared at the cop, spat on the floor, and remarked: "I want a fucking lawyer."

"You want another charge against you for insubordination?"

"Do you pigs get off on arresting people? Let me guess, your wife hasn't touched you in three years because you've gained fifty pounds so arresting non-violent punks like me is your only way of getting hard ever since you realized that she's kind of repulsive to look at, too. I bet the feeling's mutual. Fascist swine."

The officer glared and turned a shade of crimson. "Be quiet."

"Have I struck a nerve?"

Nothing else was said as the cop stormed off. Morty's leg continued to bounce his leg on the floor. A league official wanted to speak with him. Morty couldn't give less of a shit. What the hell could a league official say to him? In their eyes, he was a scummy drug dealer - what would someone in the business of discussing Pokemon league matters would want with a shit-head like him?

"Quite the predicament you're in."

Morty averted his gaze from the floor to come face-to-face with none other than Agatha of the Indigo elite four and oh fuck.

"...Come by to rub it in?" sneered Morty.

"You're at a great start so far. Are you aware of who I am?" countered Agatha. Morty looked at her. She appeared as someone who was trying to keep her temper at bay, but was failing. The rumors about Agatha's wrath were something that weren't to be tested. But as you know by now, Morty did not do what he ought.

"Yes, I know. Agatha of the elite four," Morty replied knowingly. "You specialize in Ghost-types. You..." he trailed off, frowning. "Ghost-types."

"Like yourself," Agatha remarked.

"Arceus, we're like twins."

"Watch it, young man..." Agatha warned, her eyes flashing. "I'm here to make you a deal to get you out of here." Here, Morty was surprised. He was about to open his mouth to interject that he didn't care, until Agatha droned on: "Johto's in a tough situation. There are far too many trainers breezing past gyms, and the Indigo League is being bombarded with challengers as opposed to my younger days."

"It's because of that Cynthia Shirona woman," said Morty. "She has a Spiritomb, I heard, one of the most powerful ghost-types. It's an impossible roadblock. Which is why a lot of trainers are training like crazy because it won't be long until she challenges our league, or yours."

"Smart boy. So you're aware of what's going on." Oh. "Also, Johto's gym leaders... they've always been... subpar."

"You mean shit."

Agatha raised her eyebrow at him. Then, at Morty's surprise, she gave him what could almost be called a smile. "Not the word I would've used, but yes. Sure. You could say that."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"There's an opening as gym leader of Ecruteak City."

Flabbergasted.

Morty was flabbergasted.

"And you want me to take over that gym in that shithole?" Morty asked incredulously.

"Must you always use such foul language? It gets tiring after a while. Believe me, I have quite the colorful vocabulary, but after a while it gets old." Gets old. Like her. Morty wisely decided not to voice this.

"I'm sorry, but do you know why I got locked in here?"

"You can't be that surprised," Agatha told him. "You were bound to get caught eventually. If you hadn't gotten all eight badges and weren't so good at battling those who wouldn't pay you, then you wouldn't have been caught. The league has taken a special interest in you, and it was only a matter of time until they'd find out about what you did for a living."

Agatha continued, ignoring the puzzled look on Morty's face. "You could be useful, and grow into the job." Here, Morty snorted. "What? Come off it. We need more ghost-type specialists, it isn't just about Johto's state of being abysmal when it comes to Pokemon battles. I've heard about you... the boy that can communicate with ghosts in Ecruteak."

Morty glared. "Don't you start..."

"You were treated like a freak, weren't you?"

"Shut. Up."

"It's a shame, really," droned Agatha, with a tap of her cane. "I've always wished I could talk to the dead. Tell me, Morty, is it fun? What's it like?"

"Awful, thank you for asking."

"I could only imagine."

"Yeah, it's shit. Because..." Morty couldn't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. "It's fine if the dead talks to me. Nobody gives a damn about that. I've gone my whole life with the dead talking to me, but then I spoke back. When you talk to them back, then they pump you up with pills that you don't need."

Silence plagued the area.

"...Let's make a deal." It's possible, or maybe Morty's just imagining it, but he could've sworn the woman's voice had gotten softer. He didn't think Agatha was capable of such a thing, really. It's not like anyone would believe him anyway if he told, you know, since he's a degenerate and she's Agatha. "Solve both of our problems in one night, yes? Take the position of the Ecruteak City gym. Prove everyone in your life that treated you like dirt wrong with your Pokemon, and all charges will be dropped. Stop with your business, as you'll make a considerable amount of money as a gym leader, and you'll be fine. Understand?"

Morty snorted. "It's legal in Hoenn, you know."

"Hoenn has two champions because they can't decide who they want to lead their region, now look at how they're doing. Well?"

Morty considered this very carefully. The wise thing to do would be to take up the woman's offer. It, at the very least, would avoid something like this being put on his record. Not that Morty really cared about such a thing, but Morty had something to prove. That's when Morty realized that Agatha had won him over. At the mere mention of proving the people in his life that treated him like dirt wrong - which, included his own mother - that played a major factor in Morty's decision.

Still: "What happens if I say no?"

"Then you'd probably end up doing some time since you're seventeen and can be tried as an adult. And when you get out you'll have this on your record, barred from getting any decent job, not that you had a chance due to having no education."

She spoke about it so casually.

Morty didn't even have to think about it. "...I'll do it."

Two months later, Morty leaned against the doors of his gym, inhaling the cigarette that was about to run out. He had everything he needed. A clean rep, a good league paycheck, actual medication that helped ghost whisperers like himself thanks to Agatha's intervention. Nonetheless, he still felt there was something missing in his life. Even if he managed to run a gym in this laughable battling state of the region. Morty thought that there was still something else he could be doing, maybe something he-

"Hi!"

Morty glanced over to see he wasn't alone; a very alive person stood to his right, a man that around his age with his brown hair combed back, green eyes, that wore a white cape and purple suit. "Hello?" Morty asked unsurely. "Do I know you?"

"You will," the man replied, holding his hand out. "Euisine, pleasure to meet you." Hesitantly, Morty shook his hand. "Have you heard of Suicune?" Morty didn't reply. "Well, I've been searching for the legendary beast for a while. Say, do you know where I can find Burned Tower?"

"I go there all the time, it's..." Morty gave him the directions.

"Thank you," said Euisine. "I have a feeling we're going to be good friends." He said this with a certainty Morty doesn't think he's ever heard before from someone.

So Morty believed him.

Lucian, Axel, Bertha, and Ferro watched from the break room in utter fascination as Cynthia moved onto the final room of the Sinnoh League. They should've known that this day would come, that it was only a matter of time that the blonde woman who had taken down Hoenn and Unova would come to challenge their own league. She had swept through the elite four's teams with ease, despite Lucian and Bertha going all out like Cynthia wanted them to, yet they wondered if she could beat Spyro.

"There's no way this is happening," scowled Axel, shaking his head. "No way."

Lucian gave Axel one long scrutinizing look. "Did my Espeon scratch your eyes out?" The dragon-tamer appeared baffled by the question. "The reason I ask is because that's the only reason as to why you would ask such a stupid question, because obviously, she's here right now challenging our champion if you use your eyesight."

Bertha's eyes flickered with emotion as a memory came to mind. She would've admonished him for such a comment, but that same comment was uttered many, many years ago by a teenage girl with violet hair to a ranger. A ranger that didn't think Bertha would make a good Pokemon trainer until the violet-haired girl dumped out Bertha's badges to the ranger and pointed out how wrong he was, that he must be blind.

Lucian really was his mother's son.

As for whether or not Bertha was a good Pokemon trainer? Well, she's here, that was pretty self-explanatory, wasn't it? The rest was history. As the first female league member in the Sinnoh league. And now, depending on the outcome of the battle, Sinnoh would have its first female champion in history.

Sinnoh.

They've come so far.

"Must you be so insufferable?" retorted Axel, to Lucian. "Arceus, it's like you have a heart made of stone."

"And you're nearly as sharp-witted as one."

"Would you shut up?" Ferro snapped at Lucian, "The battle's about to start."

"You have never taken on the Indigo League," observed Spyro to the woman, readying his first Pokeball. He let out a grin. "Scared of them?"

"Oh Arceus no," waved off Cynthia, with a smile. "I knew that defeating Unova and Hoenn would make them think I was coming, but I never showed. I did nothing."

This puzzled Spyro. "Why?"

Cynthia's smile turned into a smirk. "I wanted to make them quiver in anticipation." Her hand affectionately touched a Pokeball, likely her Spiritomb, and added: "Let's dance, Spyro. Unlike the other two I defeated, I'm planning on taking your position."

"Usually people reject the position," he told her. Lucian and Bertha swore that they saw their champion appear distressed. "Being the champion is a draining responsibility, I would know. It's not just about battling, it's-"

"Oh I understand perfectly well, don't be silly," interrupted Cynthia impatiently, letting out a chuckle as she playfully tossed the Pokeball in the air a few times. "I want it all."

It was that statement alone that told Lucian and Bertha who was going to come out on top. An hour later, Spyro entered the break room, his shoulders slumped over due to his first defeat from a Sinnohnian that was fully serious about taking his job. No one dared to breathe for several seconds as the new champion of Sinnoh entered the hall of fame.

It was Bertha who spoke first.

"It took her long enough, Lucian," Bertha remarked to the psychic. "I was wondering if those were just empty words. Glad that she followed through on that promise to you before you had started working here."

Axel's eyes grew wide in realization and Ferro was unable to conceal his gasp.

Spyro turned to Lucian and Bertha, his eyes flashing dangerously: "You were told about this in advance, weren't you? You were bidding your time!"

Lucian and Bertha's smiles told Spyro everything he needed to know.

Agatha watched as the newest champion of the Sinnoh region slid into her seat, the last to do so in the LNS meeting. It was a week after she had become champion and defeated Spyro. The room was filled with thick, heavy silence, with many thoughts flying around. Agatha kept her eyes on the woman, the woman that without a doubt purposely skipped going to the Indigo League just to psych them out, to make them panic and worry, and how it completely worked.

Steven was completely gobsmacked, jaw dropped so far down that Agatha could've sworn a fly went into his mouth. Hoenn's elites bore similar expressions, minus Drake, who just stared in utter disbelief. Then there was Alder, who looked decades older than he usually was, and his elites staring at the new champion with the epitome of fright and awe. Lance, Sergei, and Bruno appeared fearful, as well, despite not getting to battle with her. Agatha could feel the anger radiating off of Lorelei, her eyes burning with hatred as she stared directly at Cynthia. Ferro and Axel avoided Cynthia's eyes entirely out of shame.

Lucian and Bertha, however, almost looked a little smug. Like they knew this was going to happen. Agatha wouldn't be surprised at this point if they did.

Agatha was almost impressed. She thought Cynthia seemed very competent and very put together in comparison to the last champion. She almost wished that she would've had the chance to battle her. Calm, level-headed, and mentally stable, not to mention a very powerful trainer. Above all else, Agatha respected strength. She also respected that Cynthia didn't seem to be insane... maybe what she did was insane, but she herself seemed to be doing alright up there. The last thing Sinnoh needed was an insane champion.

And then Cynthia Shirona said, "Hello. I'm glad I see so many familiar faces here, so there aren't too many names to get to know in this meeting."

There's something deeply wrong with her.

And she smiled. "My name is Cynthia. I am a trainer just like you."

Chapter Text

Chapter 37- Volkner

Welcome to Sunyshore City.

The city was known for their Sunyshore Market, which provided one of the largest seal centers in the world. Known for their Lighthouse - also known as the Vista Lighthouse - where if you look through the binoculars via the lighthouse's observation deck you could see the Sinnoh League. Known for its electric-type gym, which had actually been stable for quite some time, and had little-to-no-problems compared to the other gyms of the Sinnoh region throughout the years. Known for being solar-powered, electrifying...

The city where the war never really ended. Known as "Crackhead Capital" of the world, the breeding ground for future criminals and delinquents alike, having the highest rate of mental illness, and the number of incarcerated citizens per capita. It was also the birthplace of Ivan Cannibal. Ivan Cannibal was known as Sinnoh's champion before and during the Indigo-Sinnoh war. Some suspect that he had his last name legally changed to sound more intimidating. Not that he needed to do that, because there was a reason the popularity of the first name alone sharply declined. Even today, many people wouldn't dare speak his full name aloud.

Ivan Cannibal – also known as the man who made the Sinnoh motherland his own, personal bitch.

There was railing built on top of the Lighthouse because of the "Sunyshore Jumpers", which, was referring to those that had taken their lives from jumping off the Lighthouse into the shallow waters. Most of the citizens were from Sunyshore. Like Volkner's dad, oh, and his dad's dad - they both jumped and succeeded.

After his father jumped when he was only five, Volkner Tourney thought that he was destined to try and kill himself too. He told his mother this at the funeral. Her response was to slap him and scream to not talk like that, and she's already worried enough to flicker their light switch on and off five times a night to ensure that Volkner wouldn't die. The five-year-old didn't know exactly how that correlated, but after that smack to the face (his mother had never hit him, not once) Volkner didn't bother asking.

Nothing phased Volkner anymore. Not the crackheads that would bang on his door at ungodly hours, not the trainers from the trainer school that gave him funny looks, or those damn hoodlums that wanted to pick fights with him. That was until one of them broke into the house one night. His mother's wails would be imprinted on his brain, but they remained physically unharmed - those hoodlums just wanted to steal things, but it's not like they had anything that was worth stealing. No one in Sunyshore did, really.

Nonetheless, a day after that Volkner learned how to use a pocket knife. Those came in handy in Sunyshore City, and there were plenty to go around. What his mother didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Volkner didn't have the Pokemon he wanted yet, which was a Pikachu, and the reason he wanted a Pikachu was because of one man.

Wattson Oswald.

Volkner was fascinated by the electrician's sharp mind. The man was utterly brilliant, and whenever Wattson did interviews on television about how he turned his city from nothing to a powerhouse gave Volkner a little bit of hope. That maybe, just maybe, Volkner could do the same for his city. And then two minutes later some drunk would scream at his whore-of-a-wife for sleeping with his boss and Volkner's hopes would be shattered. You know, a normal night in Sunyshore.

But indeed, Volkner learned everything he could from watching Wattson. His mother, Arceus bless her, was running the electric bill up because of her rituals. It was Volkner who learned how to save it. Sacrifices were made, such as lowering the thermostat during the colder months. It would prevent the heater from turning on, which reduced costs and kept the moisture level down. Light from a window could be just as good as electrical ones. Volkner learned about sealer sockets, which prevented heat and energy from escaping from electrical outlets. It was Volkner who learned, at the age of ten, on how to change an electrical outlet or installing a new light switch. It was probably very dangerous, especially at his age, but what did he have left to lose?

When it was time for Volkner to get his first Pokemon, he demanded a Pikachu. Teachers at Sunyshore said he was insane, and well, maybe they were right. Teachers were baffled by the boy's quiet demeanor, one that would rather fiddle with gadgets and work on small inventions rather than participate in class. He got sent to the principal's office once because Volkner built a tiny electric fence that could fit on his desk and dared one of the kids to touch it. It gave him a bit of a shock, to say the least, but he wasn't seriously hurt. When the principal asked why Volkner did that, he shrugged and told them he wanted to see if it worked. And it did.

It was a shame, his teachers said. Because Volkner understood all the material covered in class based on exam scores, and if only he had participated and done his homework then he surely would've gotten an early recommendation to go to the underground, or as the locals called it, Giratina's Playground.

And when Volkner finally got his Pikachu, well, it certainly made powering up the house much cheaper.

Indeed, Volkner's Pikachu was his only friend. Part of him wanted to thunderbolt the motherfuckers, the hoodlums that caused trouble because of their shitty home lives that Volkner thought was no excuse, but he restrained himself. Going after their Pokemon seemed to do the trick. How they got Pokemon, Volkner had no idea, but they had no skill. Not like Volkner did, along with some other kid with red hair that allegedly punched some of the hoodlums directly if he wasn't using his Chimchar. And he allegedly took their shoes. Volkner heard the rumors.

Volkner met Flint when he was twelve-years-old.

He was certainly a lot to look at. A stupid red afro, a cheeky grin, a fiery determination in his eyes, and he reeked of cockiness. Volkner hated that. Flint was apart of the grittiest area of Sunyshore, that was only slightly worse than Volkner's. The redhead also went to Sunyshore's trainer's school, but was in a different class, so they never crossed paths.

Until today.

"Volkner Tourney, in the flesh!" Flint marveled, chuckling. "Oh man, I've been waiting to find you! I heard you defeated Sunyshore's gym. Well look here." Flint flashed his badge from the gym. "Wait till the league finds out our gym leader got his ass handed to him by two twelve year olds. I think he needs to lay off the blow. The crackdown on crack. You like the phrase? I made it up myself."

Volkner thought he talked too much.

"Are you saying our gym leader does crack?"

"I don't know. But probably. No one says anything to the league, because as I'm sure you know-"

"Sunyshorian's don't snitch," Volkner finished knowingly.

Flint grinned. "So you do have some common sense with that Pikachu."

"...Are you implying that I wouldn't have any with my Pikachu?"

"Oh no. But Pikachu are hard to raise. I don't know how you do it. I'm shocked – ha, I made a pun, I should go into comedy – anyway, I'm shocked that your Pikachu hasn't tried to electrocute you. They're nasty." Pikachu's cheeks produced tiny sparks out of anger. "Hey, don't take it personal."

Volkner rolled his eyes. "You've got a big mouth, you know."

"I've been called worse. Let's battle this out, shining star."

The blonde learned exactly why Flint had a big mouth and why he was totally confident, because after two minutes of tackling, Flint ordered one flamethrower from the Chimchar's mouth which critically hit Volkner's Pikachu, and the battle was over that ended in Flint's victory. Volkner held his fallen Pikachu in utter disbelief, staring at the boy who had that same stupid cheeky grin on his face.

