my body becomes the blade, a pokémon fanfic

a/n: reuploaded

I. Weaving

The garrote feels slippery in her fingers as she pulls it taut around the neck of her mark, pinning him down with her thighs wrapped around his arms to keep him from fighting back while he chokes and coughs up spittle into the dirt. He writhes beneath her, slapping her legs in a poor attempt to throw her off, but she remains steady atop his back until his spasming becomes sluggish and finally stops altogether. As she stands, gasping, her breath mists and curls skyward, mingling with the snow clinging to the pine branches.

4:35 AM, on the outskirts of Viridian City, she reports success. Her com blinks in acknowledgement.

Unclipping a pokéball from her belt, she calls out her toxicroak and orders it to begin digging. As it chips away at the frozen ground, she pats the man down, finding an envelope tucked inside his jacket, along with a wallet and a packet of cigarettes. The envelope and wallet she decides to take with her. The rest can be disposed of.

She grunts as she pushes him into the hole, then watches impassively as her toxicroak shovels in dirt and covers the mound with a fresh layer of snow. In an area as thinly populated as this, she anticipates at least four to six days before someone else comes across the body. By then, the soil will have refrozen, and she'll be back in Fuchsia. She's never had issues with covering her tracks; this will be no different.

Making her way toward the retrieval point, she shivers, wrapping her arms around her waist to ward off the chill. Up in the hills, the air feels pleasantly crisp; she can taste it, the subtle savor of pine and winter intermingled on her tongue.

It's almost like absolution.

Her father was not a cold man.

When people saw Koga, they saw only the rigid set of his jaw, the stark silhouette of his uniform, heard only the concise manner of his speech, and conflated reservation with unkindness. It was an easy assumption to make. Shinobi, especially those of a house as ancient as theirs, were not prone to disclosing their inner workings to outsiders. They saw her standing next to him in a set of robes mirroring his own, back ramrod straight and arms folded, sometimes sporting a fresh set of bruises from where she'd miscalculated during training. A girl already caught in the chokehold of custom. Occasionally, she wondered if this was an image her father actively nurtured to misdirect the press or if it was simply apathy that kept him quiet at every interview, his clipped responses as difficult to decipher as a lake shrouded in fog.

There were photo albums hidden in the attic that she'd found one day, driven there by boredom in the mid-August heat. She had spent several hours, legs folded across the dusty floor, flipping through pages of her father's past life. Most of the photos were of clan business - ceremonies, annual gatherings, and, occasionally, the death of an elder. One photo in particular caught her eye.

Her father, younger, the lines in his face less severe, stood beside a beautiful woman in a white kimono. Her lips were a soft, pretty shade of pink, and her hair, though partially hidden beneath a short headpiece, gleamed luxuriantly where it showed through. She was beaming; even Koga, whom she'd only heard laugh but a few times in her life, wore a hint of a smile. A name was written underneath in faded ink.

Tsukiko.

Every day, she rose at dawn and slipped into her training uniform to meet her father at the sparring grounds. He saluted her. She saluted him. And then, they duelled.

The nature of their duels varied - some days, they fought hand-to-hand; other days, they fought with their teams - but always, there was the duel to jolt her from her sleep and into vivid waking, wholly immersed in combat. Every day, she would emerge, exhausted, while her father, brow without a single drop of sweat, commented on what she had done well and what she had not. Her mistakes would be the focus of the exercises that followed, stopping only for a quick lunch, before she was sent back to the estate's library to study from afternoon through evening.

Often, she would think of her mother and what her days as a young girl must have been like. Was she already reading medical textbooks, working to obtain her license as a doctor? Did she raise pokémon of her own to battle with or just to keep as companions?

She thought back to the picture of her parents' wedding day and how her mother's hair, jet-black and sleek, looked like silk in the lighting. She thought of her mother's skin, perfectly fair and unblemished, the arch of her neck gliding seamlessly into cloth. Her own hands were callused, her arms and legs tanned from her training outdoors. Her hair was salt-stained and frizzy, bound into a simple knot to keep it out of her eyes. And yet, for all the years she'd spent under her father's tutelage, she still stumbled where he would simply move effortlessly, a study in precision, out of the path of her strikes. Where she had to yell to ensure she could be heard over the sounds of battle, her father relayed commands to his team in near silence, operating in a language she couldn't understand.

Somewhere, between her father and the memory of her mother, she existed in limbo. It hurt, not terribly, but it hurt nonetheless.

"The leader of the Koga clan must be strong in body and spirit," her father would remind her during her exercises whenever her movements grew slack. If she glared at him, defiant, he would only look back disapprovingly until, embarrassed at being seen so weak, she would inevitably get back up. More than anything, she wanted to see the day when it would be her catching him by surprise. Her mother was but a memory; her father was real, substantial - he was something she could aspire to.

