Interlude – Across the Ocean

Interlude – Across the Ocean

INTERLUDE - THE OTHER SIDE OF THE OCEAN

Hilbert Cassidy loved people, but love itself was a vice, dragging behind it a thousand tangled problems that came with it. He knew it, had always known it, and would always know it, and yet he pressed on, convinced that the world was worth the struggle.

Hands in his pocket, his red cap tightly wound on his head, the teenager walked through the streets of Numeva, a Patrat following closely behind him. Every glance at the little rodent made Hilbert's heart squeeze in his chest. The Patrat's whiskers quivered slightly as he padded along beside Hilbert, his usual energy dampened by a heavy tension in the air. His sharp eyes were narrow with the weight of anticipation and still wet with tears. They passed by a large poster plastered at the side of a building. A row of Rangers looking toward the future, bright smiles with perfectly white teeth set upon their faces and hands stretched outward. Behind them was a massive, colorful Braviary—the Rangers' mascot and symbol. 'Join the Rangers today! Keep your communities safe!' the poster read. Hilbert had seen it a million times already, and therefore paid it no mind. His attention was Patrat's.

"This way?" Hilbert pointed toward another street. They'd navigated away from Main Street, and toward the less dense parts of their small hometown.

He pointed to many houses, each an island among the wilderness that was Numeva. Once you got away from Main Street in the city center, that was what much of this town was. That was part of why Hilbert loved it so much, even if Bianca found it to be suffocating and Cheren thought it to be a dead-end town with no opportunities to study good trainers up close. That was a distinction his friend liked to make—the difference between good and bad trainers. Hilbert liked listening to him ramble on about what's his name and so and so, but he found him a little condescending sometimes.

His train of thought now finished, Hilbert realized that Patrat wasn't answering. The normal type was frozen in his tracks, trembling like a newborn Deerling. They must have been close. Hilbert crouched in front of Patrat, ignoring the few people around them. The little Patrat, barely four months old, started to sob, and Hilbert seized him with a warm hug, his hands caressing the tough fur that prickled his cheeks.

"We'll get her back. I promised you, didn't I?" His voice was a gentle thing, because how couldn't it be in the face of such loss and grief? He barely held his own tears back as Patrat bawled on his shoulder.

Hilbert Cassidy loved people. With that came the fact that he could feel the pain and loss of strangers he barely knew.

It was easy to find the house. Hilbert thought it to be nothing special. Peeling paint and a sagging porch that looked like it hadn't seen much care in years. Bare windows that revealed dull curtains inside, and a well-mowed yard with a few chairs strewn about. "Stay here," he said to Patrat as he walked up to the stranger's house. Numeva was a small town, but it still was comprised of ten thousand souls.

Hilbert was scared, for how couldn't he be? The boy had never trespassed before—

Correction: the boy had never intentionally trespassed before. He hopped the white picket fence and skulked through the yard until he made it to the worn wooden door. First, his hand hovered in the air, unsure of how to start this—unsure of if he should even do it, but one look back at Patrat behind the fence, little paws wrapped tightly around the wood, and his resolve grew ten, a hundred, a thousand fold.

He slammed an angered fist on the door. "Hello? Anyone home?!" Hilbert called out.

There were steps, and an irritated voice that hit him back and told him to stop breaking down his door. Hilbert made sure to comply, though he was ready to cause as much ruckus as needed to get face-to-face with this person—or more precisely, this person's son. The adult who answered just screamed rambunctious, with wild, unkempt hair that seemed to have a life of its own and a t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of some forgotten band.

"The hell is your problem, son?" he loomed tall over Hilbert's wiry frame, but the teenager stood his ground, giving the man the widest of smiles.

"I'm here to see your son, actually!" Hilbert yelled with a nervous laugh. "I'm Hilbert Cassidy? Gemma's kid." His mother had been one of the town's few doctors before retiring early because of the strain of the job. These days, she worked at a café near their house as a waitress. "I don't want to cause any trouble."

He rubbed his chin and glanced up at the afternoon sky. "Ah. Gemma's kid, huh?" he said. "You friends with Darryl?"

"No, but I bet we could be!" Hilbert earnestly said with a snap of a finger. "I promise this'll be fast; I'm sorry for bothering you."