"Wow, you almost had me there," remarked Flint. His Chimchar hopped on Flint's shoulder. "Let's do this again sometime." As Volkner watched Flint walk away, Volkner realized that there would be a next time, just so Volkner would win and be able to watch that smirk disappear.

Two weeks later after vigorous training with Pikachu, that's precisely what Volkner did. He spotted Flint and demanded a rematch, and Flint had said that he was looking forward to handing his ass back to him again. Volkner foresaw that Chimchar's flamethrower from a mile away, and Volkner instructed his Pikachu to take advantage of his speed to dodge it, and hit Chimchar with its iron tail attack, ending the match.

"Well it looks like the shining star is the top trainer in Sunyshore," marveled Volkner. "Which is me, if you don't remember."

Flint did. His smirk was non-existent, holding his fallen Chimchar. "You are a dick, you know that?"

"Hey, you were the one that started it."

Thus began a rivalry between the two boys. Volkner didn't know about Flint's parents, but Volkner's mother didn't seem to mind when Volkner would stay out late to battle with Flint non-stop, to see who was the top trainer in Sunyshore City. They were always neck-and-neck, always. The pair ate and breathed training and battles. While this was going on, there was a criminal by the name of the Proprietor running about. Not particularly dangerous or violent like Viper, thankfully, but he still poached Pokemon for cash.

A year later, when Volkner was training at night in a forest, he unfortunately ran into Flint.

Like fate.

Flint glared at him. "Hey man, get your own training spot! I was here first."

"You were here first? No, I was here first," protested Volkner.

"No, I was here first."

A Bidoof strolled through the forest and stopped to look at the trainers.

Volkner pointed to the Bidoof. "That looks like you."

Collision.

"You dick."

Stormy clouds started to gather.

"Whatever, doesn't matter now," said Volkner, pointing up at the sky. "Look. It's going to start raining soon, so we might as well make our way out of the forest."

Flint let out a snort. "The shining star is afraid of a little rain. Pokemon trainers can fight in all kinds of weather."

"Mind you I kicked your ass the last battle, and I will do it again."

"That was a fluke. You paralyzed my Chimchar."

"Okay, whatever, whatever. Let's make our way out."

Flint and Volkner wandered around the forest, trying to figure out exactly how to get out. It wasn't spent at all in silence, because Flint had to keep opening his mouth every ten seconds. While this was going on, thunder was heard in the distance. The way out of the forest was a tricky one, and after about thirty minutes did Flint groan in frustration and address their state in the forest.

"Great, genius. We're lost. You have a shitty sense of direction."

"Really? It seems like you don't have any clue of where to go either."

"I do too!"

"No you don't, because you would've said something about it, and instead you're yapping away about complete nonsense. It's like you speak because it's free."

"Cool, making a jab at me because I'm poor."

"That isn't at all what I meant. Almost everyone in Sunyshore is poor anyway, you aren't special."

"By the way, didn't anyone ever tell you that you wear too much perfume? It could kill a Rapidash."

"It's cologne, and you would know that if you actually didn't smell like wet Smeargle."

"Oh go shove that cologne up your-" Before Flint could finish his sentence, he and Volkner came face-to-face with a man with a sinister grin and a Houndoom by his side. Volkner's heart race sped up - it was the Proprietor, a man who was on the face of every WANTED poster in Sunyshore City, due to being a Pokemon poacher. Volkner glanced over to his companion, who seemed to have connected the dots as well. Neither of the three spoke for several seconds.

"Aw man," groaned Flint, glaring at the Proprietor. "I wish I had a knife so I could cut your balls off like Bertha Morello did to Viper."

Volkner rolled his eyes. "That's just a rumor, stop spreading that."

"I swear it happened, she's a fucking gangster, I wouldn't put it past her. Anyway, my point-"

Cling.

Without even thinking, Volkner pulled out a pocket knife. This caused the Proprietor's eyebrows to rise in surprise. No one said anything for several seconds.

"Motherfucker I didn't mean we'd actually cut his nuts off!"

"You just said you wanted to!"

The Proprietor exchanged an odd look with his Houndoom.

"That was a hypothet... hypother... Arceus, Volkner what is wrong with you?"

Volkner could only answer by shrugging.

Proprietor's Houndoom let out a mighty roar, finally stopping the two boys from bickering any further. They exchanged a look with one another once the thunder rumbled. It seemed as though it was about to start pouring any second now, but if the two of them didn't work together against this guy then the weather would be the least of their troubles. Flint and Volkner had dealt with Sunyshore hoodlums and this... was slightly different from the hoodlums, but manageable. They had to be able to.

"Pikachu, thunderbolt!"

"Fury swipes, Chimchar!"

But the Houndoom was very agile and quick. Fighting against the Proprietor and his Houndoom was a far difficult challenge as opposed to challenging other trainers in Sunyshore and even against the city's gym leader. And for some Arceus forsaken reason the Proprietor's Houndoom was gunning for Pikachu, as if Volkner was the weaker trainer of the duo, which he wasn't. The thought made him angry, but Pikachu was about to go down, then-

"Chimchar, jump in front of Pikachu!"

Flint's Chimchar dove in front Volkner's Pikachu and absorbed the bite attack from the Houndoom, and countered with fury swipes. At this point it started to rain heavily. The Houndoom was weakened significantly. but so was Chimchar. That's when Volkner stepped up to the plate. Pikachu gathered itself together and finished the Houndoom off with a thunderbolt attack. The Proprietor stared, wide-eyed at the thirteen-year-olds that defeated him, and took off.

This left Flint and Volkner in the rain. Neither of the two said anything. Then, Volkner watched as Flint laid down on the ground.

"What are you doing?" Volkner asked.

"...If Chimchar is on the ground, then so am I," said Flint.

Oh.

Volkner looked at his Pikachu that was also on the ground. Strangely enough, this made Volkner lie down beside Flint. Volkner stared up at the sky, completely unfazed by the dirt on the ground and the rain getting in his face. He had just taken out a criminal's Pokemon. But he didn't do it alone. Volkner glanced over to catch Flint staring at him. Volkner found that he rather liked that Flint was staring at him, and when they exchanged a smile, Volkner found that he liked that, too.

Oh.

After a while, they managed to find their way out of the forest, and Volkner learned a bit more about Flint on the way back. The conversation wasn't hostile at all, and Volkner found that maybe he judged him too quickly. Flint talked about himself, his baby brother Buck who's the world to him, and his parents, and his grandfather. He's hoping to make enough money as a trainer so that he could help his family. His parents and his grandfather busted their asses to work day after day, week after week, to be able to take care of him and his little brother. Flint told Volkner they shouldn't have to work so hard, that Flint should pay it forward to them. They did this to make sure they had food on the table.

Then Flint asked Volkner why he had a pocket knife, and where did he get it.

"Self-defense from the hoodlums in case they broke in my house," shrugged Volkner. "There was no better option, really."

"My family tried doing that, except with a gun. I was seven. Pops got it from a buddy of his. He wanted to teach me how to use it for self-defense, but ma said no. We had one until I turned ten. The Pokeathlon was on TV. Pops got so pissed that the Sinnohnian trainer lost that he said aloud that he wanted to shoot the TV."

"And what happened?" Volkner wanted to know, eyes-wide.

"He shot the TV. Ma was screaming at him, that she was pregnant with Buck, and she'll be damned if she brings a child into this world like his dumbass daddy." Volkner's jaw dropped in disbelief. "...So no more guns after that. But I love them. We're crazy, but we get by. How about your family?"

"Oh, my dad jumped off the Sunyshore lighthouse. He had problems. Mom has problems too," said Volkner. "Says that if she doesn't flicker the light switch five times then I'll die. There's a term for what she has. Obsessive... something disorder."

"Oh, I have a disorder too," said Flint, kicking the dirt on the ground. "Attention, something with the letter 'd' I can't say the word, hyper disorder. Yeah, that. It runs in my family. Mom has it too. It's kind of why I'm not so smart, y'know? Even though my mom and dad say I am, and that my disorder could be a good thing..."

"They're right," said Volkner. "Maybe not in an academic-type way, but in a protective instincts kind of way."

Flint furrowed his brows in confusion.

"You have the energy to stay on the battlefield," Volkner went on. "You have the stamina to keep going. You protected my Pikachu from being hurt very badly. You know what to think in the moment. Whenever we do battle, you get insanely focused. I see it as a good thing."

Flint blinked. "No one's ever told me that before. You're kind of a genius, so you must be right."

Volkner chuckled. "I'm not a genius."

"Yes you are. The other students talk about your inventions. Only geniuses can do that. Shining star, hello?"

And Volkner found he liked it when Flint called him that.

However, when both boys returned to Sunyshore City, they were stopped by the local police department. They claimed that Proprietor turned himself in due to a blonde boy and a boy with red hair stopping him. Both Flint and Volkner were relieved, because they didn't want to tell. The worst thing you could be in Sunyshore City was a rat. They said that the two boys had no business fighting him and to leave that to the grown-ups. Volkner knew the right thing to do was to stay quiet, nod, and hang his head in shame.

"Why? Because you pig fuckers couldn't stop him? Sorry that two thirteen-year-olds did your job for you, in fact, you should be thanking us. Volkner and I did a better job of cleaning up our city better than your entire station put together. How embarrassing."

But Flint did neither of those things and spat on an officer's shoe. Volkner cracked a grin.

Unfortunately, Flint's family was notified of the incident. So was Volkner's mother, but she was checked out mentally a long time ago. It was then Volkner met Flint's parents when he invited him over to his house. His parents shouted angrily at Flint that he could've been hurt, that he and his friend could've been killed, and that Flint was going to be so grounded. Flint's mother in particular was screaming at him with worry, leaving little to the imagination where Flint got his temper from. But Flint wasn't phased at all. In fact, he grinned at Volkner, as if to say that he could fix this. Volkner watched in utter fascination as Flint talked his way out of punishment, and said he was protecting Sunyshore from being in any serious danger. Flint's parents exchanged a look. Volkner was fascinated at how Flint was grounded for approximately one minute.

Then, Flint's mother smiled at Volkner. "Would you like to stay for dinner, sweetheart?"

A few hours ago Flint was threatening to castrate a criminal. Now he was playing peekaboo with his baby brother at the dinner table, though his baby brother didn't respond.

His parents were good people, that much was clear to Volkner. Sure, they're a bit temperamental, but Volkner could feel the love in the house that he hadn't gotten from his own. Flint's parents asked about Volkner's family, but when it became apparent that it was a sore spot they changed the direction of the conversation, asking questions about Volkner's inventions, that they heard so much about him from Flint that he wouldn't be quiet about it, and if he was planning on taking on the Sinnoh league challenge.

"Of course he's going to," piped up Flint. Volkner looked at him. "We already got our badges from Sunyshore. We should stop going to trainer's school for a bit, just so we can challenge all the gyms together."

Together?

"This is the first I'm hearing about this," said Volkner, frowning.

Flint grinned. "C'mon, with you by my side, I'm sure we can do it. We'll stop going to school when we turn fourteen to do it."

It amazed Volkner on how he could go from being annoyed by Flint to actually liking him as a friend.

But something strange happened as the pair started competing in their region's gym challenge when they turned fourteen.

When Volkner was sixteen, he started to realize that he paid more attention to Flint in a way that friends didn't normally do. At least that's what Volkner thought. Maybe Volkner wanted to hold his hand more, and Volkner was surprised that when he did get the balls to ask Flint to hold his hand, he was surprised when the redhead said yes. Maybe Volkner wanted to do more than hold hands with Flint, that he was tired and wanted to lean against him in one of the Pokemon centers when he was tired. Flint let him, and when he put an arm around Volkner's shoulders his heart skipped a beat.

"I can't get this invention to work," sighed Volkner, in the middle of Floaroma town.

Flint peered over at it. "Have you tried flipping the 'on' switch?"

Volkner flipped the switch. Then the invention accidentally nearly struck a wandering patrol squad with lightning. Then the pair was running from Floaroma's police department.

"Jeez Floaroma's pig fuckers are fucking jocks, not the damn Sunyshore cops that are fat and eat donuts all day," said Flint, as he hopped a fence alongside Volkner. It didn't help that Flint kept taunting the cops, "Oink, oink! try to catch me man! Oink, oink, motherfucker, I bet you can't!"

Volkner hadn't run so fast in his life, and he was running with Flint, and found he didn't mind this. The adrenaline. The rush. Being with Flint. This was far more crazy than those few times when they smoked cheap grass behind the Sunyshore gym and were practically asking to get caught or like that one time when they huffed glue (with terrible results, both vowed not to do that again) or those nights where they blew up the microwaves in various Pokemon centers out of boredom. Still, they managed to get away from the 'pig fuckers' as Flint so gracefully called them, and then they looked at each other.

Then burst into laughter.

"Flint, you're fucking crazy." And he didn't deny it. Volkner liked that.

It was only then they realized how close their faces were. Flint asked him if they could try something.

"I..." It was the first time Volkner had heard Flint be almost speechless. "...We don't have to, if you don't want to. I've just... never kissed anyone, boy or girl."

Volkner had said yes, and Flint gently caressed Volkner's jaw and captured his lips in a kiss. The blonde prided himself on thinking emotions were a waste of time, and was proud of his stoic nature and nothing phasing him anymore. But when Flint's lips touched his own, all of that went out the window. Volkner felt something. A tingle. A spark. Romance.

A week later, Flint asked Volkner to be his boyfriend.

Volkner said yes.

Two months after that, Flint and Volkner obtained all eight badges of the Sinnoh region. Both were planning on taking on the elite four, one of them planning on defeating the current drunk of a champion, until Flint's parents told him and Volkner to come home, that tragedy struck. It's the reason Volkner vowed he would never leave Sunyshore again.

Because his mother was found dead by her own hand.

Arceus bless Flint, because he was a gem, he really was, but Volkner really thought what he said he was five must've been true. That he was destined to try and kill himself because not only had his father killed himself, but his mother too, and despite Flint telling him not to talk like that, the thoughts were becoming harder to ignore. His mind was a whirlwind of chaos. Volkner locked himself away in his home for four whole months, with occasional visits from Flint trying to snap him out of it, but Volkner thought it was hopeless. Volkner had begged him, sobbed into his chest to just let him go, please, just let him get out. Only Flint knew what to 'let him get out' meant.

Flint refused and continued to hold him, murmuring sweet nothings.

One day, it became all too much for Volkner. He told Flint not to call him ever again, that he wasn't going to be on earth much longer, so just let him go, and hung up. Volkner went into the bathroom and grabbed a handful a pills trying desperately to ignore the dozens of missed calls from his boyfriend. Volkner was going to go, to be free.

He never made it further than that, because Flint kicked the locked bathroom door open. The redhead reacted instantly and swatted the pills out of his hand, and that Volkner needed to get help right now and go to the hospital. Flint's parents were the ones that escorted him into the psychiatric wing.

Volkner's time spent at Sunyshore's psychiatric wing was nothing like he had ever experienced in his damn life, and he had experienced a lot. Most of the occupants were older, bigger, and kept screaming. Volkner would rather die than admit this to anyone in his life, but he spent the past seventy-two hours in pure terror. Even the air felt thick and suffocating. The walls seemed to close in around him. Volkner walked out of the psychiatric wing with nightmares and a prescription bottle for antidepressants.

Flint held Volkner that night, pressing his boyfriend's face into the crook of his neck, lightly swaying him back and forth. He kept saying how sorry he was for putting Volkner through that, and that he shouldn't have pushed him so far, and: "You won't have to go back there ever again, I promise."

And Volkner believed him. Flint had never lied to him before, so what would make this any different? He was always there, even during the very bad days. Those days where Volkner would cry and wonder aloud to his boyfriend why he hadn't left, that he should break up with him, that he was good for nothing so he should go. And Flint would tell him all the things he loved about him. He'd whisper into his hair about how he was his shining star, the golden boy of Sunyshore. He loved the way his smile reached his eyes, the sound of his laughter, the electric tingle he felt when their lips touched, the brilliance of his mind, but his heart even more. He was Volkner, he was perfect. Nothing Volkner could do to drive him away, so he should stop trying.

But it was Flint's parents that told Volkner to channel his energy, his pent up anger, into something positive. Which was to help Sunyshore in any way he could. And Flint was with Volkner every step of the way. Volkner took up a position as one of the gym trainers in Sunyshore's gym. It turned out Flint was very correct when he said those years ago that the gym leader needed to lay off the blow, but Volkner looked the other way.

When Volkner and Flint were nineteen and still going strong as a couple, there was a new restaurant that was opening up in the city. Flint and Volkner decided to check it out, and it came as a shock when they saw it was the Proprietor that was the owner. Not to Volkner, the gym leader mentioned the Proprietor would be released from the penitentiary on account of confessing his crimes and good behavior, but Volkner never got around to telling Flint that.

That's why Flint charged toward the Proprietor and slammed him into a wall, putting an arm up to his neck.

"Flint!" Volkner called out.

"What are you up to?" snapped Flint. He was much bigger now, bigger than the small man who's eyes were wide with fright. "If I find out you're running some underground meth lab, or something else sinister since poaching Pokemon wasn't making enough money for you, then I'll really serve your balls in a pie. Volkner still has his pocket knife."

"Flint," Volkner snapped. "He's clean, let go of him."

"What?" Volkner explained to Flint what was going on. Flint slowly removed his arm from the Proprietor, but kept his eyes on him. "Dude, if you try anything-"

"I won't, I won't!"

"-then I'll bash your head with a fucking toaster. I will stick your head in the goddamn oven-"

"Flint, shut up," Volkner hissed.

The Proprietor looked at Volkner. "I only have one thing to ask of you. And I spoke about this with the mayor and the gym leader. I do need a favor." Flint threw his hands up in exasperation. "I need to hire more help."

