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Chapter Text

              I awaken to the wisp of red sunlight, a hue not unlike that of the sky at day's decline. Slowly but surely, sensation seeps in through the extremities of my body, and within a good solid minute I am able to wiggle my toes.

              There is hair in my mouth and a hypodermic needle in my arm. I groggily sit up. At the same time, the man on the loveseat beside stirs, his half-opened book slipping from his fingers and hitting the carpeted floor.

              His suit, I notice, is the color of wine with lapels joined by one playful button. The collared shirt underneath is fully open at the neck, offering an unabashed glimpse of how his throat bobs as he scrambles to the door and calls out to whoever is on the other side.

              People in white surge into the room. Before anyone asks any questions, I say:

              "I need to use the washroom."

              Water hits differently when you are dehydrated. My throat is sore from disuse, but it is amazing what five cups of sliced nectarines can fix.

              "So why are you here?" I ask Lucian.

              His lips twitch as they often did when poised for a tirade. Then he sighs, the sort of sigh that starts in the stomach and lifts some color off his gently-curled hair.

              "You're the one in the hospital."

              "Genius! I figured from the needle in my arm."

              "Do you remember your name?"

              "A hint, please?"

              "Cynthia."

              The hospital room is gorgeous: lacquered wood flooring with soft lighting of a hotel-like ambiance. Not that much different from the other VIP suites. Pushing aside the linen drapes reveals a penthouse view of Hearthome City, from the stone spires of its Cathedral to the manicured lawns of Amity Park.

              "Where are my Pokemon?" I say.

              "In the healing machine next to the mini-refrigerator. Why are you in the hospital? What happened?"

              I swat him away. "Is this an interrogation? Give me some space to breathe!"

              Lucian's smile is cold. "Of course. You just woke up after two weeks of sleeping like the dead. I shall excuse myself now, Miss Champion. Good day."

              Once Lucian leaves, I drop the smarmy act and unleash a deluge of curses so vile that my grandma will scrub my mouth with a smooth rock if she hears. My head fucking hurts. Not just your typical headache, but the type of pain capable of shooting one's brains out of one's ears.

              What happened?

              Attempting to remember only brings forth another terrible headache. Frustrated, I gingerly lay back on the down pillow.

              I have nothing against Lucian being here. What I can't explain is this feeling of disappointment that I had been expecting to see someone else upon waking up.

Chapter Text

              My VIP hospital suite sees a stew of visitors over the following days. Doctors and nurses mostly, with the occasional appearance of our dear Lucian. No paparazzi, which I suspect is his doing.

              "Rest assured, it wasn't me. My job description does not extend to being the Champion's bodyguard," is what he says when I bring it up.

              By the third day of letting the uniformed professionals prod and poke at me, I declare than I am good to be discharged. They protest, of course, since there is only one Champion of Sinnoh and Arceus knows what misfortunates will befall our fair region if ill fate finds her. To which, I confidently proclaim that I have challenged my fate countless times, emerging victorious after a long, bitter battle.

              Nonetheless, yours truly successfully convinces the medical team for same-day discharge. I eagerly shed the silk hospital gown for my favorite fur coat. Black, of course, like the rest of the ensemble. It matters not if the weather is hot enough to shatter rocks, the strongest Trainer in the land needs to look the part.

              While I wait impatiently for the discharge paperwork, Lucian springs the questions on me.

              "Why were you in the hospital in the first place?"

              "You're asking me?"

              "Cynthia."

              "You were the one who brought me here!"

              "Why in the world would I do that? You've made it explicitly clear that you can handle yourself like a grown adult. Leaving without a word like that…"              

              The head doctor arrives with my medical report.

              "Blunt force trauma?" I blurt.

              "CT scans show you fell from a great height, but your fall was cushioned by a soft object," the doctor says. "You sustained a minor concussion, but there will be no severe complications."

              "Not even a falling bomb will break that head of hers," Lucian says helpfully. I wedge my elbow into his hip.

              What the hell was I doing to land in the hospital so… disgracefully? Trying to remember is like tossing a stone into a sea of fog. Memories scatter. Fleeing deeper into nothingness.

              Lucian is staring, not even bothering to be discreet. Admitting that I have no damn idea how I got myself into this predicament will only reinforce his slanderous perception of me: reckless, brash, and impulsive. He never passes up the chance to bring up the beach house I purchased in Unova on a whim. I have no regrets.             

              "Who brought me here?" I ask the head doctor.

              "A nurse notified us that the Champion of Sinnoh was unconscious on a bench in the hospital garden. Security reported no one else was on the premises when we found you."

              Ridiculous! Surely someone must have seen something! The region's strongest Trainer is not exactly hard to miss.

              "Show me the CCTV," I say.

              At the security room, the guard on duty sheepishly explains that the camera facing that bench turned off just a few minutes before. The corresponding screen shows a red band of NO FOOTAGE FOUND.

              "And no one thought this was suspicious? Why is no one investigating this!" I bark.

              Lucian drags me away before things escalate.

              "So what if the camera turned off? The top doctors and nurses across Sinnoh flew in to administer your aid. You dragged yourself to the hospital and passed out for someone to notice you."