"Just make sure he gets back by six." Hilbert relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Y'know, Darryl caught his first Pokemon yesterday, so he's probably going to want to stay out late. I keep telling him the Circuit starts in September and to take it easy, but... bah," he sighed, not seeing Hilbert's clenched fist. The man in front of him—he really should have gotten his name—turned toward their living room and screamed, "Darryl! Hilbert's here for you!"

"Hilbert who?!" a voice called back. Hilbert felt the hair on his neck rise with anxiety.

"Cassidy! He wants to talk!"

Legendaries, they were loud; the fact that Hilbert himself thought that meant that Cheren would despise being around this house. Darryl was sandy-haired, and his skin was tan from staying in the sun all day. Hilbert wished he could get tan instead of sunburned. He noticed a bandage around his forearm as he ran down the stairs with a Pokeball clumsily attached to his hip. He shot Hilbert a confused look, then looked at his dad.

"Um, hi?" Darryl tried, and then walked up to Hilbert. "Do I know you from school, or something?" Then, he squinted at him. "Wait! You're that guy who got arre—"

"Well, thank you for your time, sir!" Hilbert yelled over Darryl and dragged him by the wrist. "We won't be out for long!"

"Whu—wha—what are you doing?!" Darryl yelled, yelled, and yelled as Hilbert forced him through and out of his yard. "The hell is your problem?" He forced his wrist out of Hilbert's hold and patted his bandaged arm with a slight wince—"

"Shoot! I'm so sorry!" Hilbert winced. "I forgot about your injury, I—do you need to see my mom? She has a bunch of first-aid stuff—"

"I'm fine! God, what's up with you?" Darryl grimaced; his eyebrows knitted together in frustration. "Are you kidnapping me or something?"

That would be stupid. If Hilbert had been kidnapping him, he would have called upon his wild Pokemon friends and distracted Darryl's father while they did the job for him, meaning there would have been no witnesses. Maybe Petilil knew Sleep Powder by now... he hadn't seen her in two weeks.

"Not exactly." His answer came perfectly in sync with a bristle behind Darryl—Patrat had sneaked up on them, though he quickly went and hid behind Hilbert's leg, his teeth gnawing at the fabric to distract the normal type from his anxiety. "Do you recognize this Patrat?"

"Psht, I dunno." Darryl shrugged. "Ain't he just another Patrat? They all look the same—"

"No, they don't!" Hilbert cut in. "Every Patrat's different, just like every Pokemon!" Was Darryl blind? Could he not see the slightly narrower eyes, the tougher fur, the smaller frame and that little notch in his ear? "Anyway, that doesn't matter right now!" Hilbert pointed at the boy's waist. "You caught another Patrat yesterday!"

Darryl beamed excitedly. "Yeah! It was tough, 'cause I had no other Pokemon of my own." He showed his wounded arm. "Luckily she looked like she was tired, and she was distracted by carrying a bunch of Oran Berries in a bag..."

The words hit Hilbert like a truck as he continued listening. It was his fault. All his fault. He'd known this, and yet hearing it from the culprit's mouth made him tense as if he was going to explode. He had healed her with a potion, but so much fighting meant that she still was too tired to fight back. Patrat's claws raked against his worn pants. If he hadn't run his tournament, then she would still be free right now.

"That Patrat is this one's mother," Hilbert said. "Release her."

Darryl snorted. "Come on, dude! I need a Pokemon for the Circuit, and Patrat are good for beginners. Didn't you pass your Cert Exam?" He shook his head as if Hilbert was stupid. He had passed! With a 79! "I'll take good care of her, okay? I brought her to the Pokemon Center, and I've been getting to know her—though that hasn't been going very well—"

"Release her," Hilbert repeated.

Darryl's eyes narrowed. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Release. Her."

Hilbert Cassidy loved people. That made him want to right their wrongs.

The punch was clumsy as it came flying toward Darryl's face. Hilbert wasn't a great fighter, but the suddenness of it caught Darryl off guard. He barely had time to react as the fist slammed into the side of his face, and the impact sent him tumbling into the ground. Hilbert cried out, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as he instinctively cradled his throbbing hand. The impact reverberated through his knuckles, a stinging pain radiating up his arm, sharp and unrelenting.

"What the fuck—"

Hilbert jumped on top of Darryl and hissed like a wild animal. "There is so much potential in you," he said, voice full of kindness. Punches hit back, most of them hitting his chest as Darryl thrashed below him. "I love you, Darryl. I love you. Understand that this is for your own good."