Volkner's eyebrows went up. "That's it? Well, I know where to go for that. Flint, c'mon." Volkner walked out of the restaurant with Flint following behind him, making his way toward the alleyways where the teenagers that were regarded as hoodlums resided, kicking a tin can. "Yo!"

Four of them stared at the pair, wide-eyed, no doubt from learning who the pair was.

"We're not doing anything, we swear-"

"Do you want a job?" Flint glanced over at his boyfriend in shock. The hoodlums, however, looked confused. "Instead of spending your worthless little lives living on the brink of starvation and planning your next robbery that will no doubt fail, here's an opportunity to earn an honest living."

"Volkner what are you-"

"Cleaning up the neighborhood," said Volkner. He turned to the hoodlums. "Well?"

The hoodlums took the opportunity. Sunyshorians were baffled at how it was Volkner, the gym trainer of Sunyshore, that was doing more for the city than the actual gym leader. Flint of course was a help, as he knew how to talk to the Sunyshorians on account of speaking fluent hoodlum, but people began to talk. Oh no, not about their relationship as a gay couple, no one cared about that. They began to talk about the possibility of Volkner running for mayor, for him to get a role in politics, and with that he would have a lot more power. The citizens would vote for him in a heartbeat, as many of them were sure to tell him.

Volkner's response? Well...

"Fuck no. I hate politics. I'm not Drayden Mcleoud. Not a chance."

And then he would usually light up a cigarette. It wasn't the best habit, not at all, but turning Sunyshore from a shithole to a thriving city was a stressful task. Flint picked up the bad habit from Volkner as well.

But Volkner noticed that there was a lot of change happening in Sinnoh over the next year. A lot of good, a few being bad. The bad was that the gym leader was going a bit rogue, likely due to the crack he couldn't resist, as that was an issue in Sunyshore that Volkner couldn't fight no matter how hard he tried. But the good was that Sinnoh was rising in the LNS. They had a woman from their region, a woman from Celestic Town by the name of Cynthia, that had defeated the Kalos league, the Hoenn league, and the Unova league. It wouldn't be long until Cynthia was the champion of the Sinnoh region, like Volkner had predicted.

On that night Cynthia Shirona became the champion, her face was shown outside the Jublife TV station on a wide digital screen. If you went there during that time, you would see a crowd of women. The age didn't matter. Women that had been trainers before the new champion was born smiled softly. Little girls as young as four were doing cartwheels in the streets cheering excitedly. This went on well into the night even when the children should've been asleep, because this was a win not only for Sinnoh, but for women.

Cynthia didn't know exactly what to expect regarding her duties. The past two weeks have been a "honeymoon period" of some sort, with the media raving over that Sinnoh was the home of the first female champion. Lucian's psychic agents from the CPC reported findings that some people worried that she might be Ivan Cannibal as a woman, that her getting in a position of power of Sinnoh's champion would be very, very bad.

What.

Just because she was a powerful trainer like Ivan Cannibal alleged to be, didn't mean that she was going to be like him. Bertha told her that she was the best thing to come out of Sinnoh in decades, but Cynthia didn't really believe her. Cynthia wouldn't stand for the comparisons, she's read the history books. She was well aware of the atrocities committed by the Indigo league to the Sinnoh motherland, but more often than not people in Sinnoh had the tendency to gloss over what Ivan Cannibal was like in favor of that. She agreed that what Indigo did was awful, but Ivan Cannibal made even the nastiest criminals of present day look like puppy dogs. A paranoid madman who didn't care for the traditions and love for the Sinnohnian culture. Just power. No love for Sinnoh, hurting his people during the war, with an iron fist without mercy.

At least some people said that she would definitely do a better job than Spyro did. Cynthia thought the damn bar was at the earth's core. Still, she was new. It's why she was happy to have Bertha and Lucian kind of get her introduced to how the Sinnoh league ran. It was pleasant.

Then the Arceus-damned Sunyshore City gym leader had been arrested due to possession of crack, and that's when Cynthia knew the honeymoon period was over.

"It's always Sunyshore," Bertha tried to tell her. "It's always, always Sunyshore."

But now they had to go to the Sunyshore gym, to find an adequate replacement. Ferro had gone on and on about the Sunyshore duo that defeated the now rehabilitated Proprietor, not really surprising since Ferro was originally from there. Flint Brinton and Volkner Tourney, Cynthia learned. They also had been held in high regards by the other gym leaders due to them obtaining all eight badges of Sinnoh in their teens, and had yet to challenge the elite four. Volkner was a gym trainer who seemed to be doing a good job on cleaning up the disastrous city, with Flint by his side, but Cynthia wondered why Volkner hadn't said anything to the league about the gym leader's drug use.

...Cynthia knew why. Sunyshorians didn't snitch.

But Volkner did a lot for the city. There was talk of him becoming a mayor. Volkner rejected the position, and Cynthia hadn't a clue as to why. But the Sunyshore gym leader was no longer employed, so Cynthia figured that Volkner would move up to take his spot. That's where Cynthia and the elites found Volkner, in the currently closed Sunyshore gym with Flint by his side, talking and laughing about something. The two twenty-year-olds looked up to see they were in the presence of esteemed league members.

"Oh shit!" exclaimed Flint, pointing at Bertha. "Bertha Morello, as I live and breathe!" Bertha appeared amused. "Stopper of the poisonous Viper! I have so many questions-"

"Ignore him," cut in Volkner. "Before you ask, he's not on any drugs like the gym leader was, he doesn't need them to be wired."

Flint was ready to protest. "I'm technically on Ritalin."

"...That you evidently forgot to take this morning," sighed Volkner.

"Shit, you're right. Oops."

Cynthia crossed her arms. "You seemed to have known about Frank's drug use, Volkner."

"Never saw him using it," shrugged Volkner. "So why are you here?"

"I've heard about you. Only recently, so you have to forgive me. How come you rejected the people's recommendation for you to become mayor?" Cynthia wanted to know.

Volkner shrugged again. "I don't do politics. My passion lies with Pokemon battles and inventions. I understand why they would elect me though, because I truly am the face of what Sunyshore citizens represent - a mentally ill man who smokes too many cigarettes that is trying his best. All I need is some crack and I'll be good to go." Lucian hid his amusement with a snort. Bertha had to lightly slap his arm to get him to stop. He checked himself.

But Cynthia had a goal here. "I hope that's not the case, because we need a replacement for Sunyshore's gym. And well, that's you."

Flint put an arm around Volkner's shoulders and grinned. "That's him! That's your guy! He's the strongest trainer in Sunyshore and probably in all of Sinnoh, them other gym leaders you had didn't stand a chance, no offense. I mean, I was able to take them down too, but Volkner is perfect gym leader material."

Volkner raised a brow. "But it sounds like a lot of work."

"But you like Pokemon battles like you said!"

"Yeah, but... more work. Paperwork. Stuff I don't care about."

"Volk... don't be stupid." Cynthia eyed the redhead. The way he was looking at Volkner made the champion suspect that their relationship went far deeper than friendship, but Cynthia wasn't one to assume things. "Volkner, please, please don't be stupid." He turned to the others. "He isn't this stupid, he'll do it."

"Maybe I won't."

"You will."

"...You like inventions, correct? Technology?" Bertha asked, finally speaking. The others turned to her. "If you become a gym leader, you have complete artistic control. You can innovate your gym however you like. I'm sure Frank's ideal setting of a gym is boring for you."

Volkner's face lit up. "Really?"

"Mhm. Complete control of how your gym operates."

"...I didn't know I'd be allowed to do that," admitted Volkner. "Then yeah, I'll be your guy."

"Aw man, I knew Bertha was the best!" Flint exclaimed, rushing over to hug the older woman. Bertha blinked rapidly, but returned the hug awkwardly. This time, Lucian didn't bother hiding his total amusement while Bertha glared at the psychic. Cynthia had the feeling that the redhead would be the one to watch. If Flint was just as strong as Volkner, then Cynthia figured that after this Flint would try to challenge the Pokemon league and try to take her position. It turned out, Cynthia was wrong about that. Not about him being the one to watch, she was correct in keeping Flint under her radar, but not for the reasons she ought.

Flint let go of Bertha and beamed. "You know how to talk to people. When I was kicking the Proprietor's ass back when I was thirteen, I thought of you. That you'd be proud."

This time, Bertha allowed a small smile. "Thank you, dear. You would be correct."

Volkner went home, with his boyfriend, with his new set of keys to the Sunyshore gym, wondering how so much could happen in eight years. How meeting Flint just so happened to be the best thing that could've ever happened to him, and how he was there through thick and thin. And now, for the next three years, Volkner would fare without him. Because Flint wanted to travel outside of Sinnoh, to take on the LNS, and to travel in harsh conditions to strengthen his stamina as well as his Pokemon's stamina.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Flint asked for the fifth time on his last day in Sunyshore. Like the last four times, Volkner nodded, because he would be. He leaned his forehead against Flint's. They stayed like that for a few minutes, not needing to speak. Actions spoke louder than words. Which was why Volkner brought Flint's lips in a kiss. Sparks flew.

They let go. Volkner almost wanted to take it back, just so they could continue kissing. Their foreheads remained touching each other's.

"I'm in love with you, you know that?" Flint whispered. "Just let me know if-"

"You said you're in love with me," said Volkner. Flint quirked a brow. "It's... you've never said you're in love with me before. I'm in love with you too."

Silence plagued the area.

"...Volkner, don't make this gay."

"We're gay."

"I know but I'm not that gay." Volkner rolled his eyes fondly. Flint smiled and released him from Volkner's hold. "Do me a favor, while I'm gone. Be a kick ass a gym leader." Flint needn't worry. Volkner would build his reputation, in the meantime while Flint was away. His reputation for being known as Sinnoh's toughest gym leader.

Chapter Text

Chapter 38- Skyla

Swanna watched her trainer closely as she set up the plane. The trainer she had since the girl was eight. Technically, she shouldn't have. Most trainers get their first Pokemon and go on a journey at the age of fourteen in the Unova region. But Swanna's trainer, in particular, was the granddaughter of a gym leader. When you're a granddaughter of a gym leader, you had the tendency to skirt around the rules of the land, like those dragon-tamers did in Opelucid. Their academy rivaled most of the trainer's schools all over the world, and were probably better.

Swanna roughly flapped her wings in displeasure at the girl's endless chatter. She loved her trainer, truly she did, but she knew that her trainer had her own faults. No matter how many times Swanna cried out that using her plane at this time of night was a bad idea, she ignored her Pokemon, just saying how legendary it would be. Winona Arini had flown her first plane as a teenager in the daytime, and her trainer was going to do it at night. Her reckless, adorkable, trainer. Why did Swanna even bother?

"Swanna, what's the big deal?" the redheaded trainer giggled. "You'll be right beside me. Just like Winona did with her Altaria. She did that and took on the Hoenn league. She got eight badges before she became a gym leader you know, and was alleged to be an elite level trainer."

Swanna rolled her eyes and flapped her wings again. Please, just... please stop talking.

"Well, we may have gotten eight badges, but I can hold my own against Clay, Drayden, and Brycen's personal teams that trainers from the outer regions have to face, not just the badge level. And I even defeated Lenora's personal team before! I'm not sure if Winona could do that, as much as I idolize her."

Swanna would very much prefer if her trainer's girlfriend's Zebstrika had used thunderbolt on her than having to listen to this terrible, no-good, awful plan. Oh speaking of Zebstrika, Swanna remembered that their trainers had to battle sometime this week. The supermodel had won the last time (barely, Swanna thought bitterly) but Swanna had gotten better. Type advantage be damned.

At least that was a plus whenever their trainers got together, that they'd battle every now and then. Swanna didn't see all the fuss about the girl, despite her trainer getting all gooey eyed around her. Since they had become a couple, her trainer was easily distracted. How could she expect to be a gym leader like this? Swanna didn't know much, but she had grown up in the gym to be aware of how things ran, and her trainer being too scatterbrained that she was going to lose such a good opportunity.

As aloof as her trainer was, it was an opportunity she deserved. They worked so hard together for years. Oh, and that they owed a battle with that painter from Nacrene. Her trainer kept chatting. What Swanna would give to peck Leavanny again until he passed out. She's normally not this aggressive, but the chatting was grating on her nerves.

"But now that I'm sure to get a gym leader spot and take over from grandpa, had defeated a gym leader's personal team, can hold my own against veteran gym leaders, there's only one thing to do." The girl smiled. "Fly my own plane, at this time. To establish myself in the aviating community and become a legend among legends!"

Unfortunately, there was no stopping her trainer once she put her mind to something. Something Swanna loved about the girl, as well as gotten annoyed with. Now for instance.

This was going to go so, so wrong.

"Well then," Drayden said in the bar, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray watching the world region news regarding the newest gym leader in Sunyshore City. "That's that."

Alder tilted his head to the side. He had the feeling the new generation of trainers in Sinnoh were going to be young. Very young. Likely the ones that were the kiddies in their underground program. Should go well. Old gym leaders and elites were out of style. Young, beautiful, daring trainers were all the rage, along with the publicity and how media focused they were. 

It wasn't like that at all in Unova. Sitting in the bar with his usual companions in the WLQ, who were seasoned veteran league members in comparison, Alder realized this. There were also others, like the legendary Miles Morrison of the Mistralton, who had also been in Unova for quite some time as the flying-type gym leader and was expected to retire this year. Alder was scared to see him go, but at the same time, Alder supposed they could use younger blood. Miles claimed that he was passing down everything he knew to a young girl whom Miles said had great promise to be a successor to her gym, which happened to be his granddaughter.

Speak of the devil, Miles slid onto a bar stool and greeted the group, his voice tinged with cheekiness, "If it isn't the alcoholics of the league, I salute you. All jokes, of course."

Many a truths is said in jest. "Miles, how are you?" Clay greeted, with a mock salute and grin. He motioned for the bartender to get the gym leader a drink. "That's on me."

"Spoken like a gentleman," said Miles, who let out an exhale after taking a sip. "What I really need is a cigarette." Alder, Drayden, Brycen, and Clay reached into their pockets at the same time. "...I meant that as a joke, but thank you." He took the cigarette from the first hand he saw, which was Clay's, who lit it with Brycen's lighter. He released smoke.

"What's got you so stressed?" asked Alder.

Miles tapped his fingers on the table with his free hand. "Why is it," he began stealthily, "...that none of my gym trainers give a single damn about battling? Even my granddaughter is far more interested in aviating or gushing over that Nimbasa model!"

Things were changing in the world, and not just in the Unova region and it didn't always concern Pokemon battles or the LNS alike. Technology was getting better, and with that social media was on the rise. More youngsters in the leagues were uploading their status or photos or whatever it was that they did. It wasn't at all like Lorelei Isbert's VHS tapes that you had to buy. A simple click on a recording device would send a video to your followers. What was regarded as entertainment was vastly different. Nobody gave much of a damn about contest coordinators, wrestling stars, or movie stars anymore. Modeling had taken over as the leading figure in the entertainment industry. 

Oh, and piloting. At least in the Unova region that was the case. Alder suspected Winona Arini from the Hoenn region played a role in that. When the young girl wasn't battling, she was flying. She gave lectures on the art of it, and had stopped by the Unova region once or twice to speak. Miles was usually happy to have her. Miles, too, was an avid aviator - a legendary one, at that - but apparently that excitement had diminished once Miles realized that it was causing more harm than good to his gym trainers.

"Does the girl know she's a contender?" Brycen pressed.

"She does, and she'll accept it when the time comes. She's great. You know, you've seen her battle, so there's no bias there."

"Then what's the issue?"

Miles tapped the cigarette lightly on Drayden's ashtray. He took another puff. "I'm worried that when the time does come, she won't be as interested anymore. She'll look at me and say..."

Miles scrunched up his face and did a poor impression of his granddaughter. 'Oh grandpa, I changed my mind! Fuck your cargo business, I wanna fly planes and hangout with my totally rad girlfriend who's the hottest supermodel in Unova, teehee!' Gag."

"Gag because she's gay or because she wants to be an aviator full-time?"

"Gag because she might change her mind about being a gym leader, I couldn't give less of a damn about her being a lesbian, Alder."

Clay slammed down his shot of bourbon. "Y'know, men have always had men, and women have always had women. Back in my day, there were guys and some of the girls in the mines where... you knew were... y'know, people didn't talk about it. You just knew. Nobody cares now. People are open. It's strange to see, but hey, some people like vanilla, some people like strawberry, 'n you know, Lenora says there are other flavors, like rocky road, 'n mint, 'n cherry and... Hey Alder, doesn't Shauntal not like any ice cream?"

Alder rolled his eyes. "You're drunk, Clay."

"'m just saying! I think it's great! And now I want ice-cream. Not the metaphor. I mean... actual ice-cream."

"Ignore Clay, Miles. He's had a couple."

Miles glanced over at the ground-type specialist. "More than a couple it seems."

"...No, we've only been here thirty minutes. Just a couple. He's always had low alcohol tolerance despite his fat ass-"

"Hey-"

"Anyway my point is," Miles went on, cutting into what would probably be another drunken Clay rant, "...is that I'm worried that my girl won't be up to the task of gym leader, not because she won't be a good enough battler, but that she won't be interested enough in it. Now you lot may not care about us being third place in the LNS, but I do! And if we have gym leaders and elites who don't care about battling, then we'll get outshined by Hoenn at this rate. Bloody fucking Hoenn-"

Drayden snorted. "They're too busy having two champions. Who is it right now? Steven?"

"Wallace."

"Ah."

"Now there's a queen if I ever saw one," Clay lazily remarked. Alder rolled his eyes again and took a sip of his drink. Brycen ordered another shot after that. Miles was likely still in his thoughts about the dilemma with his granddaughter.

Drayden raised a brow. "We don't say that anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, You and your Arceus damned political correctness..."