              "That didn't happen!"

              "Then what did?"

              I hate that smugness in his eyes. To my lack of response, Lucian breezily slips my medical report into a nondescript manila envelope and puts it in my fists.

Chapter Text

              Lucian really did keep my whereabouts under wraps. When I returned to the League, everyone greets me as though I had just stepped out to an impromptu vacation. I suppose I should not be surprised. What is the need to announce to the whole world when it is my own damn business where I go and what I do?

              The stack of Challenger names who came by when I was "on leave" is piled on so high that it blocks my office window. We don't talk about the contents of my desk.

              "It's a fire hazard in here," I tell Lucian.

              "Then you should get to signing some papers," he tells me without glancing up from his book.

              "Mild concussion, remember?"

              "You don't seem very different."

              "You are horrible."

              Being a Champion is not all fun and games. Important paperwork must be addressed: reports, briefings, memos, surveys, and bureaucratic minutes first simply requested then ominously demanded by "the offices in charge."

              Sighing loudly so the next region over can hear, I slump down in my plush chair, grab my ballpoint pen, and begin my drudgery.

              The hours crawl by. No significant progress has been achieved, and I cannot feel my right hand. Being stuck in an office for hours is so discouraging. How do people do it? Why do people do it, when being a Pokemon Trainer is much more rewarding?

              I need a break. So Togekiss and I set sail to Hearthome City. My first stop is the hospital. I go straight to the director, who spins me a rehearsed story about the IT team's findings that the security camera in question just turned off. It happens, supposedly. Nothing is perfect, not even a machine.

              "But only that one!" I argue. "The rest of was unaffected!" A familiar frustration is rising within, this feeling of helplessness of a child trying to tell an adult that treasure does exist behind a waterfall.

              Ultimately, no one wants to believe me, and I storm off, more frustrated than ever.

              I slow to an unhurried walk as the blood stops pounding in my head. Now that I am able to think clearly, I realize that I had wandered off the modernized map of Hearthome City.

              It is much quieter here. Away from the columned, multi-storeyed buildings and the six-lane boulevards where traffic crawls on the wrong side of the road—or the right side, to be more precise, compared to the rest of Sinnoh. A legacy from decades of Kalosian rule, I suppose.

              A set of abandoned railroad tracks run through the periphery of the city. Once a bustling trade route, the tracks, along with the empty train carriages that lie about like discarded cicada shells, now wait for time to finally put them to rest.

              In the distant banks, the waters glow a gradient of red under the hue of the setting sun. The rumble of automobiles and the smell of smoke exhaust on the road left behind is a muffled afterthought to this extraordinary view.

              There is a man on the railroad tracks. Standing placidly with his hands clasped behind his back, staring off into… somewhere. Never have I seen anyone who looks the way that man does standing in the rusted tracks, so solemn and detached from the present.

              What is he waiting for?

              A sickening thought enters my mind. I yell out, "Don't do it!"

              He turns to me. My initial assessment of him was not that far off, for he does possess the look of one teetering off the brink of an invisible cliff while remaining on solid ground. Only his eyes are alive, blazing like an untamed firestorm when our gazes connect.

              Then he abruptly walks away.

              "Hey!" I call angrily. "Slow down! What in the world can you possibly be late for?"

              "My imminent demise," is the curt answer.

              Aaannd… that bastard is gone.

              Some people are just so rude.

Chapter Text

              In due time, everything falls back to routine. My suspicious disappearance became old news, pushed to the margin in wake of Challenger battles, paperwork, meetings, and more paperwork. No one seemed keen to investigate the missing CCTV footage, nor the fact that someone threw me, unconscious, in front of the hospital!

              One day, I slip out in the midst of a mandatory League conference for a stroll around the region. I was never one to peruse the bulletin in the rest stops. Standing still was not a priority when one was on the path to become Sinnoh's first female Champion at the tender age of twelve.

              Today, however, my attention falls upon a peculiar poster. Lustrous with a matte finish, a font very simple yet commanding:

              Cosmic Energy Development Corporation

              Clean Energy for Today and Tomorrow

              "Have you visited their headquarters?" a nosy attendant asks me. Apparently, she had been gawking at me as soon as I stepped in here. "They have tours! And lots of unique gifts!"

              I absently rub the gold G printed on the poster. That man had the same symbol on his vest…

              "Their headquarters is in Veilstone!" the attendant says helpfully.

              "Did they commission you to advertise for them?" I tease.

              "Imagine that! No, I had a crazy customer who insisted on using his own pen just to sign off a package! On his invoice he wrote that he was from the Cosmic Energy Development Corporation!"

              Ten years ago, Veilstone City would have been considered a village due to its geographic isolation and lack of intractable facilities, such as Pokemon Centers, markets, and schools. Paths were pocked with deep gouges, unworthy of being called roads. A brittle wind always blew by, scattering debris into the eyes of unsuspecting visitors who had the misfortune to be there.

              Then one day, Veilstone City arose in a technological rebirth. Multi-storey buildings tucked neatly upon sloping hills, their rooftops connected by trimmed wires running down every block in a complex, yet organized, electrical grid. A Department Store whose shelves overflow with local and imported goods; a Casino whose doors never close. It was a miraculous revival, one no one expected a plot of barren, mountainous land could achieve.