Hilbert grabbed the boy's Pokeball. He knew that a trainer could release a Pokemon permanently if they kept the button pressed for thirty seconds straight, but he wasn't certain he would still be conscious by the end of it. Instead, he immediately released Patrat, winner of his tournament, and yelled, "run! Take your kid, and don't come back for a while!" Eventually, the trace from the Pokeball would fade after a few weeks, and Patrat would be considered wild again by their systems.

Darryl was a bigger kid. Four inches taller and broad-shouldered. It had only been a matter of time until Hilbert was pushed back, but he continued smiling as Darryl started swinging at him.

Hilbert Cassidy loved people. Sometimes, that meant taking a beating.

—

"You have to put yourself together, kid," the mousey-looking Ranger told him. Hilbert remembered her—Harley, she was called. Field Ranger Harley, she'd always correct you. "What is this, the sixth time? Seventh? You're lucky the Professor keeps bailing you out."

Ranger Uniforms were different throughout the country depending on where they operated, but Hilbert had only seen these. A muted mix of olive and deep green made to blend into the plains with its grass-like patterns. Their boots were dark and sturdy, and they wore a beret-like hat. On her chest sat two medals—one for graduating from being a cadet, and another for handling a violent Pokemon once two years ago before it could do anything more than material damage. Not in Numeva, but another, smaller town down south that this branch was also responsible for.

Thank the Legends for Professor Juniper indeed, along with the clout his mother had. The Rangers had so much authority, especially in small towns like these, that they often did the police's job for them. That was why Hilbert was currently waiting in a practically empty, sparsely decorated waiting room, the walls lined with faded posters of public safety notices and a few dangerous Pokemon reports—those that sometimes 'encroached' on routes during the summer when the Rangers weren't churning along at one hundred percent capacity. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and worn leather. A few mismatched chairs were scattered around the room, and Hilbert had chosen the one closest to the window, though the view outside was just a stretch of dirt road and a few scattered trees. The faint hum of an old ceiling fan did little to stir the stale air. A single desk at the far end of the room separated him from the busy hallway, where Rangers in uniform occasionally strode by, their radios crackling with updates.

Hilbert tried not to move his face or body too much. Everywhere on his upper body felt like one big bruise, and he could barely see out of his right eye because of his swollen it was. "Hmhm," he grumbled. "Thanks for fixing up my face and stuff."

Harley sighed, then gave him a tired smile. "You're gonna have to behave on the Circuit. Stuff like this can ruin your rep, and then say goodbye to getting a sponsor!"

Hilbert masked a groan and just decided to stay quiet. He wasn't like all the kids or even Cheren hoping to make it big by getting sponsored by one of the Big Five. He didn't care for the fame, the money or the connections it would bring, even if it'd make his goal of becoming Champion easier.

Because he did want to be Champion. Hilbert was tired of seeing Unova squander its potential for a better society, and Mark Obel might as well have been the embodiment of everything holding it back. Stagnation, complacency, subservience to those who wanted to do nothing but loot this country for all it was worth—

"Ow. Ow." Getting fired up about this stuff made his body tense up, which was bad news considering how badly he'd been beaten up. Pain throbbed on his face and arms.

"You're going to need to rest a few days for the swelling to get better, but it shouldn't affect you much besides the pain." Hilbert breathed a sigh of relief. He was supposed to be meeting his first potential friend tomorrow! "Arceus, what's going to become of you out there?"

"What?" Hilbert groaned.

"I'm worried about you, you know? Out in the big cities, they'll chew you up!" Harley said, though he figured it was to scare him. "None of them are gonna have time for a goody—" she raised a finger. "'Guess a goody-two-shoes wouldn't try and beat up someone and steal their Pokemon."

"I wasn't stealing; I was freeing her!"

"Now you're sounding like one of those plasma goons."

He would have argued that they were nothing alike, but he saw his mother out of the corner of his eye. Gemma Cassidy immediately winced when she saw Hilbert's face, and she briskly made her way toward him. Her long, dark brown hair flowed down her shoulders in messy curls, and her bright blue eyes pierced through him. She held out a hand, but he leaned back to avoid her touch, scared that it'd hurt him. Hilbert really hated pain; his tolerance was so bad that his mother loved making fun of him for it sometimes. He was the kind of kid who cried every time he had to get his blood drawn.