"Are you content to lie in the dirt? Or are you going get up and lead?"

Every time, she knew how she would answer. She had never been good at backing down from a challenge, and years later, the feeling of the weathered staff in her fingers as faded by then as her mother's photograph, she thought of how Fuchsia might have diverged from its current path had she simply given up.

For now, this did not matter.

"Then start over. And put your whole body into it this time. Now, ichi! Ni! San! Shi!"

And obediently, she would. Sweat trickling down between her eyes, her father observing in the distance, she imagined each strike reverberating through her body, winding through the marrow and muscle until she was all parts of her a weapon - a killing stroke.

At the age of nine, she attended her first clan meeting.

A maid came to her room with a box and a note from her father detailing what she'd be expected to do - which was mainly just sitting still and staying quiet. Easy enough. There was a new set of robes in the box, wine-colored with a coiling arbok embroidered on each sleeve. She dressed and examined herself in the mirror, admiring the way the clothes fit snugly against her body, each line crisp against the light browns and jade hues of her quarters.

She felt powerful.

As the sky darkened, she walked with her father to the conclave and sat next to him at the head of table, watching as the rest of the clan trickled in. In her periphery, she saw other robes in varying shades of plum and burgundy and charcoal, worn loose or tailored, heard the clicking of geta against the mats and whispers in Imperial. A chill, creeping along the curve of her spine, rose within her; she'd never seen so many shinobi gathered in a single location. Most of them she'd never met.

Her hands, hidden underneath the lacquered wooden tabletop, busied themselves with her golbat's pokéball. Koga said nothing until all the seats were full, at which point he rose to address them all and officially begin the talks that had brought them here tonight.

Much of it boiled down to bookkeeping. The charges for a recent client had yet to be paid in full - someone would have to remind him to avoid being delinquent. Reports of a lead about the cartel that had been trafficking in booster shipments had been proven false, as corroborated by operatives in Cerulean and Viridian City. There was to be a meeting with the prime minister next month, and so on.

"The revenue from the Fuchsia Gym has increased from the last three quarters ever since the redesign. If this trend continues, we may be able to secure the sixth slot when the official ranking is released."

"This is welcome news, Koga-dono," said a hooded man to her left. "Perhaps your candidacy for the Elite Four may yet come to fruition. I trust the Indigo League has already approached you this year?"

"That they have, Akiyama-san."

"To have a member of our clan elected into the Elite Four would be most unprecedented," another voice rasped. "Though the final outcome has yet to be decided, I must congratulate you for your success thus far. Your forefathers would be pleased to know how the noble name of our clan prospers under your guidance."

"And I thank you for your kind words, Tobe-san."

"Though, I sense that you have already set your mind on ascending to the Indigo League. I must ask, then, whether you have begun to consider a potential replacement once your tenure ends."

"I have."

"Etsuji's sons are in the midst of their licensure examinations, but both are quick thinkers and well-versed in battle. Fumihiko would also make a strong candidate, if you would prefer someone older. His recommendations have been excellent. Now, these are merely suggestions; I understand that you still have time before - "

"Ah, Tobe-san." Her father held up a hand. "Forgive me for interrupting and perhaps for my poor choice of words, but I have already chosen my replacement in case of my election."

"Hm?"

"My daughter Janine, whom I have brought with me today," he announced, tapping her arm lightly, "will be appointed as the Fuchsia City Gym Leader once she has obtained her license. I will vouch for her myself. And also," he added, "she will take my place as the head of the Koga clan when I am ready to abdicate the position or am no longer able to serve. When her time comes, I trust you will show her the same respect that you have shown me."

Immediately, she felt all eyes fall upon her like a cold rush of wind. She bowed her head, staring at the pattern of threads on her trousers, as a nervous cough issued from the back.

"...You are sure of this, Koga-dono?"

"She will still be a child - "

"Please. I do not anticipate my election or my retirement happening in the near future," Koga intoned dryly. "Janine will have to go through the proper channels of induction as everyone must. In five years' time, she will be ready to enter the ACE program, and upon her graduation - of which I have full confidence in - she will be more than qualified to take on both roles."

One clansman, scowling, rose swiftly from his seat, the tendons in his neck drawn tight. A few of the other men around him were trying to pull him back down, muttering angrily, but he shook free and loudly declared, "So this is your grand design for the clan, eh? You entrust our future to this… this girl."

"Be quiet, Hitsugaya! The rules of succession are quite clear about - "

"To hell with the rules." He glowered at her. "Perhaps your time out there has changed you more than I'd thought. What right does she have to lead?"