              The Cosmic Energy Development Corporation towers on the highest peak of the city with its unmistakable gold G. I stride into the sliding glass doors. A sizeable crowd has gathered in the reception area. All conversation halts at my arrival.

              "So sorry to arrive unannounced, but I heard there was a tour today. Do you have room for one more?" I say sweetly.

              "The Champion of Sinnoh is always welcomed!" says the tour guide.

              To be honest, most of the spiel goes in one ear and out the other. I focus on what I see, hear, and touch. From the pulsating lighting of the walls mimicking constellations in the night sky to the mild jazz trickling out from the speakers to these weirdos with neon-blue bowlcuts and the dorkiest space cadet uniforms on the planet, the company reminds me of mission control in those kitschy sci-fi movies than a legitimate business.

              The tour ends at the souvenir shop, as a company tour does. Plush Clefairies in astronaut gear are very popular with the children. For adults, there are appliances at wholesale prices. All made in-house.

              An ad is playing on the monitors. Something about humans and Pokemon living together in harmony, but due to our predisposition for conflict, true happiness cannot be attained unless change—which may seem planets away—is embraced.

              "For a better world! Join Team Galactic!"

              For some reason, the advertisement leaves me with a disquieting feeling. It is so misplaced compared to everything here. Team Galactic… Where have I…?

              "Miss Champion, are you looking for anything in particular?" the tour guide says.

              "As a matter of fact, I'm looking for an employee. Looks terminally ill? Haven't slept in weeks?"

              "That's our boss! Let me ring him up for you."

              Intrigued, I follow the tour guide back to the reception area.

              "Heeey, Boss. A very important someone needs to see you right now!"

              And she slams the receiver down with a conspiratorial wink. I reward her with a hard-earned autograph.

              When I turn around, I come face-to-face with the man on the railroad tracks. He has not aged a day over forty. Instead of brightening at my presence, his features collapse like houses under a landslide. How rude!

              "Don't you know who I am?" I huff.

              "I do not have time for you."

              The floor gives out beneath my feet. Somehow the tiles have transformed into a conveyor belt! The next thing I know, I am flat on my arse, glaring up at the gold G in the backdrop of a cloudy sky.

              "Fucking bastard," I hiss.

Chapter Text

              No one insults the Champion of Sinnoh and gets away with it! No one!

              That night, instead of retiring in the grand bedroom designated for the region's finest, I fly straight to Veilstone. After sunset, the city heeds a different tempo. Dazzling neon lights illuminate the block which houses the Casino, the establishment lit aglow like a crown of diamonds. Storefronts specializing in food with alcohol roll out tables to the side of the street. Nightclubs are in full swing. The sounds of drunken laughter and clinking glass fade into the distance as I make my way up the highest hill.

              The Cosmic Energy Development Corporation looks much more sinister in the night—or perhaps daylight just masked what it truly was. Antennae stationed like sentinels, the ominous spikes lining the building ready to impale trespassers. Looks more like a fortress than anything. Which means that it is protecting something of great importance…

              The main doors are locked. Go figure. I can pull a Lance and blow the doors down, but I notice a light behind the windows at the top of the building—on the twenty-eighth storey.

              Stepping on Togekiss's back, I peer into the window.

              There he is. That rude bastard. Hunched over his desk, an obnoxiously long feather pen in one hand while the fingers of the other dance frantically on a calculator. He is too absorbed in his drudgery to notice the fireball forming in Garchomp's jaws. Only when the windows explode does he jump out of his skin, knocking over his chair in the process. Pathetic.

              "Hold it right there!" I declare.

              A storm of emotions flashes through his wintry eyes. Very, very slowly, he raises his hands in a gesture of surrender.

              No one speaks. I keep my finger jabbed at his vein-corded throat. The harsh grating of teeth punctures the silence but does not break it. He is so tense, as if expecting me to break all the bones in his body.

              "You have a lot of nerve talking to your Champion like that," I say. "Who do you think you are?"

              "A nonentity in the eyes of Her Majesty," is the flat response.

              "Ha. Ha. I can shut this place down faster than you can save your receding hairline."

              "Ah, you seem to have forgotten that the Champion's role is a ceremonial one. She has no jurisdiction in the governance of business entities. Checks and balances, ma'am. However, she can be sued for destruction of private property, among many other disruptive actions…"

              "Stop making things up."

              "Then I shall see you in court."

              The scowl he had been wearing has transformed into a cruel smirk, just asking to be slapped off his pasty face. I scoff loudly to hide the heat burning in my cheeks. To salvage my reputation, I settle on crossing my arms and standing there menacingly.

              Then I notice the nameplate on his desk.

              Cyrus. Cosmic Energy Development Corporation CEO.

              "What is it now?" he says sharply.

              I snatch a fistful of papers. "Cute. You're doing your biology homework."

              The following sight lasts ten seconds. Not rising up to the bait, I see. What an insufferable man.

              Letting the papers scatter like snowfall, I say, "I have my eye on you. Don't think you're in the clear yet."