"Goodness gracious," his mother sighed.

"You should see the other guy," he lied.

"I quite literally saw him; Darryl's waiting for you outside with his dad." Oh. Yeah, that made a lot of sense. "You're lucky they're not pressing charges, Hilbert." She glanced toward Ranger Harley, who was busy radioing about some nonsense, and whispered, "did he deserve it?"

"Yes," Hilbert mumbled.

"Was it worth it?"

"For sure. I saved Patrat and reunited her with her son."

She gave him a smile and ruffled his hair. "Then I'm proud of you, my little hero."

His mother always dealt with the fallout whenever he got a little too big for his boots, and today was no different. She chatted up Harley and said that yes; he would never do it again, yes, she would have a talk with him; yes, she knew that she'd said the exact same thing last time. To be honest, the Rangers were quite nice to him, at least. They'd given Hilbert chance after chance, even after that really bad time when he'd helped a new Cottone in town. Supposedly, inexperienced kids like him weren't supposed to deal with fairies and he shouldn't have brought his other friends from school to see her, but she'd just been the nicest little thing! It was too bad they chased her out of town.

They were nice and wanted the best, Hilbert knew, but they were quite heavy-handed and there were...

A lot of bad apples souring the whole package. Especially when Mark Obel was at their head. A flicker of a pencil and a bit of political lobbying, and he'd be able to bring about the winds of change! A society that was better for all. So why? Of course, it was never that simple, Hilbert thought as he and his mother left the Ranger Station. He kicked a rock and watched it tumble off the dirt road. A nation-state, especially one as large as Unova, had a lot of moving parts, and one couldn't influence a tiny, itty bitty part of it without kicking the ant hill and burning support and political capital everywhere. The problem was that Mark Obel just wasn't doing anything with said political capital anyway! What was the point in him even getting to his position if he didn't even want to steer the darn ship?

He felt his mother push him forward, and he met Darryl's eyes. Seeing the tanned teen look at him so pitifully when Hilbert had been the one to throw the first punch kind of left a bad taste in his mouth, but it also meant that the potential for kindness he had seen hadn't been for naught. Every living creature could be kind; it was just a matter of finding the right approach. Meanwhile, Darryl's father glared at Hilbert and made him glance down at his feet. Darryl asked to speak in private, and Hilbert followed a few dozen feet away.

"Hey."

"Um," Hilbert grabbed onto his arm and squeezed. "Hi."

"I kind of gave it some thought. What you said." He shuffled in place. "I mean, I'm still pissed you released my Pokemon, and fuggin' punching me! But seeing her run away like that with that sheer relief in her eyes... kind of made me realize I was being a dick."

Hilbert beamed and grabbed onto his hand, ignoring the pain that shot up his arm. "You see it!" he brightly exclaimed. "I knew I wasn't wrong about you! Pokemon are like people! Your dad sure wouldn't like it if someone took you away from him, right?" He waited for the nod and continued. "It's the same here! Though I guess you took the parent in this case." Hilbert scratched the back of his head. "Just be better from now on! That's what I strive to do! To do good no matter what and leave the world a better place than it was!"

"God—I said that I was sorry, not that I wanted to hear your entire life story!" He shook his hand away from Hilbert's. "But yeah. I still have until September to get a Pokemon; I'll go about it better and try to meet one. And, uh, get it to agree to join me."

"Excellent." He patted the teenager's back. "I'm sure you'll be a wonderful trainer; maybe we'll even see each other on the road."

The conversation didn't last for that long afterward. They mostly spoke of plans on tackling which Gym first. Darryl went over this entire intricate plan to skip Nacrene because of the difficulty and the knowledge required to pass the written test to actually get to battle Lenora, and Castelia because of how crowded it was throughout the year. Darryl shot Hilbert the same stupified look Cheren always had when Hilbert said he didn't have any plan. What was the point of traveling if he was going to stress about deadlines and sponsors and strength and networking—at that point, it sounded more like a fulltime job.