Miles's C-Gear began to chime, yet another device invented due to the advancements of technology. Every single Unovian gym leader and elite had one as a way to get into touch with one another. Such was the case when Lenora, for some reason, was shown on the Caller ID. Miles put the cigarette out and answered. "You've reached Miles."

Silence.

Miles slammed his hand on the table. "Skyla did what?"

Skyla Morrison had quite the surname to live up to.

Her grandfather was a legendary pilot. Miles Morrison was a household name in the Unova region, and it wasn't just because he was a pilot. He held the title as Mistralton's flying-type gym leader like Skyla's great grandfather had. Skyla's parents had no interest in Pokemon battles, nor did they care about the art of flight, but Skyla thanked the gods that she had inherited her grandfather's love for battles and flying planes. Because really she felt she couldn't do anything else.

...Not so much battling, as opposed to flying. That's what Skyla had in common with Winona Arini, another legend in the aviating community. When Skyla was sixteen-years-old, she even got to meet the gym leader of Fortree City. Skyla still had her autograph taped to her bedroom wall, and she almost didn't want to wash the hand that Winona shook. But after Skyla's parents started to complain that she would eventually start to smell, Skyla grumbled and relented into her parents' demands.

But now at eighteen, Skyla wasn't phased by most celebrities within the league or outside of it anymore. For example, there's that Burgh fellow who's a few years older than her that's rising in recognition due to his artistry. She met the effeminate man a few months ago at one of his parties that her girlfriend invited her to. It was only for a few minutes, because someone told Burgh that his boyfriend was completely strung out and he had to help him. There was Brycen, a movie star but managed to hold her own against his ice-types a week ago, even if she lost. She was familiar with Alder, having met him due to her grandfather. The Unova gym leaders and elites knew Skyla on a first name basis.

And then there was Elesa. She was Unova's hottest supermodel right now - both in looks and in what's trendy. Not many people knew this about the pair, but Skyla and Elesa went way back. They were best friends ever since they were five. Though Skyla and Elesa had been best friends for over a decade, they didn't start dating until recently. So people knew who Skyla was by the mere association of Elesa, and people knew they were dating, much to the grief of the horny adolescent boys that wouldn't have had a chance with the model anyway.

"Oh no..." groaned Skyla, facepalming when saw the state of the trees in Nacrene. "Oh no..."

But right now none of that mattered, because Skyla Morrison was so totally fucked.

"Oh Swanna," sighed Skyla to her companion, the flying-type stared back, wide-eyed. "We're so screwed."

Swanna gave her a look that said, We? As if Swanna hadn't warned her several times.

"I know, I know. Just... try to make me feel better and say we're in trouble together?"

Swanna scowled and flapped her wings like she usually did when she was disgruntled. Skyla refused to be judged by a bird.

But Skyla didn't mean to do what she did. She was just testing out her plane. A piece of shit that's old as time, but it was hers. Unfortunately that plane in particular had an awful habit of using too much gas. She could comfort herself knowing that Winona Arini had made a similar mistake. The rumor was that when Winona was younger she had miscalculated how much gas was in her plane and had to land in Sootopolis City. Skyla's plane's gas dropped completely out of nowhere, and the plane had a rough landing into one of the trees in Nacrene City, not too far from its gym. It was by some Arceus damned miracle that nothing was on fire. At least that's what Lenora Fentisette told her.

Skyla also was instructed by her grandfather to not fly at night. Though there were trainers that guarded the skies with a Braviary usually, to make sure the trainers were flying safely while also containing wild flying-Pokemon, there were far less sky trainers during that time. It was something that her grandfather had been trying to push for to prevent accidents. Something that Skyla knew her grandfather was going to have no problem getting through after what she just did.

It was dark out, on that Saturday night, when Skyla decided to disobey her grandfather since he was going to go out to the bar the Whiskey League Quad went to, just for kicks. Probably to talk about how Skyla was too reckless, too madly in love with her supermodel girlfriend, and not as interested in Pokemon battles like her grandfather was. Okay, so maybe Skyla had proven her grandfather's point tonight, but Skyla believed that life was short.

And that's when Lenora told her that it was possible that after what she did, her life could've been shorter. If Skyla was lucky, then her life wouldn't be cut short by her parents. Or worse, by her grandfather's wrath - which Skyla was sure she was going to face.

"Skyla!"

Case and point.

Her grandfather showed up, along with her parents, and now cameras were storming the area. Paparazzi, which lead Skyla to believe that - oh yes, her girlfriend Elesa was here as well. Elesa was unfazed by the attention by now, and took out her Pokeball containing her Zebstrika. She threw it, and Zebstrika let out a mighty neigh as a threat. The paparazzi fled immediately after that. Elesa liked electric-types, mostly because to the untrained photographers due to believing that electric-types would electrocute you on a whim, that in a blink of an eye they could electrocute you and your family to death. Well, Skyla knew firsthand that Elesa's Zebstrika would never hurt anyone. Elesa's father had a lot of experience in working in electric-type Pokemon, as well.

But Elesa used the paparazzi's fears against them. Something Skyla loved about her girlfriend. Beautiful, dazzling, charismatic and all that, but clever too.

"Skyla dear, you had me worried sick!" Elesa exclaimed, embracing her lover. "What on earth were you thinking?" And unfortunately for Skyla, a lot of times she didn't think. Lived in the moment. Living in the moment which could've caused a later death. As Lenora had continued to say to her.

"She wasn't," snapped Miles. "Not at all."

And everyone knew that Skyla didn't think. Including, no, especially her grandfather.

...I wasn't," Skyla quietly agreed, avoiding her grandfather's eyes.

"Yes, that's right you weren't. How the hell am I expected to trust you with a gym, if you-"

"I can handle it just fine!"

"Do not interrupt me!"

"You just said you can't trust me with your gym!"

"After tonight, I have good reason-"

"She's brilliant," Elesa defended. "Maybe not with planes, but with battles, better than you, and you know it-"

"Arceus, she could've destroyed my city!" cut in Lenora.

"I. Didn't. Mean. To," Skyla articulated in anger.

Miles rolled his eyes. "Oh you didn't mean to. Of course not. Never your fault, never taking responsibility-"

"When did I ever deny-"

"Everyone be quiet," came a new voice, belonging to Alder, accompanied by Drayden, Clay, and Brycen. Skyla winced; it was a Saturday night. She definitely interrupted their little bar session. Arceus dammit, as if this night couldn't get any worse.

Brycen looked at the destroyed trees with mild interest. "Hmph. Nice going, Skyla."

"Brycen," warned Alder. The champion turned to Skyla. "Explain yourself. Now."

Skyla explained everything, from start to finish. She started by saying she wanted to challenge herself to fly at night. She finished by saying how sorry she was, especially to Lenora, and she hoped that this wouldn't blow her chances of becoming the next gym leader of Mistralton, knowing fully well that after this her chances were probably shot.

Lenora's eyes softened. "It's alright honey, just be more careful next time." Lenora, Arceus bless her, had a good heart. Skyla knew that the older woman couldn't stay mad for long. Oh sure, she was mad in the moment, but Skyla knew that Lenora didn't have it in her to hold her grudge. That's just how Lenora was.

"We're just thankful you're alive sweetheart," said her mother, and her father nodded in agreement. Clay just grumbled that he wanted to go back to the bar after this, until a look from Alder shut him up. Drayden, who looked like he was going to say something, decided not to after Alder went after Clay. Wise decision on the dragon tamer's end.

"No one's harmed, correct?" asked Alder, to everyone. "Well, I'm guessing that we can put this matter behind us-"

"So we're all just going to forget about this incident?" Miles scoffed, crossing his arms. "My granddaughter just-"

Alder held a hand up. "No one has been harmed. Skyla is fine, the civilians are fine, which is what matters. The elite four and I evaluate Skyla to see if she's capable of running a gym based on her gym trainer records, and..." He cast a glance in Skyla's direction. "This... incident will be in mind."

Here's the thing. Skyla did want to be a gym leader. Her grandfather claimed she had little to no interest in the role, taking after the dazzling Winona Arini who had more interest in flying rather than battles, however gotten the job after Celandine had gotten injured. But Skyla did want it. She liked battling. Not as much as flying, but she could've done both - like her idol Winona. The idea that Skyla would be unable to fly and not get the gym leader position crushed her. She would lose the two things she wanted to win.

Skyla suspected that she wouldn't be able to fly for a while. But the gym leader position was still up for grabs.

Two weeks later, Alder requested his elites and Miles to be present for an early meeting before challengers could arrive. Marshal was the first to show up, because he held the philosophy that being early was being on-time, something Alder loved about the fighting-specialist. The champion knew he wouldn't have to worry about tardiness regarding Marshal. If he were ever late, Alder suspected Marshal would punish himself by doing two thousand push-ups, or something else of the sort.

Shauntal was next, notebook in hand, likely to write about either two things: a novel that was purely fictional, or one of her essays about ghosts in Pokemon battles. Alder learned that the woman seemed to write like it was going out of style, rivaling that of Agatha's research papers over the years on battling. Alder realized that if Shauntal wrote more about battling, it was guaranteed that one of them would work and help Unova rise to having a better reputation in Pokemon battles.

The Unova region had some plans in the motions to maybe get more of an edge. Unlike the other regions, the Unova region was one of those regions that would absolutely forbid trainers under the age of fourteen from going on a Pokemon journey of their own. Other regions trainers had the option to have children as young as ten go on their journey as long as they left school for the purpose of challenging their region's league. Which was why it didn't come as a shock that most of these children under fourteen didn't even get a single badge. That's when most kids would go back to school. Or, if they're lucky, get an apprenticeship under a gym leader.

While those students were in school if they couldn't get an apprenticeship, they would go to Kanto's Nugget Bridge or Sinnoh's underground. Some in Johto wanted to join their Armed Forces, having the highest rate of military enlistment of all the regions to get out of going to school. It was another option. Hoenn didn't care much about battling or fighting whatsoever, but they did learn how to swim. It's no surprise that Hoenn had the highest rate of water-type specialists.

In Unova, trainers could work with Pokemon in their trainer's school, or under the supervision of their families, like the dragon-tamers in Opelucid City did, but education came first. The best scientists, researchers, and educators came from that region, and the Unova region wanted to prepare students to make the decision to either continue schooling or go on a journey. The choice was ultimately up to them. Some would stay in school and go into a higher field to maybe contribute to research on how to hone their battling skills or something else, or some would take the chance to go on a Pokemon journey.

Miles showed up five minutes later, looking disgruntled and nervous at the same time. He also reeked of cigarettes, which, was a testament to how anxious the man was. Miles was never known for excessively smoking unless he was distressed. Alder knew this because he himself was the same way. Though he didn't know where the man stood on allowing Skyla as the new gym leader, there would be no question that the man would make his case for allowing more sky trainers scattered across the region. Alder would look over some promising candidates with him, naturally as he specialized in flying-types, and move forward from there.

Then there was Cecelia, gracious and wonderful as ever, smiling at her colleagues as she took her seat. "Oh so it's today, is it? The evaluation of Skyla Morrison." Miles looked as though he wanted to reach for another cigarette. "May I complain before we start? Sabrina Harlow has been talking about the LNS, about psychics in it, that they were only permitted to be elites as long as they're in the third or fourth slot. She wants to see if we could vote to bend the rule. Get Unovians on her side."

"I have no problem with it," said Alder. "I'm sure Shauntal and Marshal don't." They nodded to confirm. "However..." The person that would have a problem with it had just entered the room. Holland - for that was who it was - arrived last, giving a grunt as what he thought was an appropriate greeting.

"What's going on?" Holland asked. Cecelia looked at her hands. The dark-type specialist looked at Alder. "You said this meeting was about Skyla Harrison. Something tells me-"

"Psychics want equal footing in the leagues," cut in Alder. "Let them be in any slot they'd like."

At once, Holland rolled his eyes. "Absolutely not. Not a chance in hell. First we get a psychic gym leader who destroyed a gym. Then we get a psychic elite who is a complete snob. What's next? Two psychic gym leaders working together as one? Tell me, where does this end? Psychics as elites have the upper-hand, cheaters they are, especially that rotten glow-eyed bastard from Sinnoh."

The usage of the psychic slur did not go unnoticed by the other league members. Holland's family was among one of many dark-type specialist families that held animosity towards psychics. Some people didn't grow out of their prejudices like one Sidney Liston did. Usually a comment like that could be grounds for termination, at least in Unova, but Holland had been an elite for such a long time there was no way Unovians would force him out of his seat. Alder looked the other way.

"You're always so angry," said Marshal. "Psychics want equal footing. That's a fair enough thing to ask for. There's only two in the history of the LNS."

"Oh yes, I'm well aware of the two the LNS has. If psychics want to be represented well, maybe they shouldn't have hired a girl who destroyed a gym and a man who went on a poetic litany-of-terror in Johto, but that's just me."

"Hey, I like Lucian. He's pleasant," argued Shauntal.

"Sociopaths are very good at imitating positive emotions, and you're falling for it."

"Lucian's not a sociopath-"

"Back to why we're actually here," Alder redirected the group. The psychic-dilemma could be discussed another time. He turned to Miles. "Your granddaughter's abilities."

"She's... more than capable of handling the gym," Miles admitted. "I'm not concerned with her in battle. You know that's not the issue. Her Swanna is a monster. But she's aloof. Gym leaders play a role in how their cities operate, alongside their mayor. Well, with the exception of Drayden Mcleoud who does both. How will Skyla handle that responsibility?"

"The mayor reports she's reasonable to get along with," said Alder.

"Yes... but the citizens and my other gym trainers," sighed Miles. "They don't like her."

Now that was true. Alder knew there were other incidents regarding Skyla Morrison other than the one in Nacrene. In Mistralton, Skyla was notorious for riling up her fellow gym trainers after beating them in battle several times, and when they talked back to her, she would play pranks - totally harmless, but humiliating nonetheless. It was an obvious sign of immaturity from the eighteen-year-old.

But that was the thing. Skyla was eighteen and she was still learning in the world. She would grow out of it. Plus, Alder was taking note from the other regions and their recent hiring process. No longer were they hiring those above the age of twenty-three, it seemed - the gym leaders were getting younger. It was likely because the young were easier to mold, easier to control was more like it. Start them young, so they could grow into the position. Alder could see Skyla doing that with a steady support system.

"The gym leader position would force Skyla to grow up," Alder told him. "Don't you think? It's a big responsibility. If Sabrina Harlow could get a gym at thirteen-" Out of the corner of Alder's eyes, he saw Holland rolling his own. "-then Skyla could get one at eighteen."

"...after she destroyed the fighting-type gym."

"Holland," warned Alder. The dark-type specialist quieted. "This is about Skyla. Arceus, Holland, get off that high-horse of yours. Take a lesson from Sidney Liston." Holland would mutter swears about that dark-type elite, dubbed as a 'psychic sympathizer.' Part of Alder couldn't wait to replace Holland, even if he was good at battling. Much better than the rest of the elites were, as much as it pained him so. Alder needed a drink already, and it was only six AM.

"She can hold her own against Brycen," pressed Shauntal. "Clay, too. And Lenora. That's got to count for something. Lenora speaks kindly of her."

"Lenora speaks kindly about everyone," said Cecelia. "But you do have a point."

Shauntal blinked. "And what's that, Cece?" Alder resisted the urge to smile at the nickname. The two elites had gotten close, with Cecelia taking Shauntal under her wing, seeing the ghost-type elite like a younger sister or perhaps a daughter. That was Cecelia, always one to warm up to those that needed it.

"The citizens of Mistralton may not like Skyla," Cecelia started off, "But the league is fond of her. Word gets around quickly. It will take a while for Mistralton to get used to the girl, but if the league likes her, it will sway their opinion. Even Brycen, who normally doesn't like anyone except people within Alder's little group, thinks she's worth the time."

"And you know this how?"

"I frequently have tea with gym leaders, I've always been sociable, Alder, you know this." That was also true. Cecelia excelled at picking up information, which was another reason why she made such a good elite. It wasn't just about the battling. Doing it in such subtle ways that the other person wouldn't even notice. "They like her."

Miles slammed his hand down on the table. "She needs time," he pressed. "If she's going to take over my position, I need to drill her more. Teach her responsibility. I want another year, another year until she can take over. If what happened two weeks ago hadn't happened, I would've gladly handed over the position this year."

Alder let out a sigh. "So we've come to a consensus, then? Even if that means delaying your cargo business?"

Brief silence followed.

"Skyla, you need to sit. You're making me dizzy watching you pace back and forth."

Skyla loved her girlfriend, loved her with all she had, but she refused to listen to Elesa. Today was judgement day, as Skyla bitterly called it. Apprehensively called it was what would be most accurate thing to say. So no, Skyla couldn't just listen to Elesa to sit down and relax in her own living room. You're pacing too much sweetie. You're too nervous about such a thing lovebug. Downing a shot to calm your nerves early in the morning wasn't going to be any help darling. Elesa was right about the last part because holy shit the Unova league had to decide if she was capable of running a gym, and if two weeks ago didn't happen they wouldn't be having this meeting in the first place.

"Swan," Swanna cried quietly, worriedly, because as old-fashioned as the bird was, Skyla knew that the swan Pokemon looked after her. Damn it, she should've listened.

And now she was tipsy because her alcohol tolerance had always been shit and she's worrying even more.

"They're deciding on me today," emphasized Skyla. "Oh is reckless, stupid little Skyla capable of being a gym leader?"

"Well, you are taking after them in having something to drink."

This time, did Skyla pause in her steps to glare at Elesa. "This isn't the time for jokes, Elesa." The model blinked, then she draped her arms around Skyla's neck and brought her for a chaste kiss. Skyla stared at her, then grinned. "You should've done that in the first place."

The model made a face. "You lips taste like whiskey."