              "What about my window?"

              "What about your window?"

              With that, I swivel around, ensuring that my fur coat performs a dramatic whirl that disperses the fallen papers even more, and take off on Togekiss.

              So he does have a name.

              Cyrus. Like the sun.

Chapter Text

              The weekend has arrived. I can be spending my precious time at the beach… at five-star resorts… at another region… and yet, I find myself blowing apart the window to the twenty-eighth storey of the Cosmic Energy Development Corporation.

              "Why," says the rude bastard whom I've recently discovered had a name: Cyrus.

              "Surely your parents taught you proper manners," I huff.

              There is a long pause in which a vein pulsates across his abnormally large forehead like a snake swimming across mud. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Alas, whatever river of filth that was predestined to flow out of those chapped lips is painfully stifled and substituted with a stiff invitation to the plush chairs next to the impressive desk.

              I invite myself to the boss's chair instead, splaying my legs out with a silent challenge. He walks away.

              "Where are you going?" I say.

              "Getting my broom and dustpan."

              "Why?"

              "Because someone has to clean up after your mess."

              I give him the one-fingered salute of the rude. "Don't you have janitors to take care of this stuff?"

              The frown he gives me suggests that I am the outrageous one here, not him. It's just so surreal to see a CEO humbling himself to sweeping broken glass. Granted, he looks nothing like what one expects from the leader of a multi-billion Poke company.

              "So. Out with it," he says.

              As if I will admit that I myself do not know why I keep coming back here! Something about his rudeness is just so… refreshing. Enticing. Like a riddle waiting to be cracked. And I am not the type to leave any mysteries unsolved.

              "What do you know about missing CCTV footage?" I say. Might as well give it a try, considering his expertise in machinery.

              "That is… an oddly specific question."

              I give him the whole spiel whether he wants it or not. By the time I finish, his eyes find mine. Scouring. 

              "You truly don't remember anything?"

              "You don't believe me either?"

              "I never said that. More importantly, why do you need someone else to validate your beliefs? They can say whatever they want, but they have never lived your life."

              His words seep into my skull. When I look at him again, his scowl is softer now. Not really a smile… but getting there.

              "Anyhow, to your original question: I know the basic circuitry for cameras, but recovering lost footage is a realm outside my skillset. Regardless, please let me know once you've uncovered anything of note. I may be able to help."

              That was the longest he had spoken in the brief time that I have known him. Ironically, he is also the only person so far who listened without rushing to judgement. My opinion of him has not changed, but I am reconsidering what category of prick he falls under.

              Glancing down at his desk, I recognize the double spiral of DNA on an open notebook. Someone had been working on his biology homework again.

               "Are you going back for your high school degree?" I tease.

              The scowl is a smirk now. "There is a concept in philosophical metaphysics that examines whether an object is still fundamentally the same after all its components have been replaced."

              My lack of witty comeback must have informed him of my knowledge on this topic, for he moves closer and scratches out a rough diagram with that stupid feather pen.

              "Consider it in the context of growing up. After leaving behind your childhood years, are you still 'you?' I approached this question from a biological standpoint: Science has proven that the human body replaces itself over time, cell by cell. DNA is required for cell division. But what if DNA stops working? What if there is a terminal malfunction in our genetic code? Well, then we will fall apart piece by piece… unravel strand by strand. When that happens, will I still be 'me?'"

              What can you possibly say to that except: "You're insane."

              That earns me a dry chuckle. "Perhaps I am."

              I get up from the chair and stride over to the hole in the wall where Togekiss is waiting.

              "Please take the door next time," Cyrus says.

              I scoff, throwing him a coy smile over my shoulder. "Confident, are we? Are you sure there will be a next time?"

              "Undoubtedly."

Chapter Text

              She truly does not remember!

              That woman was never the type to become someone she was not. Pretending would be an insult to her character. I even tested her allegations by encroaching her personal space, moving close enough so our elbows touch, and was rewarded with not a kick to the groin but a mildly amused glance. Coy, even.

              What madness is this? And yet… every trial is an opportunity within itself. If I just play my pieces right...

              A sudden peal of staccato notes erupts from my pocket, startling me out of my intricate scheming. The gears of my anatomy crack when I bend over to retrieve my fallen cellular phone. Flipping open the lid presents me with a familiar name.

              "Jupiter."

              "It's Mars."

              "Understood."

              Time is of the essence. My private elevator takes me to the Nap Room without delay. Upon seeing me, Saturn dives behind my legs.

              "Cyrus, save me! She's crazy!"

              If the fist-sized indention in the television screen is any indicator of the predicament at hand, then I do not know what is. The prelude of a wonderful headache blossoms behind my forehead.

              "She started it!" Saturn yelps.

              "He started it!" Mars shrieks.

              "Give me the rifle, Mars," I say.

              "It's mine!"       

              Jupiter is keeping the nosy Grunts at bay. One less distraction to tend to. Pushing Saturn off my legs, I cautiously approach Mars with my hands raised. She swings the rifle to my forehead.

              Since a calm, verbal negotiation is out of the question, I crawl under the line of fire and lunge. Her finger jams the trigger, but the silencer dampens the round of gunshots. A chorus of screams break out behind me.