Hilbert got in his mother's car, and she began to drive them home. It was late in the afternoon, so knowing his two friends, Bianca was making her way back to her parents' because her curfew was at five, and Cheren was probably busy looking at win rates, synergies and whatnot in his spreadsheets. Their home was close to Main Street, and Nuvema was pretty spread out, so it'd be a while until they got there. Hilbert half-listened to the news crackling over the radio, the familiar voice reporting on the Plasma Organization ban that Mark Obel had just signed into law. Apparently, a prominent congressman called Ghetsis had resigned in protest, calling it an egregious example of government and corporate overreach. His statement, 'Unova doesn't have a Champion in charge; it has a boardroom pulling the strings,' was probably going to stick around for a while.

"Hilbert."

The boy felt his heart squeeze in his chest. The tone was one his mother rarely used—a mix of worry, anger, and sadness that always ended up prodding at his feelings. "Hrmrm." He did not manage to answer anything but a nonsensical grumble.

"Don't look out the window like that. This is important."

"I thought you were proud of me," he defensively said, looking at her. Her eyes were still on the road, but she occasionally glanced his way. "I did the right thing—"

"I know you did," she cut him off. "But the world is a big place, my little Sewaddle." He cringed at the nickname. "Harley has a point when she tells you that stuff! Rangers aren't always going to be as nice as the ones here; you could get in trouble and get your license revoked if you keep doing this! And you have a responsibility to Professor Juniper, now."

"I know..."

"And you're—" his mother slowed the car down and took a deep breath, "—I never want to say you're too kind, because that's not true. One is never too kind, and I'm so proud of how you're growing up. It's just that... people might take advantage of you, Hilbert. Like in school?"

"That was like five years ago. I know better," he gruffed. How was he supposed to know those kids hadn't actually needed money because of how hungry they were? That had gone on for nearly six months until his mother realized what was happening. "I'll be fine on the Circuit! I'm fifteen!"

"You need to stick close to Cheren, okay? I know you three aren't traveling together beyond the first route to Accumula, but if there's ever any doubt about something being fishy, you call him. Or Bianca!"

"Yes, mom."

She outstretched one of her hands to pinch his cheek before remembering it'd hurt him, and it went to ruffle his hair instead. "I still have you to myself for a little over two months. Legendaries, you grew up so fast—"

"Mom!"

—

Hilbert hadn't slept.

The excitement at the prospect of getting a Pokemon friend had built and built and built until he couldn't stop himself from pacing deep into the night. That, plus the pain made it pretty difficult to sleep, let alone toss and turn in his bed. The clock struck six before he decided to start getting ready. Shower, eat some buttered toast and eggs, kiss his mother goodbye before she went to work—she would only work the morning shift today—and finally, wait for his friends to get here. He saw them arrive through his bedroom window and met them at the door. Bianca, as always, wore her signature green hat, but today she paired it with a white dress layered under an orange top, bringing her usual cheerful energy. Cheren, on the other hand, stuck to his typical dark clothes, never one to fuss over his appearance. He'd always been popular in school because of how pretty his face was despite not trying at all—he barely even had to deal with acne!

The water type had taken a few hits, but her face was not marred by pain nor excitement nor ambition. It was duty. Oshawott clumsily jogged across the carpet as Cheren clamored at his Snivy to get up—

"Water Gun!" Hilbert tried.

To his relief, a small jet of water flew out of Oshawott's mouth. Snivy coughed when the water got in his mouth and closed his eyes, crawling away in an attempt to get it away from him. Hilbert felt a pang of guilt at all the books his mom had given him over the years getting ruined.

"It doesn't hurt, Snivy! It's not effective against you!" Cheren clicked his tongue. "Focus!"

That snapped Snivy out of it, but Oshawott was right up in his face, now. He slammed into Snivy with a Tackle. Then another. And another, each knocking the air out of his lungs and making the library behind him vibrate. The grass type lashed out—a Pokemon wouldn't just let itself get hit—with Vine Whips and hits with his hands and tail, and Hilbert knew Oshawott would lose if this kept going.

There was this concept in fights Hilbert had found to exist in his nearly a decade of experience battling, at least in these low-leveled fights.

Momentum.

Keep up the pressure, keep making good moves, and more would follow in turn as the opponent scrambled for a response, even if they had the advantage on paper. Both Snivy and Cheren were frustrated that Oshawott and Hilbert hadn't gone down without a fight, even though she was basically on her last legs. Could they even see her fraying breaths, her sluggish movements? They were blinded by the insidious glow of expectations like children attempting to gaze at stars in the bright light of day.

