I think it's time for some more non-M rated fics, to cleanse my soul. Try not to take this story too seriously, okay?


He didn't quite know what he was getting himself into, but orders were orders, and disobedience was a seldom-used term in this man's vocabulary. Still, he supposed, this task seemed simple enough not to mess up… hopefully.

"Keeping Pokemon imprisoned like that… I'll teach you!" he shouted, raising his fists as though he was poised to punch anything that stood before him.

The man wondered if the half-heartedness in his threat was made too obvious, because the elderly recipient of his hostile words did not seem to react in the slightest before calmly replying.

"Imprisoned? I believe you are mistaken. This is Unova's Pokemon Day Care, where trainers entrust their Pokemon for us to watch over. When they are able to receive their Pokemon again, we return them, safe and sound."

The man in uniform lowered his fists, replacing them with only a quizzical gaze as he responded, "Huh. When you put it that way, I-"

"Stop right there!"

The sudden shout had come from behind of the uniform-wearing man, and he turned his head to identify the culprit. To his surprise, the loud mouth that called out to him belonged to but a mere boy wearing a cap and a blue jacket, a beginning trainer if he were to guess at first glance; ever since he had started traveling the region, he had seen – not to mention, battled – many a trainer, all of varying levels of experience… but all able to triumph against him, no matter how hard he tried. He wondered if this encounter would end any differently.

The boy in the cap continued, pointing a finger at the man. "I don't know what you're doing, but I won't let you get away with it, you… you bad Team Plasma guy!"

Yup, definitely a newbie trainer, the Plasma grunt thought to himself, smiling. He brought out the Poke Ball he had been given, and threw it to the ground, summoning the Pokemon inside; a small, bipedal mammal bearing a long, thin tail and red eyes each ringed with a band of gold, constantly watching, surveying. His Patrat may not have been the strongest Pokemon around, but perhaps their luck was due to turn around by now.

The boy repeated the gesture, calling upon his own Pokemon to the fray. The grunt watched as the young trainer's Poke Ball burst open to reveal a green, serpentine Pokemon, posing with a graceful air as it landed upon its pair of tiny feet. Like its trainer, the Plasma man surmised that this Snivy was no veteran in the fields of battle, and he could already envision the onslaught that his Patrat would inflict upon the grass snake.

However, the battle's outcome in reality quickly developed into one completely different from his fantasy. At the boy's command, the small Snivy twirled rapidly in place, surrounding itself in a funnel of harsh wind, thick with leaves that spun around in the airstream. The grunt's Patrat had completely failed to dodge the Leaf Tornado, getting caught in the cyclone that was launched towards it, left helpless in the air as it was buffeted by the sharp leaves. Once the miniature windstorm had died down, the man was distraught to see that his Patrat had been defeated, knocked out cold without even having the opportunity to attack. He couldn't even look at the fainted Pokemon as he returned it to its Poke Ball, while the victorious trainer did the same. He couldn't believe what had just happened; the Plasma grunt was no stranger to losing, but to have lost so easily to a rookie trainer… that was the final straw.

"I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!" he yelled, holding his hooded head to the sky. "I'M SO SICK OF BEING A NOBODY GRUNT THAT CAN'T EVEN BEAT A BEGINNER!" The boy in the blue jacket could only stare cautiously at this sight; he wanted to stop this man from causing harm, but he certainly wasn't trying to make him lose his mind. He was too astounded to retreat while the Plasma grunt advanced toward him with heavy steps, rage flaring in his gray eyes.

"You think it's funny that I lost, do you?!" he questioned the trainer, his voice loud and starting to grow hoarse. "You wanna know what it's like to never succeed at anything you do?! Let me show you, you stupid kid!" Dragging the boy by his jacket sleeve, the grunt forcefully escorted the boy behind a thick hedge, where nobody would be able to see what he would do next. The struggle that ensued had taken the batter part of a half-hour, but nothing, not even the boy's attempted resistance, would stop this Plasma grunt… or rather, soon to be ex-Plasma grunt.

"Ha ha ha ha… Now you will be the forever-failure of a Plasma goon, and I'll be… what's your name, kid?"

"H-H-Hilbert…" The boy replied to the man's question, squirming as his arms and waist were restrained, wrapped by surprisingly sturdy arms.

"Hilbert?! What a dopey name. You should thank me for this; nobody will ever call you by that name again!" Releasing his hold, the grunt pushed Hilbert back on the other side of the hedge. The young trainer was not too badly hurt from their brief scuffle, but he was not entirely happy about what the man had done to him…

He had forced a trade of clothing between them (Hilbert was most fortunately spared from having to don the other man's underwear), leaving the younger boy in a Team Plasma uniform that did not fit too comfortably and carried an odor that suggested its owner did not often have the time to do their laundry. Almost directly after he had been forced out, Hilbert could hear a mob of footsteps marching towards him.

"Another straggler, eh? Stop standing around, we got work to do in Nacrene City!"

Before the boy could make sense of what was going on now, he was hastily whisked away by a group of people who were all clad in outfits that matched his own. Once the band of other Team Plasma members had left the route, the ex-grunt emerged from the large hedge, wearing Hilbert's baseball cap, blue jacket and long black pants, enjoying how they managed to properly fit, more or less; for once, the man's small size had actually proved useful for something, and now that he was free of his past, loyal to nobody but himself, he was free to do whatever he felt like. He could frolic in a field of flowers, or throw rocks at stuff, or anything in between, and nobody would berate him for goofing off. What could go wrong for him now?

"There you are, Hilbert."

The ex-grunt's mind was diverted was he noticed the raven-haired, glasses-wearing boy coming his way, his face appearing aloof as he calmly paced the road of Route 3. Pushing the drooping frames up the bridge of his nose, he greeted the stranger as though they had been long-time friends.

"You know, you shouldn't run off without someone to back you up. You might run into danger, like getting ambushed by Team Plasma."