              "Everyone's okay back here!" Jupiter says.

              At the brief interstice of time when Mars staggers from the recoil, I slap my right foot down on the floor, using my own momentum to thrust my left hand forward to successfully snatch the rifle from her grasp. I seize her wrist before she can flee.

              "Your field assignments have been revoked," I bark.

              "Why?!" she screeches.

              "No firearms allowed on the premises! You could have hurt yourself! Time and time again, I warn you, but you still see this as a game. Therefore, you will be reassigned administrative work until I say otherwise—"

              "Tyrant! Dictator! I hate you! Roll off a cliff and die!"

              Howling, Mars wretches her hand away and storms off, leaving a trail of upturned rocket beds in her wake.

              Countless pairs of eyes burn into my back. Waiting. The headache is a viscous substance sloshing against the walls of my skull now. I sigh.

              "Go home."

              "But—" Saturn starts.

              "You'll be paid the remaining hours."

              When I turn around, there is no one left but Jupiter.

              "I'll talk to her," she grunts.

              "That… will not be wise. Go home. I am not authorizing overtime today--"

              "You're bleeding."

              Upon closer examination, I realize that, yes, I am indeed bleeding. The bullet made contact after all. Found itself a nice home in my bicep. That explains the odd numbness around that area.

              "We're going to the hospital."

              "And be interrogated by the authorities? Private citizens are prohibited from possessing firearms in this country, Jupiter. I cannot have them snooping around our business."

              Like our beloved Champion of Sinnoh.

              Unbelievably, Jupiter refuses to leave. "Cyrus. Let me help you."

              The way she utters my name, drawing it out like an overused strip of film, irritates me to no end. I am her boss, a grown adult, not some child she can coerce to see things her way!

              "Noncompliance will reflect poorly on your upcoming evaluation. Good day, Commander."

              Ignoring her exasperated scowl, I march back into the elevator and slap the button for the twenty-eight storey. My personal quarters is located on the other end of the hallway to my office. Once there, I fly to my medicine cabinet, procuring the necessary materials before moving to my bed. My Crobat watches in anticipation while I gingerly peel off my blood-soaked shirt.

              First, I clean the affected area. Not the first gunshot wound I had, and it surely will not be the last. The bullet's edge gleams under the warm light of my reading lamp. Next, I have Crobat numb my bicep with a high-grade muscle paralysis toxin. Once my arm feels like a steel rod, I slowly, cautiously insert the sterilized forceps into the foaming gash.

              Damn these trembling hands. I cast an expectant look at Crobat. She licks her fangs in anticipation. The moment I extract the bullet from my flesh, Crobat latches her fangs over the wound, guzzling up the spurting blood like a parched motor. Saves me the trouble of cleaning up.

              I then lie flat on my back, staring aimlessly at the spinning ceiling until my eyes flutter close to the sounds of wet slurping.

Chapter Text

              I do not believe in chance encounters. But when I glimpse that spiky blue head in my peripheral and happen to turn as he is turning and our gazes connect, I am starting to believe that fate enjoys biting me in the ass.

              "Are you stalking me?" I huff.

              "As if my world revolves solely around you," he retorts.

              We glare at each other.

              "What are you doing here?" I bark.

              "Ah, my apologies, did I need the Champion's permission to walk around my city?"

              "Your city? Earth to spaceman, you don't own a city."

              The smirk he gives me makes me wonder if I am the butt to a private joke.

              "What have you remembered?"

              "Well, good morning to you too! You must very popular with the ladies outside our planet!"

              Cyrus snorts. "Good afternoon, Miss Cynthia. If you had woken up earlier, you would have noticed that the restaurants have transitioned to their lunch menus. Do remember to comb your hair next time."

              Fucking prick. I cross my arms. He raises a smooth, hairless brow. You can spread butter on that giant forehead of his.

              "What's a good café around here?" I say.

              "The most popular one is on the same strip as the Department Store."

              "Which one do you usually go to?"

              "Why?" Now his smirk is just begging to be rearranged.

              I refuse to indulge him. So I keep glaring until he finally raises his hands in mock surrender.

              "Well, if the Champion requests, then I shall provide. If you will so kindly follow me…"

              I try very hard not to appear too pleased at these favorable turn of events. We cross intersections, weaving in and out of foot traffic—made harder when people realize that the Champion of Sinnoh is in their midst. On multiple occasions, the traffic officers have to intervene, which usually ends with me wading out of a dispersing crowd to see Cyrus snickering into his fist.

              At last, we reach the less busier streets of Veilstone. The storefront in question does not have any signage indicating it is an establishment licensed to sell food. I cast a pointed glance at Cyrus, who casually opens the unmarked door and beckons me forward.

              The odor hits me first. Smells like Celestic Town: that is, like old people. People who belong in the museum exhibits are playing cards while smoking up a storm, chain-smoking cigarettes like ice cream.

              "Haven't seen you in a while, boy," says an old lady with arms the size of tree trunks. "We thought you croaked before us. Lucky bastard."   

              Cyrus easily navigates the cramped space to a table on the balcony and pulls out the chair for me.