Hilbert would be a fool not to take advantage.

"Throw him toward the carpet!" he said with a maddened, joyous cackle.

Oshawott didn't look it, but she was strong. Certainly stronger than a gaunt Snivy. The water type slapped her opponent with her shell, shredding the plant-like fiber that was his skin slightly, and used his bafflement to lift him up on her head. She threw with a pained squeal that tore Hilbert's heart in half, and Snivy let out a hurt cry of his own. Oshawott's body was marred in red marks and bruises, and she could barely stand.

She was having fun, wasn't she? Grinning just like Hilbert was despite her apprehension earlier.

"Water Gun again. Aim for the eyes," Hilbert said. A weakness of theirs. Snivy hated not being able to see and the pressure of the water against his delicate eyelids.

"Like three more hits, and they're down!" Cheren yelled, finally realizing. "Come on!"

Another jet of water as Oshawott limped toward Snivy. Hilbert knew that the carpet would weigh a lot more once it was wet. Vines were thrashing out and about in every direction in hopes of actually getting a hit off. Hilbert figured they should have used their vines as rapid whips to slow the water's advance so Snivy could take a breath and recover, but they'd lost the forest for the trees.

The opening would be tight.

"Grab the edge of the carpet and wrap it around him," Hilbert said. A second, then— "Now!"

Oshawott rushed in with another well-placed Growl and brought the carpet over Snivy's head, but she took another hit for it right in the shoulder. His vines retracted in a panic and tried pushing against the sudden cover, but Oshawott was quick. She wrapped it tighter as she pushed him against the wall, and then down the stairs! Both Hilbert and Cheren ran to see how the battle would conclude, hearing the grass type thump against each incline. Oshawott pulled up her scalchop and jumped, tearing an opening across the carpet deep enough to hit Snivy upon her landing. Hilbert's eyes widened in admiration. She'd used the momentum from the fall to cut that deep, but her timing needed to be just right! He hadn't even expected for her to do any of that!

She was so... scrappy. He loved her already!

Oshawott heaved for each breath, lying back against the ground while Snivy was unmoving within the torn and wet carpet. Hilbert ignored complaints from Cheren about the fact that in a 'real' battle, there wouldn't be a carpet and scrambled down the stairs, grabbing Oshawott in her arms and spinning her around while he called her every compliment he could conjure up.

Cheren? Cheren was busy being cheered up by Bianca, but also—

Cheren, Hilbert noticed out of the corner of his eye, was thinking.

—

Natural Harmonia Gropius turned seventeen today, or at least that was what his father said.

N knelt beside the trembling Woobat, her wings torn and fur tangled with dirt. She flinched as he drew closer, wide eyes brimming with fear. Each time he raised his hand, she recoiled, as if expecting the familiar sting of pain. That was how it always was with Pokémon who had known only the cruelty of the outside world.

"It's okay," N gently whispered. "You're safe here, at the estate. No one will hurt you anymore."

"Is—is that true?" Woobat asked. N smiled as he sprayed a potion on the bat's bruised wings. She winced but didn't pull away. "They always lie to me..."

"The world is full of liars and crooks," N began. "Yet I do not reject it, little one."

"But why?" Woobat asked. "There's nothing out here but suffering and anguish and pain and it stings it stings it stings it stings I'M SORRY I'LL BE BETTER I'LL BATTLE I'LL BATTLE I'LL—"

N wrapped the Woobat in his arms and squeezed tightly enough to make her feel seen and loved, but not tightly enough to hurt her delicate, just-healed wounds.

"I see the ugliness; I understand how it has dealt you the most terrible of hands," he said. "But one must not look away from the rot. The first thing a person who wishes to change the world for the better is to acknowledge the truth of it. To see how broken the very foundation we stand upon is."

Throughout his life, N had listened to the haunting tales recounted by the Pokemon his followers and subjects returned with. Stories of abuse, kidnapping, and the brutal compulsion to fight against their will filled his ears, painting a grim portrait of the outside. N knew nothing of this world, for he had spent his entire life in this private estate nestled west of a place his father called Floccesy Town, but he had seen and heard the stories of thousands of Pokemon.