"Her right as my firstborn," replied her father, tone icy. "I would advise you to watch your tongue, Yamauchi-kun. You may say something that you will come to regret."

Yamauchi scoffed. "Really? Is this all that is left of the great Hidden Vipper? Bah! You must be going mad to presume that any of us would willingly subjugate ourselves to a woman, let alone a half-blood bitch - "

She'd blinked - there was a rustle of cloth followed by a clatter - and suddenly, the man who'd spoken was roaring in pain, his face covered in tea and shards of porcelain. Koga had stood, turning to face each member in the room, and announced that there would be no further discussion of his daughter's heritage or legitimacy unless they wished to do so with swords instead of words.

No one spoke, Yamauchi breathing heavily as a maid rushed in to sweep up the mess. After a while, he too inclined his head to her father.

The rest of the meeting went smoothly, if not with an undercurrent of tension, before the clansmen bowed and excused themselves for the night.

Later, she would go to her father's office and ask him if what the angry man had said was true. Koga, still reading over the latest batch of proposals submitted on behalf of their benefactors, didn't answer her at first, and she wondered if she'd done something wrong, timidly edging toward the door, before Koga sighed and looked up, eyes heavy.

"What he said was not a lie," he began, halting, as though he was taking great care in choosing his words. "Your mother was an outsider from Johto. We met shortly after the war ended, in one of the border clinics set up by the Indigo Confederation. I was wounded on a mission and she treated me. I was able to get to know her during my time there, and the rest - well, I've told you before, and I trust that you've been able to piece the missing parts together on your own."

She swallowed, wondering if he'd gone to the attic and seen the boxes dislodged, but if he did, he made no mention of it, and went on.

"She was an excellent doctor and pharmacologist. I learned a great deal from her while we were together; her expertise has saved the life of many a shinobi on more than one occasion, though some among us would prefer to attribute such feats to my own skill rather than admit to accepting the aid of a foreigner. It has been a subject of great contention in our family, to my shame. I apologize for forcing you to hear such vulgarity tonight, but rest assured that he will never speak to you in such a manner again."

He steepled his hands in thought. "Perhaps she was not fit to join our clan. It is not easy, even for those born into our house, to become shinobi of the clan Koga. And yet..."

She could feel herself leaning forward in anticipation, waiting for him to tell her that secret just beyond her reach - that revelatory thing. But her father sighed, rubbing his temples, and she felt that moment pass, disappointed.

"Never mind." He must have seen the way she looked, because he waved her off, saying, "It's late, and your lessons start early tomorrow. Time for you to go to bed." As she was about to argue, he held up a finger to silence her. "We may talk about this again, if you would like to. After your training is done."

Knowing it would do her no good to press the issue any further, she glumly started to head out. Before she had stepped into the hallway, however, she turned and asked her father one more question. The reply she received, as expected, was brief.

"You are my daughter. Is that not enough?"

Poison-type specialists were a rarity not only in Kanto, but globally as well. She could count on one hand the number of trainers who had achieved some form of professional recognition in the competitive circuit with Poison teams, and of the official League title-holders, that number dwindled to just two. One of them, a girl from Unova, she couldn't quite remember the name of. The other was her father.

The Koga clan had employed Poison-types both prior to and during the wartime era; indeed, their mastery of Poison in the early days of the war had allowed them to rise from obscurity and become one of the only eminent clans remaining once the Indigo Treaty was drawn up. Their rival to the west, the Iga clan, which held close ties to the shaman-monk tradition of Ecruteak City, was known for their mastery of Ghosts. Indeed, the current Ecruteak Gym Leader, Morty, was a tenth-generation descendant of a former Iga patriarch.

Her father had explained that Dark-types were uncommon amongst shinobi because of their temperamental nature - too volatile for espionage. Ghosts were more preferable, but certain species whose members had achieved final-stage evolution began to develop more independent personalities reflective of their past lives, making them just as much of a liability to work with. Despite the efforts made by League titlers like Agatha to chip away at the most prevailing superstitions, even the most seasoned veterans tended towards fear rather than logic, especially when considering team composition and how well each of their pokémon would work with the rest.

Poison, though perhaps not the most offensively-gifted type, was pliable in comparison the other two. A majority of the popular Poison varieties in use had insect or rodent-based biology that made them particularly receptive to commands and quick to bond with their trainers - attributes which were, barring innate battle capability, the most important features a trainer could look for in a potential partner. In terms of defense, Poison-types possessed a natural resilience unmatched except, perhaps, by Dragon or Steel. For the purposes of the Koga clan, they were more than adequate.