              "Still single?" the storeowner growls as greeting.

              "Still married to my work," he hums. "This is Miss Cynthia, the Cha—"

              "You don't have a chance in hell."   

              The storekeeper leaves without taking our order. Juxtaposed to my growing bewilderment, Cyrus does not seem a bit offended by these people's bizarre humor... if it is even humor at all. He just offers gratitude when our drinks are slammed down on the table: two pails—PAILS—of coffee so black that I cannot see my reflection in the liquid.

              "May I have some cream and sugar?" he says.

              "Don't you know that I'm lactose-intolerant?"

              Nonplussed, Cyrus returns with the basin of sugar and sets it next to me. He takes a deep swing of his scalding coffee, sighing blissfully as if that was the best thing he has ever put in his mouth. I can't get close to the cup without steam scalding my lips. When I do manage to taste it, I realize that never once have I considered the taste of hot tarmac until now. Absolutely dreadful.

              "Why do they talk to you like you're a kid?" I say.

              "I haven't lived half my life."

              "Late forties is really stretching it."

              "I am twenty-seven."

              In my shock, I accidentally spray out a mouthful of petroleum (see: coffee) all over his tacky vest. His nonchalance suggests he is no stranger to this sort of reaction.

              "Stop making things up," I cough.

              He scrubs his face with a rough towel that doubles as a napkin. "Believe what you will. Incidentally, I am thirty minutes late for an appointment, so I will be leaving now. Thank you for sparing a nonentity such as I your valuable time, Miss Cynthia."

              My scoff does not manifest as harsh as I wanted it to. "Until next time?" I say in mockery of his deep timbre.

              His smirk is not as rigid as before. "Until next time."    

Chapter Text

              As our serendipitous encounters become more and more frequent, so does the number of "until next time" exchanged. It's not like I purposefully wander into Veilstone to trigger these inconvenient rendezvous. The path of life is long with many bends, and sometimes its winds nudge us to situations unplanned.

              Cyrus is as unpleasant as usual, but he never turns down my gentle coercions. Despite the countless other cafés with reputations as sparkling as their inspection grades issued by the city health inspector, we tend to gravitate to the unlisted air shelter whose specialty is coffee scooped from wet ashes.

              With each unplanned reunion, Cyrus offers me pieces of his lucrative personal life. Born and raised in Jubilife City. Single child. Traditional nuclear family. Went to community college at Pastoria City for applied mathematics (because of course). Dabbled in different jobs before starting the Cosmic Energy Development Corporation at then-unincorporated Veilstone City.

              "We go by Galactic Energy for short," he says.

              "Daddy's money got you far," I tease.

              It happens in a heartbeat: an emotion as sharp as a poisoned knife cuts through his face, severing the invisible strings holding up the edges of his lips. His gaze becomes foggy, as though his mind has dipped beneath the surface of a lake located somewhere in distant memory. Whereas they are good memories is hard to say.

              This is not the first time that he mentally slipped away in the midst of prestigious company. Which reminds me…

              "What were you doing on the train tracks?" I say.

              "Waiting."

              How can such a simple word make my blood run cold? "That's never the answer!" I blurt.

              Like sand scattering under a summer breeze, the fog dissipates from his eyes, and he blinks furiously as one does when waking from a long dream. Meanwhile the other patrons throw us annoyed looks since we dared ruin their exciting game of mahjong.

              "I was waiting for the sunset," he says irritably. Like it is obvious. "Those tracks were decommissioned decades ago! Death by phantom train! If I wanted to kill myself, I'd—"

              Cyrus must have seen something in my face, for he immediately slaps a hand to his mouth. Color touches his sunken cheeks. The gesture is so juvenile that it makes this conversation even more jarring.

              "I apologize. My jokes are not in good taste." He gives a strained smirk. "What have you remembered?"

              The abrupt change of topic is a necessary one to return to lighthearted territory.

              "Why are you so interested?" I say.

              "A true gentleman leaves no puzzle unsolved."

              Who is this clown trying to impress?

              "Still nothing," I sigh. "But the bastard's time is running out. When I catch his sorry ass, he will know a fate worse than death."

              The storeowner slaps down two mottled pans of what appears to be custard of an artificial odor devoid of the sweet fragrance of fresh egg and milk. Never have I considered the term "anemic" to apply to food until now. Regardless, Cyrus enthusiastically scrapes his dish clean. I wonder if his taste buds are even alive at this point.

              "How are you so sure it is a 'he?'" His tone is feather-light.

              "Why are you so surprised?"

              "Nothing was stolen. You were unharmed in every aspect."

              "And how are you so sure about that?"

              "You would have said something by now. I doubt anyone can overpower the Champion of Sinnoh… except if she was already incapacitated."

              I shoot him a hostile glare. "What are you getting at."

              Cyrus gives a lazy flick of his wrist, as if dismissing a bad smell. "Appearances are deceiving, Miss Cynthia. You mustn't always seize the most convenient answer. Some truths are like an onion: you have to cut through layers to find the core, and on your way there you may shed a few tears."

              I give this smartass a good kick under the table. After he pays for the subpar food (because of course), we empty out of the dubious establishment and into the crisp Veilstone evening.