It had to stop. All of it had to be scorched clean and rebuilt anew with new rules, and he would be this country's King. His father had long railed against whoever 'Champion' was in charge at the time. Alder, Iris, and now Mark Obel—they were all the same no matter what their personal agendas were. They still kept the same rules that allowed for this.

He glanced down at the trembling Swoobat. "Are you hungry, my dear?"

"Is that—is that okay?" she meekly asked against his chest.

His heart burned with cold rage. "Yes. Of course."

N stayed to keep Swoobat company, feeding her Oran and Pecha Berries until there was a knock on his bedroom door. His childhood bedroom was grand and large, but it had always been empty. Perhaps Darmanitan had come to pay him a visit, or Zorua, or Minccino—

Two Sages entered the room. One of them, Zinzolin, bowed immediately. The other, Rood, glanced at Woobat while his Swoobat flapped around him, then did the same. N told them to get up. They did. They'd always been subservient since his coronation. He asked them to state their purpose. Zinzolin took charge. He told him happy birthday. He told him about his time in Sinnoh. He told him about Plasma being banned from the Unovan parliament. He told him that there was no other choice now but to defer to 'street-level' tactics while Ghetsis planned a new approach. N noticed Rood wince.

"What of you, Rood?" he asked. "What do you think?"

Zinzolin swallowed a protest and took a step back.

"Good on ya," Swoobat huffed with a snort.

Rood told N that he was against this new plan. He explained that it was an escalation. That it would lead to violence, and that he is opposed to it.

N stared around the bright room. "Pokemon must be suffering by the millions out there. A little violence is not ideal; make sure my subjects are on their best behavior, but we must proceed however possible. Anything else to report?"

Rood nodded and told her something else.

About a girl who could understand Pokemon like he was. She would come to Unova this summer. Grace Pastel, her name was. A sixteen-year-old.

N leaned forward and smiled. "I demand to know more about this girl."

With every line came a crushing disappointment.

She battled for fun, and violently. Far more violently than any stories he had ever heard from abused Pokemon.

She was opposed to their goals, not willing to even entertain them.

She wanted to help Pokemon, but every idea of hers was a half-measure that refused to stare the world in the eye and see the facts.

How could a girl who understood Pokemon like he did not see?

She was blind to the truth.

She did not understand.

He would not entertain her delusions.

Rood finished his story, and N felt more bitter than he had in years. Truth be told, there were a lot of these Sages N barely knew and that spoke with his father more than they ever did to him, but they were needed to make Plasma—and his future kingdom—successful.

At least that was what his father said.

Before leaving, a few of Zinzolin's words cut through N like shards of glass, a heavy contrast that outshone everything else he had said so far. "Your father wants to see you in his office." He followed by bowing again and leaving N in his bedroom.

"A—are they gone?" Swoobat asked.

"They are," he said. "They will not harm you either—no one here will. Here, I will bring you to my sisters. They will take care of you while I go see father."

N walked through the grand halls of Team Plasma's estate. The cool stone walls echoed with each measured step. Shadows danced in the dim light, punctuated by the soft glow of ornate sconces and chandeliers. A few Plasma members moved through the estate. They were fewer than one would think. Only a select few were allowed to see him. The rest only heard of N in stories of an ascendant king. One that would lead them to glory and salvation. Each bowed as he passed them. They uttered his name with reverence and love.

He turned a corner. N entered an open space where the sound of water trickling filled the air. The fountain at the center glimmered under the muted late afternoon light. There, beside the fountain, stood his sisters, feeding a lone Ducklett.

Familiar faces. He could focus on them and hear their voices.

Anthea spotted him first, her faded pink hair catching the soft light as she turned. "Lord N," she said with a gentle smile. "I see you've brought another stray."

"This is Woobat. She was hurt, but I've healed her with one of the potions in my room," he said. "I'd like for you to watch her while I go see father."

Concordia's face twisted with worry; she ran a hand down her golden locks, taking the Woobat in her arms. "Is it important?"

"It always is." N gripped at his necklace, a reminder of who he was and what he needed to achieve. A King did not show fear.

"We would have loved to celebrate your birthday, Lord N," Anthea lamented. "It's been so long."

N answered half-heartedly. "Birthdays are just a date; they're of no importance." He glanced toward the Ducklett. "How are you doing, my dear?"

"Just dandy!" the duck exclaimed with a squawk. "I'd love to stick around!"