"A Unovian speciality, Elesa dear," said Skyla, still grinning. "If you think it's so carefree and relaxing to become a gym leader, then you try it."

Elesa laughed. "Maybe I will."

A few knocks on the door interrupted them. Elesa and Skyla jumped. Was this the Unova elite four, Alder, and her grandfather? The answer was no apparently, as Elesa told her. She had invited over a friend of hers, that she already met. A tall thin man, though he had a youthful expression that much of a boy, had greeted them. With his honey colored wavy hair, and (as others would say, for those familiar with him) green eyes to die for. Burgh Fletcher - for that was who it was - helped himself into Skyla's home.

By his side was Leavanny, as he usually was. At this, Swanna perked up immediately while Leavanny's expression faltered. Leavanny tried to run back out of the door until Burgh stopped him. Before Swanna could launch an attack, Skyla glared at her Pokemon. "Swanna, would you like to go back into your Pokeball?" Swanna scowled again, but backed off. Leavanny looked smug, an expression that was usually on his face after being around his trainer for so long.

Having two celebrities in Skyla's home was not unfamiliar, but still. She looked at Elesa. "You could remind me ahead of time, you know." Then she looked at Burgh. "I'm sorry for snapping. It's just... Arceus, it's been a stressful time."

"I know. Lenora told me. Good lord, Skyla, what were you thinking?"

Skyla glared at him. "I already got enough of an earful, thanks."

"Don't fret, dear," came Burgh's sing-song voice. "You're going to become the gym leader, I'm sure of it."Skyla blinked. "You seem so positive."

Burgh winked. "Because we're all going to be gym leaders, of course."

Now Elesa was confused. "What?"

"Oh Arceus, just think about it," gushed Burgh. "Me, a famous painter - oh by the way, Shauntal has asked me to illustrate some of her children's novels, for fun - Elesa the model, Skyla the goddess of flight, despite her disastrous entrance in Nacrene." Skyla crossed her arms in defiance. "Maybe my boyfriend could replace that oaf Holland too."

"Grimsley is a mess," said Elesa, raising an eyebrow. Skyla knew this to be true. Burgh's boyfriend was addicted to gambling... and a lot of other things. Good battler, yes, Skyla had heard the rumors - but it was overshadowed by the dark-type specialist's grim past and the pathological need to be right. "Also, no offense Burgh, but bug-specialists are hard to come by."

Burgh let out a little hum. "That's because those silly bug-catchers don't know how to utilize their Pokemon. There will come a time, my dear, that you will see that bug-types will no longer be the laughing stock of the leagues."

Type specialties had a tendency to be in competition with one another, though it wasn't really marked and charted like the LNS was as a whole. According to Skyla, it was kind of like one big trainer's school cafeteria, divided into cliques.

You have the fire, steel, rock, electric, dragon, and fighting-type specialists that were the jocks. Half of those typings would try to slam you into a locker. Psychic-type specialists were kind of nerdy, most psychic-type specialists that weren't psychics themselves usually expressed interest in the field of psychology - like one Elliot of the Hoenn league many years ago, and even Cecelia of the Unova elite four. Poison-type specialists were rare, but were the sneaky kids that would steal your snack when you're not looking, and ghost-type specialists were almost in the same category. Water, ice, and fairy type specialists were the popular kids that would make fun of you behind your back. Grass-type, flying-type, and dark-type specialists were the weird kids for different reasons. Normal-type and ground-type specialists were the kids that would become boring members of society.

Bug-type specialists were the kids with peanut allergies.

"I know why you want this," said Elesa. She turned to her girlfriend. "Grimsley loves the LNS. He studies it religiously. Loves the competitiveness. Loves betting on it more. If we prepare enough with our Pokemon, we can be league members, and Unova will be at the top of the LNS. That's what Grimsley wants. Burgh on the other hand..."

"It's silly," cut in Burgh. "I couldn't care less. But when you're in love - and I'm sure you two can attest to that - you're willing to do anything. Don't give me that look, Skyla, you know it's true."

Skyla blinked. "That doesn't change the fact that Grimsley is a mess, and that I might not be able to get the position. Or you and Elesa, for that matter, never-mind Grimsley."

"We wait," said Burgh. "All we have to do is wait. Our time will come. It might take a while for the others to retire, but Skyla will be the first. You'll see."

"Are you a psychic then? Perhaps you could consider switching specialties," remarked Skyla.

Burgh let out a laugh. "Never in a thousand years, darling."

"I'm... not going to get it."

"Don't you see what they're doing, Skyla? I've spoken with Lenora. We've become quite good friends, you know. When you're good friends with Lenora, she'll let some things slip. You're guaranteed that position. They're looking for younger blood. There's a pattern with the other regions getting young trainers. No more are they hiring anyone over a certain age. In the past, they'd hire those above the age of twenty-five for a gym leader position, and don't even think about the age for an elite position. But at this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if they would consider a teenager for an elite position."

"That'll never happen," Skyla waved off.

"Misty from Cerulean was hired at sixteen. Morty from Ecruteak was hired at seventeen..." Elesa trailed off, looking to the others for help.

"The electric-type gym leader from Sinnoh," added Skyla, with a shrug. "Victor from Sunybeach or whatever. He's barely twenty."

"I have my suspicions about that one."

"Which is, Burgh?"

"Gay as they come."

"...Very nice, Burgh. But-" Elesa stopped talking, once they all realized that there was a knock on the door again. She turned to Burgh. "If you invited Grimsley over-"

"Nope."

Skyla opened the door, revealing that it was Alder, the elite four, and her grandfather. She braced herself for any bad news that would come her way. But they didn't even address Skyla at first. Miles blinked, looking over at the painter, and remarked: "Didn't realize you brought company, Skyla."

"Oh it's not like anything was going to happen," Burgh replied cheerfully. "Go on about telling your granddaughter that she's going to be the new gym leader, yeah? I have to get back to Nacrene. Shauntal, lovely to see you as always. I'll bring my artwork to you first thing tomorrow morning. Goodbye." And the artist skipped out of the house.

Holland let out a snort of contempt. "What a silly poofter." Shauntal, Cecelia, Miles, and even Marshal looked over at the man in disapproval.

"If you really think that boy is just silly and effeminate, Holland, then you're even more naive than I thought," remarked Alder, with an eye roll.

Skyla nervously glanced over to her grandfather. "Is he right? Um, not Holland and the poofter thing - we know Burgh's gay. But about the gym..."

Miles held a hand up to cease Skyla's words. "One year," he stated. Skyla didn't understand. "One year. In one year, you'll be the gym leader and I'll retire. You would've gotten in first thing tomorrow morning, had you not been reckless with your plane."

Oh.

But still...

"So I just have to wait a year?" Skyla asked, her eyes gleaming with hope.

Miles nodded. "A year. With me. Learn how to get along with the citizens of Mistralton. Learn how to do paperwork. Learn. Enough with the recklessness with your planes. I will teach how to properly fly. If you shirk your work even once, I will reconsider my decision. Do you understand me?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Skyla, running over to hug her grandfather. "Thank you, thank you, thank-"

"Don't thank me," Miles grumbled, however he was returning her hug. "Thank Alder. Thank the elites. They see your potential."

Skyla smiled at the top trainers in Unova. "Thank you," she said, with a formal bow. She had to learn how to be cordial, after all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 39- Flint

The Legend of Flint Brinton.

One of those stories that in later years the Sinnohnian people would tell over and over. They would never get tired of telling it, and people would never get tired of hearing it. A redheaded boy who's heart burned with passion for battles as he went from the streets to the suites, one of the many league tales of rags-to-riches, the gutter to the goldmines, the bottom to climbing his way up to success. A boy who found the beauty in his homeland, the Sinnoh motherland, even if he had come from the grittiest of places, still, he found beauty in it. The story of a boy with nothing but a dream, a dream that all the Sinnohnians shared, how he would do anything for that and more. The Sinnohnians knew that Flint would die for Sinnoh, do anything for it, and that was nothing short of admirable. How he used everything in his power as an elite for a better Sinnoh, now and forever. How many elites in history could say that they had a rock album dedicated to them? Not many. In fact, Flint was the only one that could.

The Sinnohnians were swept with his love for the nation, deeply moved, and loved him for it. Everyone in the Sinnoh region loved him, adored him, worshipped him.

However, if you asked trainers outside of Sinnoh their thoughts on Flint Brinton, one word would come to mind:

Beast.

He's a beast, they'd whisper in hushed tones, with thinly veiled disgust, due to the rumors that clung to the elite like a stray, which was what they called him as well. Rabid, barely more than a Pokemon, an untamed delinquent from the slums with a nasty temper. How the hell the Sinnoh league allowed such a degenerate to be an elite, they would never know. But they did know. Everyone knew. Because the Sinnohnian people loved Flint, and therefore resented the bastard even more.

He's a beast, they'd mutter, with a swear and a spit, followed by more rumors. Rumors of what he had allowed in Giratina's Playground. Rumors about what happened in Vermillion City. Rumors about interviewers and reporters and cameramen. And, if one was particularly daring, rumors of what allegedly happened with Eterna City.

No one was sure. No one might ever be sure. The information on that was highly classified, and for good reason. But there were people that had their own theories even if that case had been closed. Coincidence perhaps, or maybe something else. There was no proof but that didn't stop people from having suspicions on what happened. Or maybe there was more than one perpetrator? Only one outsider of the league knew the truth. A sensitive, idealistic green-haired boy who's eyes sparkled with wonder that would later become the first bug-elite in history, but he wasn't telling. Flint was nothing but good to him, protected him, looked after him and the vulnerable, so people could shut the fuck up with their 'suspicions'. Nonetheless, one sentence would escape people's lips from outside Sinnoh regarding Flint, one that would never go away.

He's a beast, was what they'd continue to say, again and again.

Such rumors started somewhere.

Flint knew all about rumors. Back when he was a boy in Sunyshore's Trainers' school, the class bully told the other children that Flint was a queer. While Flint found that out to be true in later years, the snot-faced little ass had no right to say that. Growing up in the grittiest, impoverished area of Sunyshore City made Flint a primary target. The Brinton family didn't have a pot to piss in, so to speak. He refused to be a victim of the hoodlums that lurked while he didn't have a Pokemon yet.

So Flint punched him in front of the whole class. The bully wailed and cried for his mother as his nose bled all over the floor. It earned Flint his first suspension, but it was safe to say no one called him that anymore.

Sometimes there were things that fists taught better than words, and Flint learned that quickly. Sunyshore's crime was at an all-time-high, and Flint had to learn to defend himself. He only hit those he thought deserved it. Like those hoodlums. Okay, maybe Flint could work on his temper a little better, but you try living in the shithole gutter with thugs around every corner and see how you make out.

Also, try dealing with teachers who hated your guts because you weren't the academic type like those snooty, entitled kids that were sent down to the underground no questions asked. Flint wasn't dumb, his brain just... had a different way of learning compared to the other kids. His mother and father would tell him that it's what made him unique. Flint didn't give a damn, because being unique made him targeted by his teachers too. That was Flint Brinton, don't ask him about what the teacher just said thirty seconds ago because there were two teachers speaking outside the classroom and Flint couldn't help but listen. Don't ask Flint to sit still either, because that was absolute hell for him. He would always bounce his leg up and down and don't even get him started on taking written exams in silence.

This one seasoned teacher, Mr. Zeitlin, had told him that he wouldn't amount to anything and would grow up to be just like those hoodlums like the Sunyshore trash he was. That earned Flint his second suspension after he screamed and threw his chair against the wall, and if he didn't pull himself together it wouldn't be long until he was expelled and would be forbidden from getting a Pokemon. That's when Flint kept his mouth shut, it was quite the difficult task.

Flint got his Chimchar, and his Chimchar was his best friend in the entire world. His Chimchar didn't think he was stupid. While he would've liked to use his Chimchar to flamethrower the motherfuckers themselves that caused trouble in his city, Flint resorted to throwing punches instead. It was quicker anyway and got the job done. It was said for the longest time in Sunyshore City that as an infant Flint had bricks implanted in the skin of his hands which was why he could punch so hard.

There's a saying, in Sunyshore City:

If Crasher Wake wanted to fight, you were screwed. If Flint Brinton wanted to fight, you were fucked.

Because Crasher Wake didn't get into scraps, not like Flint did, and was only trained in professional fights. He would likely show pity. Flint didn't know the definition of the word pity. Flint had perfected the art of fighting like the hoodlum rats because he had to. He absolutely fought dirty, at times not fairly. A child of the wild. He would bare his teeth and hiss as a warning. Those that didn't get the message would get dirt thrown in their face before Flint bit down on their knuckles. But it was a self-defense tactic that would ensure his safety, along with his family's. It also helped that Flint was angry and taking it out on the hoodlums helped him blow off steam.

The hoodlums got Pokemon, and would frequently target Flint like he suspected them to do. Chimchar quickly took care of it. Flint had garnered a reputation from bringing the crime rate down in Sunyshore. The hoodlums had no mothers to cry at home to, so they resorted to sobbing in the shadows instead because of the "boy with brick hands and the Chimchar" and it was spoken in a fearful whisper. People didn't call him stupid anymore, no one that could drive hoodlums away was stupid.

One day, one of the strongest hoodlums Pokemon had fallen to Flint's Chimchar. The hoodlum proceeded to beg Flint to not punch him. That he could have anything he wanted, anything, anything at all. Flint looked up at the boy that was a foot taller than him.

And then Flint said, "I want your shoes."

"...From home? I-I don't understand-"

"No. The ones you're wearing. I want them."

"What?"

"Give. Me. Your. Shoes."

The hoodlum ran away with only socks on.

The shoes didn't fit Flint, but he'd grow into them one day.

Around the age of eleven, Flint's little brother Buck was born - and he was stoked to have him around. That was until he started to cry. A lot. Though his mother and father explained that babies cried, it annoyed Flint to no end. It was especially annoying when Buck seemed to stop crying whenever Flint held him, and when Flint tried to set him down Buck would start to cry all over again. Flint lost count on how many times he'd walk around the house doing tasks with his little brother in tow. The little shit knew what he was doing, too. This did not mean that Flint hated his little brother, oh not at all, he adored him to pieces. But as Buck got a little more independent, that's when Flint knew he needed to start training his Chimchar more if he wanted to make something of himself in this city, along with taking care of those damn hoodlums.

Then one day, Flint met a boy with a Pikachu - he, too, had also gained a reputation for doing the same thing as Flint; without the punching, of course. He had seen him before, around the trainer's school, but he was in a different class.

Upon sight, Flint hated the motherfucker. Except he didn't. At least, not really. He hated the way Volkner made him feel, his heart was all fluttery and nice, and he felt warm as though he were floating. They battled once, and Flint was glad he won. They battled again, and then Volkner won. Flint's heart would flutter every time they battled. He hated it.

They're bickering in a forest. Flint was there first, and in his later years he'd swear by it, but Volkner didn't care. Neither of them cared in that moment because they were facing the Proprietor and they had to fight together and work as a team.

At age thirteen, they became best friends when Volkner told him how he was smart.

At age sixteen, when Flint and Volkner ran from the police, they kissed.

At age seventeen, Flint smacked the pills out of Volkner's hands and begged him to get help.

At age twenty, Volkner was appointed at Sunyshore's new gym leader and Flint knew he had to start his own journey.

As Flint exited Sunyshore, he was stopped by three men. Two of them went to his school. One of them was the bully he punched before he became a trainer. All three of them had grown up to be the Sunyshore hoodlums he got enjoyment out of chasing away.

"I don't have time for your games," snapped Flint. "Especially you, Morsetti."

"Where you going, Brinton?" asked Morsetti.

"I'm learning survival techniques," answered Flint. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Pulling a Blaine, are you?"

Flint snorted. "I have a full-fledged team that could destroy you, so I'd watch it. Worried that you'll get creamed by a homo like me?"

"You... you-"

"Yeah, you were right. Me. A big ol' queer. Got a problem with that?"

"No, man! I've seen that cowboy movie and cried!" Morsetti had his hands up to show he meant no harm. The other two smartly backed away. "Are you going to take on the LNS? Well, we'd like to go with you."

A bark of half-insane laughter escaped the redhead's throat. "You'll only drag me down."

"If you're taking on the LNS," said the first boy, whom Flint remembered had the name Enzo, "You could use allies. A lot of trainers are probably going to go after you. Above all, we're Sinnohnians - and we're from Sunyshore. Hometown pride is anything. We should stick together."

Flint pressed his lips together in thought. He concluded that Enzo had a point. The boy was a hoodlum, but he was among the smartest in their year - and he had been one of those snooty brats that took an explorer's kit without a second thought. He would be useful. It's a shame that he made nothing of himself though.

"Fine," relented Flint. "But if you three slow me down, I'll drop you like a hot potato."

They accepted the threat without a second thought. The moment Enzo mentioned loyalty to Sinnoh, was when Flint's trust was earned.

It's funny because one would assume with the mistreatment Flint endured, he would direct his hatred toward the region he grew up in. Quite the contrary, actually. Despite the shit he went through, Flint loved the Sinnoh motherland with all his heart. He loved it with almost everything he had. In fact, Flint loved it so much that he had considered enlisting in Sinnoh's military like his great, great uncle had done. But he likely wouldn't have been accepted, due to his damn brain that his parents insisted was unique.

But here's the thing, it absolutely was. His ADHD was his own superpower. For one thing, Flint did make friends easily, mostly those nerdy bug-catchers in his year that were picked on mercilessly. Flint told a frequent tormentor that he would knock his teeth down his throat if he so much as looked at the bug catchers funny. Needless to say after Flint gave a demonstration of what he was talking about off school grounds, the bullying of bug catchers ceased. They weren't that strange really, just talked a lot about their passions, which were bugs. Flint let them. They helped him with his schoolwork in return.