Although Koga himself was reluctant to divulge more than the barest of details, she had learned what she could from the servants' gossip and by reading excerpts from history books about the war. They called him the Hidden Viper, back in those days, waiting in the brush for the enemy to make himself known before dealing a lethal blow. In both the skirmishes to drive back the wild hordes and the large-scale battles fought against young Johto for control of the frontier, he had led the clan in Kanto's support, employing guerrilla tactics to wear down their enemies until they could be easily dispatched. Foolishly, Johto's military had seen little stock in investing in Grass-types, although they had the highest capacity among all type variants for learning curative moves. With Smokescreens concealing their location from psychic trackers and Johto's forces unable to deal with the status damage inflicted on them in time for the next assault, the Koga clan was able to launch a months-long campaign that ended with nearly a third of the Johtoan military routed and Koga's name becoming enshrined in tactical history. Patience, the clan's tenet, had served them well.

There were many things about her father she did not know, and some of them she expected he would never reveal. Whether it was simply part of his stoic nature or a remnant of the war, she couldn't tell. He had trained her to be able to read an enemy's forthcoming movement in the minutiae of their posture, to see them as a map of choices embedded in flesh, but Koga was elusive, shifting constantly so as to render her observation futile. This, too, was another facet of that training, she supposed.

Once, she remembered that she had been in her room practicing her calligraphy when she heard three sharp raps on their door and a boisterous voice yelling her father's name. As a maid rushed past her doorway to answer the caller, she'd set down her brushes and tiptoed into the hall, picking out the sound of her father's footsteps against the tatami, the door sliding open, the voice, louder, again.

"Koga! Put 'er here, you old bastard!"

Slowly, careful not to make a sound, she crept down the stairs and peered through the bannister, wide-eyed. Her father was shaking the hand - or being shaken by - of a tall, broad-chested man. Vaguely, she could make out the color of his hair - blonde, close-cropped - and the impressive slope of his shoulders, which nearly filled the width of the entryway. Next to him, her father seemed positively diminutive.

Evidently, she hadn't been quiet enough, because the man looked past Koga and locked eyes with her. "You there!" he said, laughing when she shrunk back. "Hey, don't be scared. I'm just an old pal of your dad's. Ain't that right, Koga?"

"You haven't changed a bit since the last time we met, Trenton," said her father, shaking his head. "Though maybe your waistline has finally filled out to match your ego."

"Aw, screw you, you old bat," the man retorted. "Not all of us've got your crazy fast metabolism. C'mon, kid," he added, grinning. "Lemme get a good look at ya. Your dad's written to me all about you! I promise I'm not gonna eat ya or anything."

Uncertainly, she glanced at her father, who nodded. She smoothed out her tunic as she approached, giving a stiff bow once she was finally standing across from him. The man laughed, and extended a russet hand for her to shake.

"Name's Trenton Surge. They used to call me Lieutenant Surge in the army, but now the only ones who do that are the young bucks challengin' my Gym. You can just call me Surge."

He let out another chuckle at her response. "No need to be so formal, no matter what your dad tells ya. So you're the famous Janine, eh? I hear you're takin' after your old man, raisin' a bunch of Poison critters. You any good at battling?" Surge smiled when she nodded yes. "Well I'd expect nothin' less from the daughter of the ol' Viper. Tell ya what - if your dad's okay with it, maybe the two of us can have a little battle before I go. Whaddya say?"

"Of course she can," said Koga, interrupting before she could answer. "Why don't we have eat first? I imagine the journey from Vermilion to here was quite taxing. I'll have the servants prepare something and we can discuss what it is you came here for." He turned to her. "Janine, I'll tell Aiko to bring you dinner when it's ready. Finish your calligraphy exercises. If there's enough time left, you can battle Surge in the arena."

Biting back her dismay at being excluded from dining with their guest, she nodded, agreeing. Surge slipped her a conspiratorial wink as he and Koga walked toward the dining room.

Of course, she'd only pretended to be practicing, sneaking downstairs as soon as Aiko was out of earshot. This time, she took extra precautions not to make a sound as she neared the conversation between her father and Surge, crouching in the shade of a large vase to overhear what it was they were talking about.

To her surprise, she heard her father speaking in Imperial and Surge responding in kind, as fluent as any native. Vermilion City was hardly a place one could refer to as a cultural melting pot, with a population almost entirely comprised of the descendants of Neo-Anglo émigrés. Pre-war languages like Imperial had mostly been replaced by the new Kantoan and Johtoan dialects anyway, so she wondered how Surge, who looked thoroughly un-Imperial, had come by their language and mastered it to the same caliber as her father.