"Feel free to. We have plenty of space here at the estate." N cleared his throat. "And with that, my dear sisters, I must make my way to father. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon and evening."

"Thank you, Lord N," they answered in unison.

N wasn't... scared of seeing his father. Perhaps he was tense; perhaps he gripped on his necklace until he made of to the door a lot quicker than he would have liked; perhaps he took a deep breath and wished one of his friends was here with him—Darmanitan's warmth would have been welcomed in such circumstances—but he—he wasn't scared. His father had rescued him from the wild, where he might have died from a disease or accident at a young age, and given him a life and an opportunity to change the world for the better.

Before he even needed to knock on the door, Ghetsis' voice boomed. "Come in."

Every time one spoke of his father, or his father spoke to him, their voices had a physical weight to them he couldn't ignore or rush past. That he had to focus on like he did with Pokemon or his sisters.

He didn't want to go in.

But it was what his father had said, and therefore, he had to listen.

Opening the door, N was met with the sight of his father, Ghetsis, hunched over his imposing desk, the room awash in the warm glow of a brass lamp. A plush rug covered the polished floor, muffling any sounds N made as he stepped in and closed the door. His father's office was far bigger than his bedroom.

"You're late," Ghetsis noticed. N instantly detected the cold rage within him, much like his own when he heard of hurt Pokemon. "Has Zinzolin told you the news?"

N gulped. "Yes, father."

Ghetsis glanced up at him with an emotion N couldn't read before slowly getting up. Ghetsis was an imposing, lean figure that towered over N as he got closer and closer, eating up his personal space until he was cornered near the door. His long hair was a faded shade of lime green, slicked back and framing a sharp, angular face. Piercing red eyes met N's, and his scarred arm touched the teenager's shoulder.

"You good-for-nothing worm." He squeezed just strongly enough to make N comfortable and smile. "All of your life, you've stayed here playing house and doing nothing to further the cause I have been relentlessly pushing. Your cause. To save all Pokemon from the clutches of trainers and the League. And you can't even muster an ounce of rage?!"

Spittle flew in N's face as Ghetsis yelled at him, and his father pushed him back—N barely missed the wall.

"Years upon years of work, all burned to smithereens because of that puny little Champion." Ghetsis raged as he paced around the room. "My position, gone. My power, gone! I had to abandon all of it! I'll have his head one day." He stopped for a moment, then gripped the backrest of his chair. "N."

"Yes?"

"It's time for you to be put to work," Ghetsis said.

"Wh—what does that mean?"

"This was my plan B," he explained. "The first was to become Prime Minister and slowly gain influence within the League by controlling Mark Obel, and to then slowly push him out and push you in, but now—we'll have to rely on you and the word of Legend. Relying on fable and prayers displeases me greatly, but..." again, he rushed toward N so fast that the boy flinched back. "You're going to join the Circuit."

N had lived all of his life here, but he knew what the Circuit was. His eyes widened in outrage. "And battle? Father I can't—"

N heard a clap, and then the sharp sting followed as it always did. The slap had been so hard that the entire right side of his face hurt.

"You will do as you are told," his father hissed. His teeth flashed like an animal. "I cannot afford to wait; we have a year at most until all of Plasma is destroyed. Perhaps less. Or you can do nothing as you have your entire life and kiss your dream—our dream of saving Pokemonkind goodbye." When N stayed quiet, he continued. "You will be like any other trainer on the Circuit, and you will gather the badges, just in case this plan also doesn't work. They are not necessary—the only legitimacy we need is to beat the Elite Four and Champion, and we can bring that fight to them—but they will be a cushion."

N's nails dug against his palm. He would... he could do so, but he would refuse to catch Pokemon. Pokeballs were horrifying little devices that deserved to be destroyed or remade entirely. "I will do as you ask."

A smile, genuine but still so impersonal. "Good. Let me tell you about Syncretism," Ghetsis said. "About a particular branch of our religion that says Reshurem and Zekourom—Reshiram and Zekrom, according to the old texts we've found—have split."

N listened, the sting of the slap now forgotten as he found within these religious stories a way to put Mark Obel away for good.

He would reshape the world in the image of kindness and mutual understanding, crafting a sanctuary where Pokemon could thrive in peace, and humans would have to put away their greed, abuse, and selfishness, or he would die trying.