Flint was a problem-solver, which was why he was so good with survival tactics. His perseverance was what kept him going. He refused to quit. Flint may not have been good with paper, or word problems, but that had nothing to do with hands-on Pokemon battles. A multitasker at his very core, Flint was aware of every little thing his opponent did and more, and it was kept in the back of his mind. When Flint got focused, he got focused. Volkner remarked it was awe-inspiring to watch.

Oh, Flint missed his boyfriend so.

When going up on the cold mountainous terrain, it was Flint who had the will to keep going while the Sunyshore hoodlums bitched and moaned to stop. Flint wouldn't have that at all. Just because he agreed to take those hoodlums with him, didn't mean Flint had to be nice about it.

Far from it.

"It's not that cold," spat Flint. "There are children in Paldea that can't afford jackets. Paldea's citizens are poor due to a power-hungry sick fuck-of-a-dictator. The next time you bitch about the cold, I want you to think about the poor starving freezing children that are dying by the minute due to their shithole government."

No one said a word the rest of the way through.

"Somebody make a fire," said Flint, stopping at a rest stop.

Enzo snorted. "Frankly, we have Pokemon for that."

"Frankly, I don't give a shit. What if your Pokemon are weakened and you're freezing to death? You're gonna force your Pokemon to make a fire? And if they can't then you'll cry because you don't know basic survival techniques?"

"That's a little excessive."

"You cry, you die. Make a fire."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're a hardass?" snapped Morsetti.

This was absolutely nothing compared to what Flint went through. He leaned in close. "Zeus Zeitlin was my teacher. And he called me a loud-mouthed pile of Tauros shit. And that was the day before I chased the Proprietor out, that made headlines, that made half of the hoodlums run for their sorry lives. So don't tell me I'm a hardass."

Because of Flint's no-nonsense, brash, rough attitude - the hoodlums that went with him called him 'drill-sergeant.' Speaking of drill-sergeants, there was a reason Flint wanted to travel to the Kanto region. Kantonian trainers sneered at him, no doubt recognizing that he was a Sinnohnian through and through, and surprisingly it was the hoodlums that took care of those trainers, due to Flint taking total command of the battle, like a war-field. It's a shame that if you had a disability you couldn't be enlisted, because Flint would've been absolutely perfect. Lieutenant material, perhaps.

Speaking of the military...

"Where are we stopping first in the LNS?" asked Enzo.

"Vermillion City," was what Flint said. He double-checked his backpack to see if he had what he needed. He did. "There's something I need to do first."

Lt. Surge had raised his eyebrows when a twenty-something year old kid with a stupid red afro strolled into his gym, with a cocky grin plastered on his face. More so when he defeated a few of his gym trainers like it was nothing.

"I'm from Sunyshore City," he told him, grinning.

"What's your name?" Lt. Surge asked. Strange, most trainers – especially the Sinnohnians – were eager to boast about themselves.

His grinned widened. "I'll let you know after I beat you."

Case and point.

The kid was confident, and Lt. Surge knew why. The gym leader from Sunyshore specialized in electric-types, that Lt. Surge knew, so the boy probably had experienced in combating such types. Which was precisely why his Raichu fell to his Infernape, and though his Electrode out-sped afro boy's Infernape, he quickly countered it with his Steelix knowing earthquake. Once afro-boy's Steelix made an appearance, it was a clean sweep.

Lt. Surge gave him a faint smile. "That was a good battle. Now can I get your name?" Afro-boy's grin widened in triumph, and that made Lt. Surge's smile lessen. Afro-boy reached into his pocket and handed Lt. Surge his trainer ID, and when Lt. Surge saw the name he was sure his heart stopped and felt his face pale.

Flint Brinton.

Brinton.

Lt. Brinton.

"You're..." Lt. Surge, for the first time since the war against Alola, stumbled with his words. He looked up from the trainer ID to see Flint quirking an eyebrow in amusement. It hit Lt. Surge why he had come here. "You're-" He stopped, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Lt. Brinton was one of the leading lieutenants during the Kanto-Sinnoh war. The man that Lt. Surge's great grandfather regarded as his worst enemy. The man that Lt. Surge's great grandfather had personally captured and tortured for three days before killing him in a slow, agonizing painful death.

Lt. Surge knew that when he signed up as a gym leader he would encounter a trainer like this. He didn't expect it to be today. He managed to ask, "What relation?"

"Great, great uncle," said Flint. "I always thought that I'd end up in the army, like him. I wanted to. But when you have a mental disorder, you're barred from serving. But I was nervous, too, about the thought of serving your region. You could end up with one of these..." Lt. Surge had to fight down the nausea as Flint reached into his backpack and pulled out a banner with a gold star on it. He held it out for a few seconds, still smiling, and put it back in. "Terrible. War is terrible. Again, I'm sure you know."

This boy had no idea what he was doing to him.

No idea.

"But I respect you. I get it. Regional pride. You were just defending your homeland, and your homeland's neighbor, so there's no bad blood between us, alright? I used to think my great, great uncle died for nothing, as all soldiers did, but I learned that they're dying for their region. They died with dignity and honor. It's why I always carry his banner with me. To honor him."

The boy continued to smile. He smiled. Lt. Surge suspected that Flint only started doing that just for today.

"I'll never understand what you went through..." No civilian could understand, not even ones that were military brats, like this one. "...but I could imagine that they were going to kill you, so you had to defend yourself. Kill or be killed. That's how it is, right? And you have a family. And I'm sure you wanted to get back home to them. If you didn't, then it's possible that you could leave them in extreme poverty... After all, that's what happened back in the Indigo-Sinnoh War, and it would continue to pass down to today."

Lt. Surge took the hint.

"I have to go now, can I get my trainer ID back?" Lt. Surge wordlessly handed it over. "Thanks. Oh, and my badge too." Again, Lt. Surge said nothing. "Thank you. Can I shake your hand? I've always wanted to shake the hand of a highly accomplished soldier like you."

A murderer like you. The words went unspoken.

Lt. Surge did so anyway, and Flint smiled innocently as he shook it. The stupid afro-boy left the gym without saying another word.

Cynthia had wondered why Volkner was peppier. She learned that after three years, Flint had finally returned to Sinnoh. But within that time, Cynthia had learned some rather unsettling news. It's no secret for those who dove into Sinnoh's history books that Flint was a descended relative from an accomplished soldier - that was killed by a Surge. Flint didn't bother going to any other gyms, he only had eyes for Vermillion City - causing the veteran to freeze in shock when Flint had demolished his team. He learned Flint's name. Flint spoke about it in such a way and showed a banner of his great great uncle's sacrifice. Cynthia tried to think that Flint didn't know what he was doing, it was possible.

That didn't stop Agatha from calling them voicing her frustrations, saying she wasn't happy.

"Of course she's not happy," Bertha had said after the call, rolling her eyes. "That woman is never happy."

And then there was another crisis, being settled in the Sinnoh league presently.

"Cocaine," marveled Cynthia, glaring at Ferro. "Cocaine! Why on earth has this been going on for so long?!" She cast a furious look in Lucian, Bertha, and Axel's direction – and the three elites didn't dare respond.

Cynthia knew exactly why, and it would be a lie to say that she hadn't noticed it either. The thing was, Cynthia did notice Ferro's erratic behavior. She noticed that he indulged in vices, as so many league members did, like Axel – but at least Axel wasn't stupid enough to let his own demons interfere with his league job. Ferro, a few days ago, was caught being coked out on the clock. Part of Cynthia knew she should've said something earlier, because she had the suspicion he was using, however in the past Ferro's battling was fine. It was easier to pretend that he was just naturally wound up. After showing up high out of his mind facing challengers, Cynthia demanded Ferro take a drug test in which he tested positive for cocaine. Ferro had two options, the first was to resign and go to rehab, and the second was to be fired. Predictably, Ferro chose the former.

"This league has already dealt with enough scandal," Cynthia went on frustratedly, "...with Spyro, especially. But I'm not tolerating any more of this in our league. Clear? Now, Ferro, before you leave, is there anyone in particular you want to take your spot?"

Ferro rolled his eyes. "I want to be able to give you an answer, but you won't let me go to the bathroom to freshen up." Lucian let out a groan whilst Bertha scowled.

Cynthia was not amused. "Ferro," she began angrily. "I'd like to think I'm being very, very compassionate. Instead of firing you and the tabloids finding out about your habit, I'm letting you resign, pick your replacement, and I'm saving your life. So pick someone you have in mind, or else I'll do it for you."

Ferro rubbed his chin. "Hm, well I am from Sunyshore. Would like to have someone from there. Specifically, a member of the 'Sunyshore Duo' that took down the Proprietor."

Cynthia's eyebrows scrunched together. "Flint and Volkner? But Volkner's a gym leader already."

"Hm, well, if you pick Volkner – ask Flint to be the Sunyshore Gym Leader, and move Volkner up as an elite. To be honest, I couldn't care less with who you go with, as long as it's one of them. Flip a coin or something – I leave for Alola in three days."

It was certainly a choice. Either way, both Flint and Volkner would have league jobs. Now, logically, Cynthia thought Flint would be the right choice – since Volkner had spent the last few years designing the city with his advanced technological skill. His innovation skills rivaled of that jolly electric-type gym leader in Hoenn, and Cynthia had no problem giving him league funds to give Sunyshore a better reputation. The thing that was stopping Cynthia from making that decision was that Flint was a wild card, due to what he did in Vermillion, and to throw him in an elite position would be risky. On top of Ferro's resignation, Cynthia didn't want to deal with that either. Cynthia would rather have someone who was a gym leader for three years than Flint who had just returned from Kanto.

"I'm calling Volkner to ask if he could meet me here," said Cynthia. She turned to Bertha and Lucian. "Are you both okay with that decision?" Yes, Cynthia was the champion and a position higher than the two of them, but she wanted their stamp of approval regarding new hires. They nod.

"What about me?" piped up Axel, crossing his arms. "I'm head of the elite four! Don't I get a-"

"Be quiet," cut in Cynthia sternly. "The other day a paparazzo snapped a picture of you and one of your women, and I managed to get rid of it and bribed him to keep his mouth shut. You're lucky your ways haven't been discovered by your wife. So don't upset me, she's just a phone call away."

Ah, blackmail.

They showed up at Volkner's gym. Flint wasn't there.

Volkner sighed. "If this is about the fight two of many gym trainers had, there wasn't a knife or gun, so-"

"Ferro is quitting."

"...And that concerns me, why?" asked Volkner. He turned to the fire-type specialist. Realization dawned on the gym leader. "Oh I see. Man, I'm getting tired of being asked to replace crackheads."

"Cocaine."

"Of course you would know the difference," said Volkner. "When you're an elite, you get the good stuff."

"Volkner," Cynthia began, with a heavy sigh. "Can you take over for him?"

Beat.

"Can I redesign the league building if I become an elite?"

"...No. Volkner, I'm giving you enough funding for Sunyshore, and you already go wild with it." Volkner was their strongest gym leader, Cynthia learned. By far. But this request was much too big for the league, and Cynthia suspected that it would innovate constantly, and she wouldn't have it.

"Then nope. I'm not your guy."

"Volkner."

"Ask someone else," Volkner said swiftly. Then he walked away to the back of his gym. Cynthia, Bertha, Axel, Ferro, and Lucian watched him go.

"What now?" asked Ferro, with a huff.

"We go for the next best thing, which is Volkner's boyfriend." They stared at Bertha. "What? You're telling me none of you knew?"

The phrase "A Friend Of Bertha" uttered in nightclubs as a form of code suddenly made sense to Cynthia, but she wasn't one to assume things. However, hiring Flint would be the risky choice. Again, the wild card. But he was allegedly as strong as Volkner, perhaps more, and most of all the Sinnohnian people liked Flint. League members from all over would be angry, very much so, but Sinnoh would love him. There's no question about it.

For a better Sinnoh, Cynthia thought.

Flint was fucking pissed at his boyfriend right now.

The lovable idiot said no. Two hours ago, Volkner said no to being a member of the Sinnoh elite four, and you didn't just say no when the elite four approached you, especially one that was rising in power like Sinnoh was.

"You have got to be the dumbest fucking genius I know," snapped Flint, putting his cigarette out and immediately regretting it. "Why the hell won't you take it?"

Volkner shrugged. "They won't let me innovate the league. What good is it if I can't do that?"

"Battling against the world's toughest trainers," retorted Flint. "Jesus fucking Christ, that's an obvious-" Volkner's PokeGear started to ring. Flint glanced at the Caller ID and saw it was Cynthia. "-Answer your boss, Volk. Let her know that you're going to be an elite."

Volkner huffed and answered. "I already said no-"

"Is Flint there?"

Flint and Volkner exchanged a look.

"...Yes?"

"How battle-ready are his Pokemon? Sorry this is so hasty. Would he be interested in taking an elite four position?"

Flint's jaw hung open slack. "But... you just-"

"This is urgent," Cynthia pressed. "I need an answer now."

"So I'm a second choice, then?"

"Flint."

Volkner looked at his boyfriend. "You... do whatever it is you have to do."

Sharp frost entered the room.

"I accept."

Cynthia said they would stop by to see him in twenty minutes to pick him up. Interestingly enough, when Cynthia hung up on Volkner's PokeGear, Flint's own started to ring.

It was his little brother Buck. He was in tears. He was crying because his new teacher was being nasty to him and when he fidgeted with his hands the teacher slammed them down on the table. He was crying, telling Flint word-for-word that he was tired of being in his own brain, and Flint knew exactly what that meant. Buck had a disorder as well that wasn't ADHD. Doctors told his family that Buck was autistic, as that explained why Buck stimmed by wringing his hands to alleviate all that energy, and hyper-fixated on things, and hated certain textures and loved others. Flint couldn't tell you exactly why disorders seemed to be more common in poor families, but that was just how it was.

The doctors told his family the negatives, but Flint and his parents focused on the positives, and there were many. No one could memorize facts and retain information like Buck could, it bewildered everyone around him. Buck could tell you everything about Stark Mountain, everything about Pokemon with high defense and special defense stats, and anything that piqued Buck's interest. Once Buck got a hold of something, he wouldn't let go until he understood every bit of it. It didn't mean he couldn't be a wonderful trainer.

And to hear some fucking asswipe of a teacher belittle and use physical force on him enraged Flint in more ways than one, especially since Buck was the nicest kid on the planet. Never, not once, was Buck rude to any of his teachers. A pleasure to have in class, his report cards said. A brilliant mind, his teachers said. Always helping those that didn't understand the material, a hard worker. And this new teacher of his apparently didn't get the memo who his older brother was, and the reputation he cultivated in school.

Flint gripped the PokeGear. "Teacher's name?"

"Zeitlin."

At the mere utterance of that name, Flint knew why this was happening. "Stay right there. I'm going to pay a visit to him." Because Flint was an elite now. He had power. He was going to exercise that power however he wanted. So that's why he showed up to Zeitlin's home, banging on the door obnoxiously. The man answered, narrowing his eyes at the twenty-three year old. Immediately he scoffed upon sight of the former student he despised. "I heard you have my little brother in your class."

Zeitlin snorted. "He's worse than you." The words were meant to provoke him.

It worked. But Flint smiled. "Remember what you told me? That I wouldn't amount to anything?" Zeitlin rolled his eyes. But then, Flint leaned in to whisper in his ear: "I'm a member of Sinnoh's elite four now, motherfucker."

Then he punched him square in the nose.

"You..." Zeitlin spat, touching his face that had blood all over it, "...not you, never... how could... my nose is bleeding!"

"You hit my little brother, I hit you. Now get the fuck out of my neighborhood before I shatter half your ribs."

Zeitlin's bags were packed in an hour.

After that, Flint went back home to check on Buck. The quality of Flint that was rarely spoken about was his protective nature for those that were more vulnerable than him. It's why he spent that afternoon holding Buck as he cried, like when he was small. Only Flint Brinton could go from punching someone fifteen minutes ago to trying his best to make his baby brother feel better. Sure, Buck was older now, but he'd always be Flint's baby brother. Forever and always.

"Your brain is perfect," Flint told him. "Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise. Hold on a second, I'm going to arrange something."

Technically, Flint had just gotten hired. Technically, he had no business exercising his powers after what he just did to Zeitlin, but Flint didn't care. When the Sinnoh elites and champion came to pick him up, Flint only had eyes for Bertha. He spoke to her about his twelve-year-old little brother, who was obsessed with Stark Mountain, and a teacher had been particularly nasty to him today. Flint took care of the teacher, but he requested if Bertha could make him feel better, and what better way to do that than telling Buck about her experience catching Viper at Stark Mountain? Flint had the right instinct that Bertha loved children. She was very good with him. A lot of adults were uneasy around Buck, especially knowing that he's autistic and not knowing what to say and therefore treated him like broken glass. They were afraid, which in turn made Buck afraid.

Bertha was not one of them. She didn't leave any details out. It was also the most eye contact that Buck had kept with another person other than his family. That's when Flint knew his instincts were right again, that she was trustworthy. Buck didn't make eye contact with most people. It was something rewarded to the few people he felt safe with. When Axel tried to cut in that it's been thirty minutes and they should get going, Bertha sent him a look more venomous than a toxic. After forty-five minutes, she stopped.

Buck ran into the woman and hugged her tightly.

"Well aren't you the sweetest?" marveled Bertha, hugging him back. He giggled. No sign of any tears anymore.

"Bertha, you have no idea how much this means to me, and to him," said Flint, as they made their way to the Sinnoh league, "Thank you."

A week later, the news broke out that Flint was the newest member of Sinnoh's elite four. Trainers from all over were angry over his hire. They must've heard about what Flint had done in Vermillion City. Or it could've been because Flint only used two fire-types so it was a dirty trick on Sinnoh's end. Or it was because he was a boisterous bruiser.

...Really, it could've been a lot of things.