             The sky is washed in a gradient of cerulean and orange.

              "Pretty," I say.

              "Indeed. The sunset is most spectacular on the beach at dusk."

              Cyrus is staring intently into the horizon, mesmerized by something I cannot see. A seed of mischief blooms in my mind. I never tire of messing with him.

              "What's so great about a dumb sunset?" I toss a thick lock of hair over my shoulder. "No shortage of those on television. But you sound very confident in your beloved beach at dusk, so I'll give you a chance: show me something that will take my breath away, and maybe, just maybe, I will give you a super-secret-ultra-special reward. If you fail to impress me, then live your pathetic life in shame and humiliation."

              "Very well," he says with all the seriousness in the world. Challenge accepted. "Expect my correspondence when the time arrives."

              I resist the urge to smile. "It's a date."

Chapter Text

              So many outfits, yet still so much closet space for more. I settle on an off-the-shoulder dress that will induce nothing but calm. Pair it with teardrop diamond earrings—a gift from the lovely Diantha. I don't need to put anything on my skin, but I indulge in a camellia-pink lipstick to make this delicious smile capable of opening a safe. Then a light dusting of "Twilight Smoke" eyeshadow…

              I waltz over to the mirror. Ooh-la-la, who is this sexy creature?

              On my day down the grand stairwell, I cross paths with Lucian. He opens his mouth with the obvious ideation of telling me off about another trivial matter—until he doesn't. A hot minute passes before he remembers he can speak.

              "W-What are you wearing?" he squeaks.

              "Is there a problem?"

              I give him my most glutinous pout. Condensation breaks out on his tinted eyeglasses. He jerks his head to the side, anywhere that is not me.

              "Where have you been? I knocked on your office door, but no one answered, so I opened it and was almost buried under the paperwork you have yet to address! When was the last time you held a pen?"

              Since I stole Cyrus's dorky feather pen and made him chase me through Oreburgh Gate for it. Granted, that pasty prick was surprisingly fast.

              Out loud, I say, "The Champion of Sinnoh has important matters to attend to. Be a dear and watch over the League until I come back, all right?"

              The spaceman himself is at the designated rendezvous, idly feeding the Starlies that have gathered around his feet.

              "Forty-five minutes late," he says when I approach.

              "But you waited anyway," I hum.

              Someone was busy making himself presentable. That tacky vest is replaced by a crisp grey blazer with matching trousers, completed with a tie of a soft crème hue. The muted colors accentuate his sharp edges, consequently drawing out the cold fire burning in his eyes.

              "Why are you staring at me?" he says without a hint of cheek. Just genuine confusion.

              I gesture up and down his ridiculously fitting attire. "What's all this?"

              "I have to make myself less hideous somehow if I wish to dine with the Champion of Sinnoh."

              Enough about him. "Thoughts on the dress?" I say in a low voice.

              "It's nice."

              That's it? I peer up at him through fluttering eyelashes. He just looks so lost and very, very sober.

              "Notice anything different?" I slyly brush my hip against his thigh.

              If anything, he just takes a step back. "You… used a new perfume? It's nice."

              What the hell is wrong with him? For a figure with a net worth of billions of Poke, he is woefully poor in the charms department. Such a pretentious vernacular reduced to an overused, generic compliment. No surprise that he is still single. I need to find other ways of messing with him.

               Cyrus clears his throat. "We should get going if we want to secure our reservation."

              When his letter arrived (with his signature at the bottom, of course), I thought he was joking about reserving a table at the Seven Seas Restaurant. The waitlist easily stretches six months. Nonetheless, I never pass up a chance for others to pay for high-end meals—especially if that sucker runs Sinnoh's largest sustainable energy company.

              "You're trying too hard to impress me," I say.

              "Nonsense. My decision is solely for convenience. The true show begins at dusk."

              The Seven Seas Restaurant is located in the Hotel Grand Lake, a popular alternative for those who tire of Sunyshore's overhyped, overcrowded beaches. Those in line jeer at Cyrus when he boldly marches up to the front, exchanges a minute-long hushed dialogue with the frazzled staff, who then beckons us to follow them through the back door.

              Our table is on the private balcony with an unobstructed view of the lakeside resort. A perfect opportunity for a quaint tête-à-tête with the ocean, just a head's turn away. Cyrus pulls the seat out for my delicate bum.

              "What will you have, Miss Cynthia?"

              "Give me an hour or so to look through the sixty-page menu. You order first."

              "I can eat anything."

              "Anything? I'll make you eat your words."

              The food arrives in heated silver trays, one after another until the entire menu is on our table. Seared foie gras wreathed in a dried gooseberry reduction! Baby broccoletti risotto! Imperial caviar! Quail filet dressed in garlic oil! Oooh-la-la!

              I am halfway through the mushroom-stuffed sirloin steak when I remember that Cyrus exists.

              "Better than ice cream?" he says, chuckling.

              I watch in horror as he spears the delicate slice of tuna with his dessert fork, destroying the fragile layers of flesh and fat, before dumping it in his mouth and grinding the marbled fish into pulp with his teeth.

              "It's good," he says.

