I was bored. I don't normally do things like this spontaneously like this. Ehh? Okay. Suspension of disbelief if a must for this fan fiction, so have it ready. Okay? I normally dabble in Negima, so be be steeping in here is odd for me, so bear with me. If I get a few reviews, I might continue this, neh? Okay...basically, this story looks at Brendan from Pokemon Sapphire, only under a different name, after he is entered into the hall of fame. What's next for him? How does he feel, being on top? Is it really as great as he thought it would be? Find out...

I don't own Pokemon, or any of it's affiliates, ehh? Ready for this crazy author? I hope so, cause if you want me to continue...don't expect me not to oblige. Welcome, one and all, to "Night Blue."~Finalage.

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Chapter One : Deep Sea.

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The rain poured from the heavens above, soaking the ground in a surge of water, brought on with such speed, people scattered like roaches before the light. What had before been a simple, cloud filled sky now became a dark foreboding overcast, daunting any sane individual, tempting the insane to dance outside in the waves.

Rivulets sprung up, racing down trees, dancing upon the roads, filtering through the sidewalks and flooding the sewers with their fare. Amidst it all, a boy walked, completely soaked to the bone, all while an umbrella sat, complacent and warm, inside his backpack. His hand came out to massage the forehead of a Pokemon walking along next to him, his fingers brushing away water off it's bright blue fur, like that effort would make any difference. It growled up at the sky in a low voice.

"Swaamp..."

It wasn't that Midnight particularly disliked the rain, he was a water Pokemon after all, he loved it when the sky opened up and sent him down those precious bullets of moisture. It was just that it had come so suddenly, and so viciously, that it's sheer icy cold temperature had sunk to his bones, and that was something he didn't like.

He was quiet however, when he saw the silver haired boy next to him smile, even if he wasn't looking at Midnight directly. The hand moved lower to scratch at his neck. How did he know, always know, when that area of him itched? The Swampert was taller than he, but he moved closer none the less, allowing his trainer a better reach. They had been together forever...literally...okay, not literally, but you get the point.

He had been a tiny Mudkip when he had met Penumbra, an awkwardly named, (The name was Latin for shadow.) lanky and a bit sickly boy who had a knack for knowing just what Midnight was thinking in a battle, and used that to his advantage. Penumbra had shown him, through their battles, how he thought more like a Pokemon than a human at times, thought more as if he were facing down a powerful Growvile rather than Midnight doing so, literally, at times, in the beginning he had made more commands with his body than his mouth.

They both had grown throughout their travels, one evolving into a powerful, well cared for and healthy Swampert, who not only had his place in the hall of fame, but whose picture hung in a museum for his participation, and victory, in a Pokemon competition, pitting him against experts in the field of Pokemon raising and grooming. Penumbra had lost his original shy and "door mat" personality, bristling into a quiet and firm leader, who saw and thought before he acted, but acted well, and rarely let anything get away if he didn't approve, even if he would not vocally complain.

Now, he walked, carrying with him, victory. Penumbra was a name that hung in the Pokemon hall of champions, and in the records of the battle towers, the boy had pitted himself against countless others, again and again, beating each one, until he had shattered records, leading both a tired troupe of Pokemon and a weary eyed trainer to receive a trophy.

Penumbra had felt like tossing it into the waters.

It there was one thing he hated to do, even now, after so long, it was risk the lively hood of his friends, his Pokemon. He had hated ascending to the top of the battle tower, knowing he would be pitting Throw, a Linoone that had received it's name for her habit of wrapping around Penumbra's neck during the cold nights, Nirva, a witty Ninetails who was very protective of her master, Shadow, a keen minded and eyed Swallow, and himself, Midnight, against Pokemon trainers that had lost all humanity, in a way.

Trainers that got this far rarely had anything on their mind besides winning. They used whatever means necessary, including an object that Penumbra had quite a lot of but always sold when he got to the nearest store, calling it "poison". Rare candies, and other things. Objects that, if Throw brought them to him, for they were shiny, he would pet her head, but once she was gone, would almost throw off a cliff, if one were around.

"Pokemon Steroids. This and other things. Stuff trainers use to make their Pokemon stronger without putting in the care and hours of work, without the bonding. Some of them even use Training Machines in ways to teach them moves that need their Pokemon to hate their trainer. Not me. I won't throw it away, no, but I'll sell it the next chance I get."

Yet, against the powered up and pumped Pokemon, Penumbra had reigned victorious, with such a display of endurance against them, the others began to question their methods of obtaining strength. After long trials, the Gyms, the thrills, the towers...Penumbra had been hailed a master for his region.

It was around this time that they had become a "moving bulls-eye.", in his words.

Penumbra had become an easy way for people to become a champion, or a regional master. Instead of going through all the work, they could just try and beat him, right? Penumbra had found enemies springing up everywhere he turned, and his Pokemon had hardly found time to simply rest, or have fun anymore.

It was when one of his old friends had approached him, tired as he was, offering a place to stay for the night and encouragement, a soft voiced understanding...the boy had grabbed on to her offer with both hands, she could be trusted after all, she was an old friend, they had trained from the beginning together, she had been his first unofficial rival...yet, it was not to be. She had led him on a wild goose chase, draining his strength until she finally challenged him, coldly, to a battle.

It was times like these that he wished he could just lose. Lose and end the nightmare. From the top, only down can one go. Yet, he would disappoint his Pokemon above all, and they would get hurt. In letting her win, they had to be knocked out, and he couldn't pretend. No. Even tired, he had won, but the win had meant nothing to him. He had lead her back to town, and when they had arrived at the Pokemon center, the rain pouring down, soaking them both, he had pushed her to the door, glad the drops from above masked the ones coming from his eyes.

It had all, in the end, led him here. To Kanto. He had taken a ship, going to the Outa Region, Omi and Zeralis were just dreams in his mind...he went to the Orange Islands, breezing past on Shadow's wings... and finally brushing through Johto. He was but a name on their plaques, just a memory on cameras. He was almost fourteen by now. What had he done with his life? Just win leagues? All of his education, besides the basics, came form his travels, he had literally no real formal knowledge.

This is the last one. Then I go home. This time...

He always thought that, but he never made it a promise. Why? Simply because he knew it wasn't true and that making it a promise would make him a liar to more than just his mind. It would make him a liar to himself and his friends. They knew, just as much as he did, that battling had become his way of life, rushing through one town to the next, sleeping under the trees, all to find the meaning of his life, that ever elusive question.

He knew he'd never find that answer, but he knew the ride to finding it was the best one a person could take in life, as it revealed many truths along the way. This time, he had a feeling. Kanto was huge, and he had a feeling...a feeling that this time, he just might find what his soul was restlessly searching for, not the answer to life, but the answer to his question.

When?

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A short introduction to what could be looked upon as the first chapter of a story, or a one-shot. It's all up to you people. Should I continue? Do you want me here? This is a short rag, built off of the fact I was bored and in need of inspiration. As I said, I normally hang around the Negima section. Read and Review, and tell me what you feel. Finalage, out.