Minutes into her eavesdropping, she heard a crackling hiss and saw, through the gap underneath the screen panels, the telltale milky violet glimmer of a Light Screen, muffling their exchange. She knew she'd have no luck trying to break through the barrier - none of her pokémon knew any good anti-buffer moves - so, resigned, she carefully padded back to her room. The back of her neck prickled, wondering if Koga was staring at her as she skulked away. It wouldn't come as a surprise if he was. Still, as she dipped her brush into the inkwell and drew a fresh sheet of paper, she wondered what subject between her father and the Vermilion Gym Leader, of all people, would warrant these kinds of precautions.

Gradually, the hours slipped by and she felt herself nodding off, clearing her brushkit off of her desk to rest her head for just a moment. A knock on her door woke her from her nap. The meeting was finished, her father said, and she was welcome to challenge Surge before he left.

Her fingers shook as she grabbed her team and ran to the sparring grounds where Surge and her father were already waiting. Surge looked a bit sheepish as he stepped inside the challenger's box across from her.

"Sorry to be a downer, but I left the rest of my team back at the Gym. You good with a one-on-one?"

Yes.

Surge grinned. "I like your attitude. Just warnin' ya though, I ain't gonna go easy on ya just 'cause you're Koga's kid. Ready?"

As he unclasped a pokéball from his belt, she did the same, knowing her father's eyes were truly on her now. The air churned, electric, with possibility.

"Show me what you've got!"

Her golbat Kaguya appeared, hovering above the arena, just as Surge's partner landed onto the dirt. The raichu that stood before its master was massive for its species, fur crisscrossed with tiny scars. It growled, and she could have sworn that it was even scowling at her.

Her pulse began to quicken.

"Begin!"

She called out a Sludge Bomb first. Kaguya flew in above Surge's raichu before spitting out a bullet of venom, darting away as soon as the attack made contact. A plume of dirt blossomed from the point of impact, her mouth opening to ready another command before the dust clouds scattered and Kaguya reeled back, screeching as one wing flapped limply.

Surge's raichu snarled, wiping a smear of blood off of its mouth with one tawny paw, while the crater where the Sludge Bomb had collided still smoked a meters away. Its fur was spotless. As fast as Kaguya was, it hadn't been enough.

"You'll have to do better than that!" Surge called. "Sparky, light 'em up!"

Leaning forward with its hackles raised, Sparky's body began to crackle with tiny bolts of electricity until it was sheathed in yellow light. She could taste copper in the back of her throat, yelling at Kaguya to dodge -

The ensuing thunderclap rattled her to the bones and sent waves of dust flying across the arena floor. With both arms held in front of her face, she squinted through the scorching radiance and found the outline of Kaguya suspended above them, bathed in gold.

It was painfully clear who was the victor.

Surge jogged up to her as she recalled Kaguya, his expression apologetic. "Don't take it too hard, kid. I really meant it when I said I wouldn't be holdin' back." He held up Sparky's pokéball for her to inspect, and she saw that the the release button, which should have been white when inactive, was glowing pale blue.

"Took off the level cap. Us Gym Leaders have to add the tech as soon as we're inaugurated - League regulation and all that, but it sure is a pain in the ass sometimes." She must have still looked despondent, because he gave her a friendly clap on the shoulder and jabbed a thumb at the still-smoking aftermath of their match. "Your golbat's got one hell of a Sludge Bomb, huh? Sparky got out by the skin of his teeth - any slower and you'd have done some real damage for sure. Ain't that right, Spark?" The raichu's grumbles drew a fresh bout of laughter from Surge.

Her father was approaching them, and she felt rooted to the spot, unable to look at him after her defeat. It had been humiliatingly one-sided. Koga had taught her about the specific pokéball mechanics the Leaders and Elite Four had to implement, and she knew he also kept the cap switched on when they trained. But to be on the receiving end of a matchup against someone like Surge, whose raichu alone was a testament to the experience they'd accrued as a veteran trainer, was jarring in a way she'd rarely felt before. To lose a training match was one thing - this was wholly another sensation. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself to be reprimanded for her performance.

Yet, she felt only a light pressure as her father patted her taut arm, his voice not at all angry as he said, "She is my daughter, Trenton. It would hardly befit the leader the Koga clan to be a lightweight."

"Ha! Well, she's no lightweight, I'll tell ya that. You better watch yourself, Koga. Give 'er a couple more years, and Janine'll be the one stealing your thunder."

"I would expect nothing less."

Surge chuckled. "Y'know, once you've beaten your old man, come over to Vermilion. I'll let you have a rematch, no red tape, no nothin'."

"Don't be so presumptuous. If she can defeat me, you will hardly pose much of a challenge."

"Oh hoh, you rarin' to go, old-timer?"

In his own, enigmatic way, her father was proud of her. She could feel it dulling the sting of her loss like a salve, this knowledge. When Surge made another joke at her father's expense, she found herself struggling to hold back her giggles. Her father, too, seemed at ease around the Vermilion Leader. Another history, she suspected, wove between them. The specifics of it she couldn't guess.