But the Sinnohnians loved Flint. Loved him. Because finally they had an elite they were looking for. It was nothing against the others. But their elites so far had been a man-whore dragon-tamer, a cokehead, an ex-cult member, and a borderline sociopath, but now they had a patriot. Flint was a true patriot. Someone who gave the people pride about being Sinnohnians. A reason to survive. A reason to keep fighting. His hire gave the Sinnohnians a simple message, that if a slum rat could work his way up as an elite, they could do anything. Anything. Flint didn't dance around the topic of battling their way to the top. He said what he thought, what he believed, voicing what other league members would only subtly say. Cynthia Shirona may have shown how powerful a Sinnohnian could be, but Flint Brinton gave the Sinnohnians hope.

Hope, which was regarded as the heartbeat of the soul, and Flint had plenty of it.

"Flint," Cynthia asked him, "Did you know what you were doing when you went to Vermillion?"

Flint didn't reply for a few seconds. Then, he smiled: "I wanted to bond with Surge over wanting to be in the service. Ma was pissed when she found out. Then I bought her a house, so she forgot all about it."

Flint requested a meeting with his new colleagues, regarding the underground system. The unfairness of only the best students in trainer's schools going to the underground rubbed Flint the wrong way, and he was living proof that although his grades were poor, it didn't translate to being a bad battler. Flint had one request, just one, and Cynthia accepted it without a second thought. Every single trainer in Sinnoh that had a learning disability had Flint Brinton to thank over what was about to happen next.

Flint turned to his new co-workers with an uncharacteristically serious face. "When we get to the alleyways, stay close to me, alright? I have your back."

Lucian raised an eyebrow. "Bertha will be fine."

A bark of laughter from the new fire-elite. "It's not Bertha I'm worried about. It's you. Maroon suit, expensive looking shades, I'm surprised no one has mugged you blind yet."

Flint lead the other elites and Cynthia to the alleyways of Sunyshore City. There they found a group of hoodlums readying to put up some graffiti, but dropped the spray cans once they realized who was in front of them. More so that it was Flint than the already established league members. The hoodlums ranged in age, the youngest looking to be around eleven and the oldest being around twenty.

Flint pointed to the ones that were young, in their early teens, that had yet to be fully corrupted by the elder ones. "You four, stay here. The rest of you get the hell out of my sight before I do something I won't regret." Flint was good with people, friendly with the young kids that lurked around Sunyshore, and he spoke the hoodlum language very fluently due to years of practice. He didn't tolerate the older ones that didn't cut the shit and grow out of their delinquency. Therefore, the older ones weren't worth Flint's time.

The older hoodlums stared in disbelief. Then Infernape let out a roar. That's when the older ones ran off. Flint looked at the four kids in front of him, who merely stared back.

Then, one of them spoke brashly, "Who the hell are you? Stupid fucking wig, if you ask me."

"You idiot! That's Flint Brinton," pressed the second boy. "I heard he ran juvie, like a boss." Flint never went to a juvenile detention center, but he very well could've run the place. Scare Flint Brinton straight? Not a chance. You threw him to the wolves, and he would lead the pack. In later years, the name Flint Brinton would send murderers and rapists crying for their mommies and pissing themselves in their prison cells.

"And he's an elite now!" piped up the third, a young girl - abnormal considering most hoodlums were boys. "Please don't have us arrested! I'm too pretty for jail!"

"It's still a stupid fucking wig," muttered the first.

"Don't take your anger out on me because your parents didn't love you enough," Flint replied swiftly. Lucian's jaw dropped. Cynthia and Bertha exchanged a look. Axel rolled his eyes hard. "Here's an opportunity from the goodness of my heart. Do each of you have Pokemon?" They nodded. "Want an explorer's kit?"

"But..." cut in the fourth member, with a nervous gulp. "That's a trainer's school thing."

"Idiot, don't question it! It's Giratina's Playground!" marveled the girl, with an excited glint in her eyes. "We get to go?"

"Only if you train there to take on the LNS when you're prepared enough," said Flint. He requested to see their Trainer IDs, and then held out the Explorer's kits. "Take one, each of you." And as they did, Flint added to the youngest boy: "Give Lucian his wallet back before I change my mind, for all of you."

The thief's eyes went wide, and his face a deep crimson once his companions started to yell at him to give the wallet back before he fucked this opportunity up for the rest of them. He grumbled as he handed the item in question back to a baffled Lucian.

Flint smiled. "Thank you. Now I'm gonna let that slide, because you're still babies that don't know shit. So help me Arceus if I find out you're causing trouble down there. I have eyes and ears everywhere. If I hear one thing, then I'll rip the explorer kits apart with my bare hands, are we clear?"

They nodded. And so moving forward, every six months, Flint would send three kids down to the underground despite their academic performances. Flint's Hounds, as the other underground kids would call them. They were not to be messed with.

But there were other concerns. As Flint rose in his status as an elite, Volkner was left tending to the Sunyshore gym – more depressed than not. Not as bad as before, oh no, he had pills for that, but most afternoons were spent wishing that Flint had rejected the position. And thus would start the on-again, off-again love ballad of Flint and Volkner. Had Flint not accepted the position, things would've turned out very, very different. Not that Flint knew the extent of this, oh not at all, because the redhead's mouth was faster than his brain. That would never change.

Sergei, Lance, Bruno, Lorelei, and Agatha watched their screens on the WRN, regarding the media coverage of Sinnoh's newest elite. Apparently Cynthia was in the business of hiring barbarians, and this one in particular had a wild look in his eyes. The Sinnoh league could claim all they wanted that Flint didn't know the extent of what he was doing. The Indigo League knew better. A reporter asked Flint if he had anything to say to the people that thought he couldn't become an elite because of his disability. All he said was that they should've never doubted him and given him a chance. Oh and fuck you all. Agatha suspected that Flint would get more media training after that comment.

"He better be house-broken before his first LNS meeting with us," remarked Lance.

Agatha couldn't help but agree.

Bruno let out a snort of contempt, eyeing the screen with distrust. "Curly-haired redheads. The Sinnoh League just hired a damned circus animal."

Again, Agatha couldn't help but agree.

"He's ah, well, kind of like Blaine. What was it you said about him, Agatha?" Lorelei asked, turning to her senior with a wry grin. "A few sandwiches short of a picnic?"

Now that, Agatha didn't agree with. Flint Brinton wasn't just a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

He was missing the entire basket.

Chapter Text

Chapter 40- Whitney

"That fucking Miltank!"

The pink-haired girl grinned in sheer delight at the trainer's cry of fury, and recalled her Miltank in the Goldenrod City gym after winning the battle against his final Pokemon, a Floatzel. The opposite trainer's eye twitched. It was the fact that this girl, this little girl had handed the trainer's ass back to them. It left little to the imagination how she got hired, he thought. That Miltank of hers was a force of nature. She moved in a way that a fat cow shouldn't move. Quick on her feet, stomping his Pokemon into oblivion, and the girl ordered all of that with a smile on her face. The pleasure that the girl had gotten from wiping the floor with him was more akin to a Sinnohnian brute like himself, but by the end of the battle it didn't matter.

The league scored big, with this girl, considering that Johto really didn't have much to be proud of when it came to their league. A little girl that had a Miltank, the first time one he had ever seen in battle, other than the ones used for the sole purpose of making milk at those ranches. A Pokemon that was not only rarely found in the wild, but difficult to control, allegedly having a similar temperament that of a Tauros. But this Miltank was fully dedicated to her trainer. The bond was there. He had a bond with his Pokemon too, but that didn't help. He tried to think the power of love and friendship and all that bullshit between his partners would help, along with that pickaxe pin on his jacket. Didn't do him any good.

At least her gym trainers appeared apologetic. But who the hell knew that Miltank could be so strong in a battle?

Her tactics were cunning and calculative. Making his Pokemon flinch when it was stomped on, making his Pokemon infatuated with the ugly wretched cow, and when his Pokemon did manage to get a hit, Miltank would shrug it off by her damn milk drink healing it up again. Then it would rollout. Again. And again. And again which was why she was grinning and he left the gym not with a badge but his team a guaranteed three day stay at the Pokemon center.

How the hell did the league get ahold of Whitney Allister?

And how the hell did that wee-strip of a thing get ahold of that goddamn Miltank?

Firstly, Whitney was everything marvelous in a softball player, or at least that's what Coach McNair said. She was ambidextrous, could bat with her left as well as her right, and could pitch with her left as well as her right. Whitney would switch it up, depending on the day she was having. Other than Johto's Armed Forces, Johto was known for its athletics. Whether it be the Pokeathleon dome being a common attraction where a trainer's Pokemon would compete, or people playing softball. Actually, softball was the most beloved sport in Johto. Johtonians loved their softball, its top players had a frothing fanbase. Even their little league teams had clout. Whitney was the youngest in Johto's top little league softball team, and Coach McNair's favorite. She was a bright, cheery girl that would smile, blow kisses to the crowds that would remark how adorable she was.

What a darling, an absolute treasure! Cute, too. She's going to break so many hearts, one day!

Whitney used this to her advantage. She was quite aware of how cute and wonderful she was, thank you very much. Pink hair in pigtails with pink eyes to match, a vibrant giggle and smile, and would remark that she didn't mean to hit that boy with a baseball, except that Whitney had perfect aim. Her coach very well knew this. But Whitney would smile and say that she was so, so, sorry and that it would never happen again.

The downside of Whitney Allister was that she would cry at the drop of a hat, so easily, too easily, especially when the softball team lost a game. Wails that would make a toddler proud. Whitney couldn't exactly tell you why she was so sensitive, nor could her parents, but citizens in Goldenrod suspect she was dropped on her head as a child. A rude callous rumor that would result in Whitney crying more, and aiming a baseball at the gossiper's face. He had three teeth replaced. Whitney was lucky he didn't press charges.

Everyone knew that Whitney cried a lot. Anyone who had met her within five minutes could tell you that. But there was a thing about Whitney that a lot of people didn't know.

Whitney was an alarmingly good liar.

She cried so much that she could make herself do it on command. Her coach was unable to tell when her tears were real or not, like most people couldn't tell - except maybe her parents on a good day. Whitney could quiver her lip just the right amount, make her eyes water a lot but not too much, and she would get what she wanted. In later years, she would claim that she only started training Pokemon 'a little while ago.' Not technically a lie, since she didn't give an exact time frame, but far from the truth.

Indeed, Whitney started interacting with Pokemon at a very young age. Her father was a farmer at the Moomoo farm on Route 39, and once every so often he would take his only daughter and eldest son to work on the farm and learn how the Miltank provided for their region's supply of Moomoo milk. To get them to battle would be out of the question. Miltank did not like battling, especially at being told what to do when it came to it, and were perfectly content for helping the region for the purpose of Moomoo milk.

Technically Whitney wasn't supposed to have a Pokemon before the age of ten, but Whitney was the master of persistence, and cried just the right amount, so her parents let her keep her favorite Miltank as a 'pet.'

Given what we know in the future about Whitney and her "Fucking Miltank!" as people would say, you could see where this was going.

Whitney knew Miltank were rare to come by in her region. Very rare. Learning how to use one was rarer, and most trainers didn't have the patience. Trainers that were lucky or perhaps unlucky enough to come across a Miltank in Route 39 would simply bring them to the Moomoo farm in exchange for other goods that trainers wanted. It wasn't technically poaching, not really, but a man's got to put bread on the table. Not even the gym leader in Goldenrod that specialized in normal-types had one. But Whitney's Miltank wasn't as temperamental, and easily warmed up to the young girl and did whatever she asked. Whitney had been interacting with this Miltank since she was a toddler. Her softball coach was destroyed to hear that Whitney wanted to discontinue softball and become a Pokemon trainer full-time.

"It's so silly, isn't it Miltank?" Whitney had remarked to her beloved cow. Her Miltank let out a moo in response. "Exactly what I thought. Coach McNair needs to understand that I'm not going to play softball forever. Do you think this is what I'm meant to do?"

Miltank's eyes had gone wide, and mooed enthusiastically.

Whitney had giggled. "Right, right! We're going to kick some trainer butt."

So when Whitney finally turned ten and got her Pokemon license, trainers were in for a little surprise. Johtonian trainers would scoff that the pink-haired brat had definitely had a Miltank before she was ten, but they had no way of proving that. Whitney would just call them sore-losers. Coming from Whitney Allister, this was saying a lot. The girl would still cry if she lost, that's something that would never change, but some trainers suspected it was for show. They were right only half the time.

So Whitney got the hang of Pokemon battles, cried after the few that she lost, and smiled when Johtonians whined about her "fucking Miltank."

As for getting gym badges, well, that was a bit more complicated. She defeated Lorraine, the gym leader from Goldenrod for just a formality, but had no interest in taking the gym challenge, or Arceus forbid take on the LNS. She knew that people often laughed at Johto, because the only reason Johto was anything worthwhile was because of Blackthorn, Ecruteak, Mahogany, and Cianwood. Whitney had the idea that she could defeat them, if she tried, but she wanted to build her own team of normal-type Pokemon. Whitney had never been the academic sort (her grades in Goldenrod's trainer's school reflected that) but she had read that Lenora Fentisette from Unova had utilized the typing.

Indeed, it was in fact Lenora Fentisette that inspired Whitney. It was she that stated normal-types deserved more recognition in the leagues. It was difficult to do so when Lorraine was the Goldenrod gym leader and erratic at best. She was hired about four years ago and there had been no change. But Whitney could use other Pokemon besides her Miltank, that she knew, and over the next three years she composed her team of a variety of normal-types, a few having a dual-typing for balance.

But none of them drove the other trainers crazy like her "fucking Miltank."

"You bitch," one of them spat. "Obviously cheating. What the fuck."

Whitney simply turned her nose up at them. "Phooey."

Phooey was Whitney's favorite word. She didn't believe in swearing, like that Clair Arrax that ran Blackthorn's City's gym had the tendency to do, or so Whitney had heard. She remembered growing up hearing people say that Clair Arrax, cousin of the legendary elite Lance Arrax, was going to run the Arrax name into the ground due to her being hired. Whitney didn't think that was true. Blackthorn was always in good standing. Always. That's how dragon-tamers were.

Sadistic wouldn't be completely inaccurate to describe how Whitney felt whenever she made trainers eat their words once they faced her Miltank, due to her combining move-set of rollout, milk drink, attract, and stomp. Most Pokemon in the wild that trainers caught were male. Miltank were known for being exclusively female. Whitney knew exactly what she was doing. Trainers would cry, scream, swear, and wail in frustration. and each time that happened, her smile grew a bit more as they whined.

Whitney showed up at Lorraine's door. The girl, though she appeared ten years older than Whitney, at most. "Oh Whitney! How do you do?"

"Do you take on gym trainers?" Whitney asked.

Lorraine looked at her doubtfully. "How old are you?"

"I'm thirteen. And I know I'm young, but I've heard in order to be good at Pokemon, you start young. Give me that chance. I've faced off against the other gym trainers here without even breaking a sweat."

"Because of your Miltank."

Whitney allowed a smile. "Because of my Miltank."

Lorraine thought about it for a moment. Then she gave her a patronizing look, and said the word, the word what Whitney was not accustomed to hearing: "No."

Whitney's smile evaporated. No one ever said no to her.

The tears flowed from Whitney's eyes easily. To say Lorraine was at a complete loss would be an understatement. "But why not?" Whitney's voice wobbled, the last word coming out as a high-pitched whine. "I'm good. I'm really, really, really good! Please, you have to give me a chance. I'm good. Please, oh please will you give me a chance?"

Lorraine heaved out a sigh. "Okay, okay, okay. I have an opening. And I don't care that you've beaten the other gym trainers here, they've been here longer than you and deserve some respect. Seniority is a big thing in Goldenrod, you hear? Please just... stop crying."

Whitney stopped crying instantly and the smile returned.

She did hear. She understood. But she didn't care. Not one bit. She wouldn't voice this, however. She waited. Because it clicked in her brain at that precise moment, that Whitney wanted to be the next gym leader of Goldenrod City. Whitney supposed that it would take many years to acquire the position, depending when Lorraine was either to be removed from the post or retire. That could be years. Decades, if Whitney was that unlucky. It turned out, Whitney didn't even have to wait that long.

A year training under Lorraine. That's all it took. Lorraine specifically told Whitney to not use her Miltank when trainers came along, much to the pink-haired girl's grief - and that she had to use her weaker Pokemon. Frustrated by this one day, because Whitney at fourteen knew that at this point that she was much more adept at battling than Lorraine, had stormed out of the gym - her feet stomping and her fists curled at her sides. She ended up out of Goldenrod, and accidentally ran into two gym leaders.

"The New Barkers have more trainers lined up than usual. Clair, I'm gonna lose my shit if the first three gyms in their way don't-"

Smoking some cheap grass at night, thinking they weren't seen or heard by anyone else, but oh, not tonight. Whitney's older brother partook in the habit, so she wasn't unfamiliar with the smell. Morty and Clair appeared aghast at the young teenage girl. Morty's Haunter was up and about, slowly making his way toward Whitney.

"Hold it, Haunter," Morty warned lightly. "She's fine. Keep away from her." Haunter scowled, then broke into a fit of giggles, but did as his trainer said.

Whitney herself didn't know what to do. "I... I-"

"Girl, if you don't keep your mouth shut," Clair began in a hiss, and before any more threats could spew from the dragon-tamer's mouth, Morty stepped in.

"You're Lorraine's girl," said Morty, in realization. "The Darling of Goldenrod." Oh. Well, Whitney had never heard the title up until now, and admittedly she was a bit prideful about it than she should've been. Morty took a drag from the substance, then held it out for Whitney. "Want?"

Clair smacked his arm. "She's like, fourteen, you idiot!"

"I started earlier."

"And look where you are now, your brain has turned to mush."