              "What is wrong with you?" I cry. "There's a reason the utensils are lined out like that…"

              After a brief lesson on table etiquette, I watch him dig his salad spoon into the caramelized scallop. A feisty little piece falls on the carpet. Nothing unusual… until he bends down and tucks it into his mouth!

              "It's good."

              "Something is definitely wrong with you."

Chapter Text

              When food coma hits, it hits like lightning. Cyrus comes back after paying to see me sprawled over the plush chairs.

              "Carry me," I groan.

              "Absolutely not."

              I give him thirty seconds to get the sigh out of his system. Grimacing, Cyrus lowers himself so I can gracefully transfer my weight to his back. His joints pop like broken eggshells when he stands.

              How rude.

              The midday sky has considerably darkened by the time we leave the Seven Seas Restaurant.  Cyrus moves at a slow, leisurely pace down the gentle slopes of the lakeside resort. I make no attempt at conversation, instead resting my head on the nape of his neck, absently wondering if it is his shirt or his skin that smells of machine oil.

              To keep myself from nodding off, I request that Mister Spaceman tell me a story.

              "Surely a renowned historian like yourself is familiar with all of Sinnoh's legends," he says matter-of-factly.

              "So my reputation precedes me! Come on, I know you have something in that big brain of yours."

              After some thinking, he says, "Well, there is the myth of the Time Gears."

              "Stop making things up."

              Cyrus lets me go without warning, and I fall on my ass on the cold sand. Outfit ruined.

              "It's always a game with you, isn't it? And I'm always the fool getting played."

              First: what the hell is wrong with him? Second: what does that even mean? Third: maybe I was a tad mean to the poor guy. Okay. More than a bit. Some light teasing never affected him before… right?

              "Cyrus, wait," I call to his retreating back.

              And he stops at once. What a simple of act of acknowledgment does to a man. The surprise on his face is very child-like compared to how he normally presents himself.

              "I was a jerk," I say. "Let's start over. Tell me about the myth of the Time Gears."

              Cyrus is silent for a moment. No doubt turning my apology around in his mind to determine if it has any substance. When his lips pull upwards, I feel a great weight evaporate from my shoulders.

              "This myth stems from the legend of Dialga, the Guardian of Time. In the unlikely event that its heart became corrupted, Dialga allocated its power among some curious objects known as Time Gears and scattered them around the region. They are rumored to lay in secret locations: A lake in an underground cavern, for instance. Or at the pinnacle of a stairway that leads to the sky."

               "What about the depths of a bottomless sea?" I tease.

              "Perhaps. At the heart of such clandestine places is a Time Gear. They exist to protect the flow of time. To harness such magnificent energy…"

              Cyrus is pensive again, his fingers cupping his chin. Is he… smiling? Something about that smile makes my blood run cold. By no means is it threatening… just… out-of-place. Wrong.

              "Tell me, Miss Cynthia. Do you believe that these stories are true?"

              Is this a trick question? "Of course not."

              Then movement flutters past my ears. Too fragile to be feathers; too dense to be a breeze. I glance up. Bubbles? Undulating along an invisible current. Violets, reds, yellows, colors so intense they light up the air… and his eyes. Whatever dark thoughts possessing his heart are cleansed by the appearance of the floating bubbles.  

              Chuckling, Cyrus begins walking. I fall in step beside him, wading along the shoreline with the warm hug of sand around on the soles of my feet. The horizon is ablaze with lights: the sun glows a fierce red and scorches the fabric of the sky, some of that fire bleeding into the cerulean sea.

              "When the weather is fair, the Krabbies come to blow bubbles. The bubbles absorb and reflect sunlight casting off the waves."

              Then he stops. Something in the sunset has snagged his attention. Yet I have this feeling that his heart is somewhere else. Somewhere more tangible, just over the horizon… on the other side of the sea where Sunyshore City lies.

              "Cyrus?"

              "Hm?"

              "Are you… okay?"

              "I am fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

              Cyrus stretches out his hands, catching the floating bubbles, sighing softly as they vanish on his fingertips. The act of his grasping at the vanishing bubbles is reminiscent of someone reaching for something far out of reach, again and again for nothing.

              Or I am just overthinking. Maybe he enjoys popping bubble wrap in his downtime.

              Nonetheless, it is oddly endearing. He really outdid himself in bringing me here. As nightfall nears, the sun dips into the western sky for the moon to rise on the other side. Between the celestial bodies sprawls a valley of stars: some having been there since time immemorial, and some burning brightly to welcome the millennia to come.

              "What is so funny?" Cyrus grumbles.

              "Close your eyes."

              "Why."

              "Pleeeease?"

              Once he gets his whining out of the way, Cyrus reluctantly closes his eyes. I gleefully let him stew in self-inflected agony. Once his notorious patience finally runs out, he opens his eyes—and I peck him on his cutting-board forehead.             

              "Your reward for today," I sing.

              Cyrus turns into a crystal statue, but his chalky face is so red it can set a cigar alight from across the sea. To reaffirm that this is no dream, I plant another camellia-pink kiss on his cheek.

              Then I run off without a second glance, my laughter reverberating across the beach at dusk.