After Surge left, Koga took her aside and told her he'd noticed her spying on them at dinner. Her mirth dissolved, leaving behind on the bitter taste of her shame at having been caught. She confessed that she'd only wanted to learn what brought him to Fuchsia on such short notice. The estate rarely received visitors; it was only natural that a drop-in of Surge's rank would warrant her attention.

"Listen, Janine," her father said, bending down so he was at eye level. "I realize that your first encounter with Surge might have given you a certain impression of him. But you saw what his team was like."

Yes, she had.

"The fact that his ranking is only third in the official League hierarchy is absolutely irrelevant; of all the Gyms in Kanto, the only other Gym with a lower challenger fail rate than his is at Viridian. He was one of the first pre-war commanders to successfully drive back the hordes when they invaded. He has had as much experience in the field as I have, if not more. Do you know why you will not find a single sentence about his victories in your textbooks? Why people only know him as the Vermilion Gym Leader?"

She shook her head.

"There were activities he was involved in during the war that were deemed undesirable by the Indigo Confederation." Her father gripped her shoulders, fully serious. "I will spare you the details. It will only be a few more years before you will be be eligible for candidacy in the ACE program. One way or another, you will find out then if you pass the tests, and I know that you will."

Too many thoughts were running through her head. Desperately, she wanted to know what Surge had done, what experiences had led her father into a collision course with him, why he was telling her to much and so little at the same time - but Koga's expression was grim as he told her, "Promise me that until you are ready to bear the responsibility on your own, you will not look into this."

Promise me.

II. Incubating

At 5:00 AM sharp, she rises with the other cadets in her contingent, dresses, and makes her way to the cafeteria for breakfast. The food is bland and devoid of color, cooked and portioned to provide the optimal amount of requisite nutrients for them to train at maximum efficiency. No more, no less. If she'd thought her time at the estate to be spartan, ACE is an entirely new universe of self-restraint.

She learns how to assess a mark for weak points in less than a minute. When she graduates, that time will be down to seconds, every possible vulnerability drilled into her head. The femoral artery. The clavicle. The solar plexus. Every choice lies there, interlocked within puzzles of muscle and bone and vein. All she has to do is extract the missing piece.

She learns how to take a sniper rifle apart, pack it for the most inconspicuous mode of transportation, and reassemble the pieces quickly upon arrival. She learns which common household chemicals can be combined to create a rudimentary explosive device. She learns how to restructure her resting mental topography to defend herself from a mid-level psychic intrusion. She learns how to identify a spectral tag, three precautions to render herself undetectable by the initiator Ghost, and one failsafe technique in the event that she's locked into entanglement.

In her first week at the ACE program, she doesn't sleep. Her whole body is burning.

By the third week, she has become acutely aware of the tightness of her joints, the knots in her back, the tenderness of a fresh bruise below her ribcage. By the third month, her knuckles have hardened to the point that she can throw a punch, ungloved, and nothing hurts. After a year, two, two and a half, the motions are instinctual, as effortless as breathing.

When she sees herself in the mirror, the wine-tinted slick of her hair draped across her bare shoulders, it takes her a moment to bridge the gap between the face she knows and this new face, razor sharp, emerging from the shell of the old. If her father saw her, she wonders how he would react. How she would feel to be seen.

Fulfilled, she likes to assume.

Day by day, she felt herself changing. An instinct, a portent, slithered beneath her skin, sinuous and black. In her dreams, which came sporadically, she envisioned herself cocooned in her own flesh and forced to cut her way out. At the end, she stood gasping for breath under the moon, naked and shivering but whole.

Frequently, she worked at the Gym, posing as one of several nondescript ninjas scattered throughout the maze as a deterrent to challengers who would have to go through her if they wanted a shot at her father and the badge. After Kaguya evolved into a crobat - a proud moment for both her father and herself - she had added the limiter technology to her pokéball in order to give each challenger a fair fight. Still, her battle demeanor had grown in confidence. Even by the fifth Gym, all but a tiny portion of the circuit capped out at mid-stage or mono-evolution species. Easy enough to handle.

It was late, verging on nighttime, when the boy entered their Gym. He'd flashed his ID at the flustered gate attendant before continuing into the maze. From her vantage point, she watched him as he cut a path through the other trainers with his pikachu. Despite its size, which was small even given the standards of its species, something about it reminded her of Sparky, whose unassuming nickname had belied its true ferocity in combat. The air was suffused with the smell of ozone and filled with the wails of the defeated as the boy pressed steadily onward.