"Ignore her, evidently she needs this stuff to mellow out," Morty told Whitney, waving off Clair who was positively fuming. Whitney suspected that she was afraid that she would go run off and tell her cousin about what she was doing, but Whitney had no plans for that.

"...No thank you," said Whitney, swallowing a lump in her throat. "And I won't tell. How did you hear about me?"

Morty let out a chuckle. "Gym trainers from gyms all over Johto talk. They like to gossip, and word on the street is that a girl with pink hair tied into pigtails is tougher than she looks. Oh, don't give me that face. You're stronger than those Goldenrod gym trainers that have been there for years. A Miltank, right?"

Whitney huffed and crossed her arms. "That I can't use. I've beaten Lorraine before. It may have been her one badge team, but I'm good."

Morty and Clair exchanged a look of interest. "Better than Lorraine, good?" pressed Clair. Whitney didn't even have to think, she nodded straight away. Then, something shocking happened, Clair began to laugh. "Well, well, Morty. Looks like your problem might be solved after all."

Whitney frowned. "What... problem?"

"The New Barkers," Morty spoke, in blatant disdain. New Barkers were in reference to trainers from New Bark Town, and those usually went in order of going to Violet City, then Azalea Town, then Goldenrod City, and then Morty's gym which was Ecruteak.

"A lot are starting to come by, as I'm sure you've noticed. They probably have gotten past Lorraine with ease. Would I be correct in saying that?" A nod from Whitney. "I've figured. Because a lot of them are showing up at my gym, and I have to stop them each time. I'm working more and more hours having to balance those New Barkers and the damn LNS, because Sinnohnians and Unovians are getting much stronger, but Johtonian's trainers are weaker. Can you hold them off with your Miltank?"

"I... could," said Whitney, with a smile. "I like battling."

"You hear about Sinnoh's new elite? Lance won't stop bitching about him," Clair said, with a scoff. "Fire-type specialist. Only uses two fire-types. Technically not breaking a rule, since type specialists only have to have two Pokemon of that type to be an elite. He was put in the front slot, and trainers are complaining. He's also completely barking mad."

If Clair Arrax said you were barking mad, then you were barking mad.

"Sinnoh's playing hardball this year," agreed Morty, with a low whistle. "I guess that's what happens when you have Cynthia damn Shirona as a champion. But if Whitney has a Miltank, then I'm sure she can provide that same outrage." Then, his PokeGear began to chime - and he swore under his breath. Something about a league worker telling him to expect many, many New Barkers in the next week. In turn, this made Clair let out a string of vulgarities. Case and point, the woman was known for her potty mouth.

"We have to prepare for tomorrow, well... I have to prepare especially, for tomorrow. Fuck. Whitney, we'll stay in touch. Your number?" He motioned for her PokeGear, which Whitney handed over without a second thought. "Thank you. We should be speaking more soon."

In Agatha's opinion, yesterday was the most disastrous LNS meeting yet, and that was truly saying something. Say what you will about Lorelei and Bruno having the inability to think before they speak, or Lance's hesitance after so many years, the constant switching of champions a la Steven and Wallace, the Unovians being dreadfully dull, or the phony nature of Bertha and smugness from one Lucian, but at least there was some civility involved between elites. Or, well, at least they pretended to have some civility.

Apparently Flint Brinton hadn't been house-broken yet. The gutter rat with a clown wig immediately tried to jump in the conversation, despite being the newest of the lot, and needed to learn his place. He wasn't cruel, per se, just brash. 

He clashed with Bruno, like Agatha expected him to. Bruno was put off by Flint's need to say what he believed. The others appeared a little alarmed, even in his own circle. But then Flint said that Bruno stood for nothing, and if you stood for nothing, you would die for nothing. Bruno had remarked after the meeting that Sinnoh needed to bring lobotomies back because the fire-type specialist (if they could even call him that) desperately needed one.

Lorelei had replied that it wouldn't do any good, since Sinnoh was a breeding ground for mental illness. Agatha made a comment like that to Lorelei years ago and now Lorelei was parroting it. The prejudice against Sinnohnians Lorelei had was set in stone. Then Lorelei, Sergei, and Bruno shared a laugh about it. Lance appeared reluctant to join in.

Agatha had approached the other Sinnoh elites and Cynthia, telling them simply that their new boy was out of control. Cynthia replied that she agreed. Before she could add on, Bertha had stepped in saying that she was going to have a word with Flint. For a moment, Agatha didn't think that anything would come out of it. The boy was more ill-tempered than herself and Bruno, a loose cannon entirely, and maybe having Flint join their ranks was sending a clear message to Indigo that Sinnoh was planning on destroying them.

Agatha didn't know exactly what Bertha had said to Flint, but the results the next morning spoke for itself. Flint had called Agatha himself, murmuring a "sorry ma'am," sounding much younger than how he sounded at the LNS meeting, and explained sometimes he got a bit overexcited, as if that was not obvious enough. He did also apologize to Agatha once more that he didn't really mean to make Lt. Surge upset, that he genuinely did have an admiration of his service, and Agatha almost believed him.

Agatha had later learned that Flint had apologized to the other leagues as well. Like Agatha had said to Lorelei, some new or potential hires needed drill sergeants, and some of them needed mommy. Bertha managed to be both. To be honest, it annoyed Agatha, because according to others Bertha had gone soft. Very different from the woman who once stopped a dangerous criminal from causing more damage to her region. Now fans would ask Bertha to hold their babies, to her delight. What the hell was she trying to pull?

But Agatha knew better. The Sinnoh League was known for being very good with children, especially the little ones. Agatha knew that the ground-specialist genuinely liked the little goblins, but she also knew it was so they could trust the league to become Pokemon trainers and be sent to the underground with the purpose of churning them into refined soldiers. Flint had already started handpicking the most desperate, wild children to go in despite their scores in school.

Everyone had thought that Flint was coked up like his predecessor.

His piss came back clean as a whistle.

Which meant he acted like that sober. 

...Whatever. Flint's still young. And an idiot. But Agatha didn't think he was stupid. No one who could sway a crowd like the Sinnohnian people could be stupid, and especially with what Flint was doing for the underground. Sinnohnians were rallying and thrilled over his hire, and, along with that laidback gym leader, he managed to help Sunyshore. Though Sunyshore had a mayor, Agatha knew it was truly Flint and the gym leader that were in charge of that hellhole. 

Right now, however, Agatha was supposed to be training with her Misdreavus. The woman didn't know the meaning of the word "rest" and wouldn't for a very long time. She scowled at the elites and gym leaders who insisted on taking vacations, or short breaks, and thought either of those things were beneath her.

So when her PokeGear - that was a gift from Morty, that he insisted that she had (ugh, young people) - went off in the midst of her training session, to say Agatha was irritated would be an understatement. She checked the caller ID and coincidentally, saw that it was Morty. "What is it?" She barely managed to keep the annoyance out of her voice. For most people, she wouldn't have tried so hard.

"Agatha, I'm so pissed." Agatha bit back a sigh; already knowing what this was about. "I know it's battling season. I know that there would be an increase in challengers, so thank you for warning me in advance, but twenty challengers today from Johto. All of them being goddamn New Barkers. None of them were prepared. It's been non-stop of stupid New Barker trainers waltzing into the gym, and it's making me want to blow my brains out."

Agatha could understand why he was so frustrated. A lot of them were aloof, at best. The stupid children thought that winning their first battle with their school's Sentret would guarantee them to make it past the Johto league.

"There has to be a way to fix the other gyms before me, because if this happens for the rest of the season I will lose it."

Agatha's no stranger to Morty's grievances. Over time, she had grown used to Morty complaining at her. She let him. He just needed to blow off steam. The boy had a lot of problems, a lot of which was thrust upon him with very little choice in the matter. Agatha would lend him a listening ear. It was all he needed, and Agatha found she didn't mind giving him advice. It also helped that he was one of the few that never (directly or indirectly) blamed her for anything bad that went on. Dare she say she liked him as her own.

Oh, Agatha had favorites, despite others claiming that she didn't and hated everyone equally. This was true on most days, but once in a while if you read between the lines, you could tell that Agatha liked a few of her colleagues. "Like" was a strong word, however, and it usually meant "tolerated," and it would depend on the day who it was.

Right now it wasn't Morty though, because he was whining away about the obvious problem of the three gyms before him, and she was getting a damn migraine despite letting him vent when she could be training up her Misdreavus more. Therefore, instead of yelling at him, she replied through even teeth: "...I'll see what I can do."

"I have a solution."

Oh? "And you're complaining to me, why?"

"Because I need your stamp of approval. Off-the-books, as usual. Sergei doesn't have to know."

Okay, maybe Morty was Agatha's favorite today after all. She allowed a hint of a smile. "I'm listening."

"Gym trainers like to gossip, you know this."

And how. Mostly to bitch about pay, or other things, like the peculiarities of their bosses. Morty had his share of rumors, like how the gym leader smoked grass in the back of his gym after hours. A rumor that was probably true, and should warrant an investigation, but Agatha paid no mind. The boy was a competent battler and was technically keeping his promise of not operating a business, so as long as he wasn't under the influence on the clock, Agatha looked the other way. It was a plant, and the law regarding it was starting to bend in not only Kanto and Johto, but everywhere else as well, and Agatha couldn't be bothered. And it did help that Morty did whatever the hell she said, no questions asked. Whether it be a league errand, a menial task, Morty was one of the first people to volunteer if the other elites couldn't do it, if he wasn't busy.

"That I do," said Agatha. "I do hope this is going somewhere, Morty. I'm a busy woman."

"Sorry, Agatha. I know. Well... there's this gym trainer in Goldenrod. Whitney... something. Wait, wait... Allister. Whitney Allister. She's got a Miltank. Her fellow gym trainers are complaining that she's good, real good, so good to the point where Lorraine is not letting her use that Miltank."

Agatha's interest was piqued. "Oh?"

"She's gotten a badge from Lorraine. Her one-badge team, yes, but Whitney annihilated her. Her Pokemon had to recover in the Pokemon Center for two weeks. That's not normal, for a normal-type gym leader, is it?"

Why on earth wasn't she notified of this?

...Agatha knew why. Because Lorraine was threatened. Though Agatha did have more questions, such as why Lorraine took Whitney as a gym trainer in the first place, they would have to wait. It looked like Agatha was going to have to pay a visit to Goldenrod to see for herself.

"It's not," Agatha agreed. "Any other information you picked up?"

"It's mostly gym trainers complaining about her - sorry, for my language, Agatha - 'fucking Miltank!' so that's it, really."

Agatha would let the swearing slide. "I'll see to it. Any more questions?"

Hesitance from the other line, something Agatha rarely heard from the ghost-type gym leader. "Um..."

"Out with it, boy."

"...How's that Misdreavus I got for you?"

Now Agatha was fully smiling, a genuine one that she was thankful people weren't around to see. She didn't care what Sergei said, Morty was a good boy. "Doing just fine, thank you for asking. I reckon he'll be strong enough to take on trainers from outer regions in no time."

"I expect nothing less."

Yes, today Morty was her favorite. Depending on what Agatha will get when visiting Goldenrod tomorrow, this could change. "I'm going to hang up now." Agatha did so.

Whitney was used to the female dynamics of the Goldenrod City gym. She was accustomed to hearing them chirp about trivial things when challengers weren't stopping by, or when Lorraine was facing off with one challenger, and all the sort that gave them the free time to do what they wanted. Rumors and gossip fly around like it was going out of style, and most times Whitney didn't care much about it. She tried to ignore them as they spoke about nails, dolls, or how cute Morty Mornell was. Sure, Whitney liked painting her nails, still had her doll collection at home, and Morty was kind of easy on the eyes, but she didn't bother chiming in their sessions. Most couldn't stand her anyway.

Which was why when the gym trainers shrieked that there would be a gym check by Agatha, Whitney's ears perked up for the first time since she got here. When she glanced over to see Lorraine's face pale it only confirmed the rumors. Usually, it was Lance who would check Goldenrod's gym, and would call a few weeks in advance (despite Agatha reprimanding him to give them the element of surprise, fear, and suspense of impending doom) to let them know the exact date and time.

Agatha was present. And - to everyone else's surprise - Morty. Thus came the whispers from the gym trainers to marvel, 'Oh look at him, he's even cuter up close!' while Whitney's heart began to race in realization, that they were both here for her. But Whitney's only fourteen. She would be one of the youngest hires in the Indigo League in a while. No one had been hired that young since the induction of Sabrina Harlow, who was only a year younger, and that was under special circumstances. Yes of course there was Misty Williams who was relatively new in comparison, only being sixteen at the time, but everyone knew she was personally mentored by the Lorelei Isbert.

So really, you couldn't blame Whitney for having her doubts. Agatha turned to Morty. He whispered something in her ear, whilst looking at Whitney, and for a moment Agatha sent a glance in her direction. Whitney felt a chill go down her spine when they locked eyes. Then Agatha scowled in Morty's direction.

"Arceus, Morty, if you wasted my time, then there will be hell to pay."

It looked as though Morty was holding himself back from scoffing, which was a wise decision from the ghost-type gym leader.

"Does this mean we still can go out for scones later?" Morty asked Agatha hopefully, with a grin. Whitney's eyes drifted to the ghost elite, who let out an irritated sigh as she closed her eyes.

"...Fine," Agatha allowed, opening her eyes. "After the battle, if Whitney wins."

Morty's grin widened, and turned to Whitney. "Knock 'em dead, girl. Well, not literally. But you know what I mean." For most people, they would've been reprimanded by Agatha right on the spot. Instead, Agatha sighed once more and shook her head. So the rumors of Agatha allegedly having a soft spot for the ghost gym leader were true.

Agatha turned to Lorraine. She didn't bother to acknowledge Whitney by name, opting to point at her instead. "She's going to battle your eight badge team. An all-out match."

Lorraine appeared confident. "No problem." Whitney supposed that she would be correct, unless-

"With her Miltank," added Morty.

-ah, there we go. Now that would pose a problem to Lorraine. Whitney knew it. Lorraine knew it. All the gym trainers who's eyes were burning with jealously and hatred as they looked at her knew it. She hoped that Agatha picked up on those gazes, just to show that they disliked her because of her battling skills.

Out of the corner of Whitney's eye, Morty smirked. He seemed to pick up on that, at least.

In later years, Whitney would claim yet another lie. How she won that battle by destroying that gym leader with all six of her Pokemon not fainted, without breaking a sweat. It would be one of Whitney's favorite stories to tell. She boasted about it a bit too much, and a bit too boldly. The lie wasn't that she beat the gym leader. Whitney did beat Lorraine, but what Whitney would never tell other people was how close it was. How Lorraine and Whitney were each down to one Pokemon, with Whitney's Miltank and Lorraine's Blissey. Whitney wouldn't describe it as a lie, just merely stretching the truth. But the pink-haired girl was known for this compulsive habit.

Morty got his scone. He was very pleased about it.

Whitney was given the position of Goldenrod's gym leader. Given that gym leaders, elites, and champions were given more media attention, treated more so as celebrities and idols than back in Agatha's time for instance, Whitney had her first interview on Friar. Friar was Johto's number one late night comedy show, where they did sketches and interviews of idols and celebrities in the Johto region, a trend that started in Unova. This started to extend to the Johto region. Instead of Johto interviewing only sports athletes and film stars, they started to have interviews with gym leaders and elites in the Indigo league. This was the age of league members getting more media focused.

Whitney was more than nervous and chewed on her hair in the dressing room. Of all people, it was Lorelei Isbert who was there to calm her down.

"Don't worry," smiled Lorelei. "John Friar's a great interviewer. He'll settle your nerves, and knows you're a kid and will go easy on you. He's been in the business a long time."

"My next guest is the newest gym leader in Johto. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Goldenrod City's new gym leader, Whitney Allister!"

Whitney was cued to go on stage and the audience roared with delight. She had no idea what to do. Who knew that so many people would cheer over her? Whitney was used to large crowds, she would blow kisses to fans that had seen her softball career, but this...

This was a whole different ballgame.

Whitney smiled awkwardly and waved even more so, and took the seat on the comfy chair across from Friar's desk. She was on the edge of her seat.

"Whitney. It's good to see you," Friar greeted.

"Thank you for having me," Whitney replied instantly, like Lorelei told her to. The crowd laughed. Whitney didn't understand. Did she say something funny?

"I think someone's a tad nervous for tonight," Friar remarked. Yes. Very much so. All these people were looking at her. "So you've got a position as Goldenrod's new gym leader at fourteen-years-old. I believe you're the youngest gym leader to be hired since Sabrina Harlow. How do you feel about that?"

Whitney crossed her legs, tensing up. "I'm not sure. I'm just glad the Indigo League recognized my talent." She allowed herself a small smile. "But really... it's Miltank. My Miltank is my ace Pokemon. She's wonderful. It wouldn't have been possible if not for her."

"That's very admirable of you, Whitney. Miltank I've heard are difficult to train, so you must be an exceptional trainer. I once tried training a Miltank once, back when I was a trainer. I ordered my Miltank to use rollout, and instead she huffed and turned away."

The crowd laughed. Whitney let out some chuckles of her own. She felt herself move back on her chair. "Yeah, Miltank can be really stubborn. But it's thanks to my father. My father runs the Moomoo farm."

"Oh yes, tell me about that."

Whitney's muscles started to relax. "He taught me everything about Miltank. They're not really battlers, but I've had this Miltank as a pet when I was really young. We've always had a special bond. But she has a feisty side, there's no question about that."

"And how," said Friar. He earned some laughter from the audience. "I could've done without Miltank shooting milk at me."

Whitney giggled, and her nerves started to fade.

Friar engaged in a conversation with her about Moomoo farm, and how it provides to the Johto region and to some extent Kanto. They spoke about Whitney's battle with her predecessor and won which was how she got the title. She asked what trainers outside the Indigo league would expect when facing her in battle would be like.