When he reached her position, she leapt down and removed her camouflage, delivering the lines she'd rehearsed. His expression, shadowed by the brim of a red cap, remained utterly unreadable, which unnerved her. Quickly, she sent out Kaguya, ordering her to use Toxic. His pikachu managed to evade and shifted into a Thunderbolt, which Kaguya also dodged.

"Confuse Ray!"

A milky white orb gathered itself from nothingness, and with a flap of her wings Kaguya sent it flying at the pikachu where it burst into a spray of oily light. As it struggled to recover, she called out an Air Slash next, Kaguya responding immediately with a fusillade of razor-sharp currents. They whistled across the distance, impacting - a funnel of dust and cement bloomed, and she peered through the haze, trying to gauge how much damage it'd done.

When the dust cleared, his pikachu stood strong, mouth fixed in a snarl. Two thin cuts ran along its left flank. Several meters behind it was a crater where the Air Slash had hit - luckily for the challenger, his pikachu had avoided the worst of her attack. Still, its eyes were flickering in and out of focus. The Confuse Ray would slow it down for sure, and that delay was all she needed to end the match. Emboldened, she was ready to order a Sludge Bomb, when suddenly, the pikachu crouched, coiling its muscles, and launched at Kaguya in the fraction of a second it took her to pick a command. Her crobat screeched, batting frantically at the pikachu, as it latched onto Kaguya's back and began hustling electricity.

"Thunder."

Lightning exploded in the corridor, a golden corona forming as Kaguya thrashed and the boy's pikachu clung on. As the light dimmed, she saw Kaguya falling and wordlessly withdrew her pokéball to recall her before she hit the ground. The boy, trailed by his partner, walked toward the final gate and she stepped aside to let him pass, his eyes gleaming red. Koga, after a terse greeting, wasted no time in calling out his own pokémon, and she watched as the last battle began.

The atmosphere in the Gym was dark as the challenger and her father clashed. His weezing skimming above the battlefield, the boy's pikachu always in close pursuit, their exchanges threw acrid smoke and peals of electricity over the entire arena. Debris rained down haphazardly over hunter and hunted. On each end, both trainers shouted commands. Even her father, it seemed, had forgotten his composure in the heat of the moment.

Don't let him win, she thought, her fists clenched. Don't let him win. Don't let him win. Don't let him -

At the epicenter of their duel, she heard the twin heads of her father's weezing cry out, the shrill noise of the challenger's pikachu releasing another attack - the dust flared amber and white, billowing outward, and she could feel her heart released of the not knowing that had overtaken it. Her father bowed, the slightest indication of his surrender, as the scene resolved into focus.

In the end, she sat with the rest of the Gym's trainers as her father presented the boy with Soul Badge. She watched him leave, soundless, his pikachu perched on his shoulder. She looked to her father for understanding, but he was walking off the field and to his office before she could get to him and ask him, "Why?"

Logically, she could not expect him to always win. Three more Gyms waited beyond Fuchsia, and beyond those lay the Elite Four and the Champion. It would follow that her father must be defeated at least occasionally for the next crop of League contenders to advance.

Still - an unease lingered at the base of her stomach. It was as if she had glimpsed a secret that hadn't been meant for her, seeing her father lose far too handily to this newcomer - especially given his experience. She couldn't let it go.

The corridors out of the Gym were mostly empty when she left. What few stragglers had stayed behind after the match had gone when they realized her father wouldn't be coming back for the rest of the day; only the janitorial bots remained to resurface the battlefield for next week's bout. It was easy, then, to pick out the sound of someone speaking quietly from one of the waiting rooms. Willing herself to blur into her surroundings, she flattened her body against the wall closest to the noise and listened.

"Yeah, it's finished. Clean sweep. Never seen anything like it in all the time I've been here."

"Go rewatch the footage if you think I'm lying. What else could I have done?"

"No, no - you can't be fucking serious."

"Fucking hell. You're - " The voice lowered. " - you're saying that the Hidden Viper threw a match to some no-name kid. Do you know how crazy you sound?"

"... What?"

"Wait. So that's him? You're not fucking with me?"

Pause.

"Shit. Alright. I'll be sure to pass it along."

The call shut off as the speaker opened a new line. Her blood was thudding in her ears as she waited for his connection to pick up.

"Hey - yeah, it's me. You know why I'm calling."

"I already confirmed. He's gonna head to Saffron next. Tell them to be on lookout."

"Don't know. It looked clean from where I was, but I can't be sure."

"Who the hell cares? The sooner we sort out this mess, the sooner our asses will be off the chopping block."

"Real identity? Far as we know, he hasn't really got one, 'cept for what they've been calling him in the circuit. Soon as he hits, he's back on the road. He's one tough fucker to track down, I'll give him that."

"Still? Fine, hold on."

"Tell them it's Red."

It was dusk when she arrived at 579 Pickerry Drive. Far off, a set of cranes and other construction vehicles guarded the shell of Silph's newest project. The noise, even in this sequestered neighborhood, must have been dreadful during the mornings.

The windows facing the backyard had been clumsily secured and were easy to pick. She swung in and landed softly, the padded soles of her boots cushioning the impact. Cautiously, she scanned the room and after failing to detect another presence, she made her way down the hall to the bedroom.

Mr. Fuji's house was simply furnished, decorated with a random assortment of curios and photographs of what were presumably his family members. Multiple water bowls were stacked in the kitchen, with a bulk bag of pokéfood propped against the shelf. He'd fostered numerous orphaned pokémon who couldn't be accommodated at the local volunteer home, from what she had heard.

She found him lying in his bed, looking as though he'd just fallen asleep. A half-empty cup of water and a pill bottle lay on the dresser.

His skin was cold. Gingerly, she took his wrist and felt for a pulse, tucking it back under the blanket when she was set. A tracery of blue veins ran up his neck like ivy, so she unfastened the uppermost buttons of his shirt and peeled it open to get a better view. Just below his clavicle was a spot that looked like a fresh bruise, tawny brown, but she had studied enough to see past the ruse. Whoever had done this knew their way around toxins; she swabbed the cup, photographed the entry wound, and rearranged the scene so that nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. It hardly registered as sacrilege at this point - most of the time, at least - but Fuji, by all accounts, had been a good man.

Her mother would probably be sad if she were here.

As she was leaving, her foot bumped against something that had rolled near the door. Looking down, she saw the splintered half of a bone, gleaming softly white against the dark grain of the hardwood. A strange sensation came over her, suddenly; she felt like she was breathless, sprawled across the sand of a beach, a hand reaching for her, the voice of a child burbling through the water -

But the house was empty.

Mr. Fuji's neighbors would find him the next day when he missed his usual shift. She would be in her lab poring over the samples she'd collected when the tip came, and she left, tidily as she'd come. There were other things happening on the horizon.

"Your tea's getting cold."

They were sitting in the private terrace of a bistro located just a few blocks southwest of the Celadon department store. In lieu of her typical uniform, she'd worn a simple dark jacket, jeans, and boots to better blend in with the civilian populace. Lorelei, on the other hand, had chosen to spend the day in a sheer white blouse bordering on indecent and a figure-hugging violet skirt. More than a few stares had followed them during their - Lorelei's - shopping spree, the results of which were currently piled at Lorelei's feet.

"Does it taste bad? Sorry - I think Kalos isn't very big on tea. I could ask if they have some oolong or genmaicha, if you'd like."

"It's fine, actually. Thank you." She took a sip to make her point.

Lorelei grinned. "I should be thanking you for coming with me. A big city like Celadon - " She fanned herself dramatically. " - a girl's gotta watch out."

The faux sense of danger Lorelei imagined herself to be in was, she felt, undermined by the fact that she knew any one of Lorelei's pokémon could freeze an assailant down to the cellular level before they could even think about snatching her purse. The self-titled Ice Queen of Indigo, she'd quickly risen up the ranks of the circuit a couple years back and had won a seat on the Elite Four through official challenge instead of election. Her very presence commanded power, and Lorelei knew it.

As if to emphasize this, the railing around the terrace shimmered with faint iridescent sheen - the only indication of the barriers Lorelei's jynx, Freya, had set up at the start of their lunch. The sounds of the street underneath them, the smells wafting up from a nearby bakery, even the worst of the late afternoon sun - all of it had been filtered out. It was a testament to Lorelei's skill as a trainer to have been able to refine her ace's natural psychic abilities this much. She was more than a little impressed.

"Are you sure I can't get you anything else? You don't have to worry about paying me back. It's my treat for being such a good bodyguard." Lorelei winked. "Not bad for an internship, huh?"

It had been a cushy job so far, she granted. In the week she'd spent with Lorelei, she had been relegated to auxiliary work helping manage her charge's day-to-day schedule and accompany her when they went out. Nothing had happened - most likely because it was Lorelei and not some rich socialite picking out a pair of heels at the boutique - but it left her questioning whether it would have been better to have been chosen by another League titleholder, practically speaking. This much leisure never felt right.

"You know, I've wanted to ask you something for a while." Propping her elbows up on the table, Lorelei leaned forward a bit, her lips drawn into a lazy grin. "I've always been interested about what it's like, though. You're always so holed up in that Gym or your house - it's kind of mysterious."

As vaguely as she could manage, she told her about the training she'd undergone from the time she was able to walk up until she had left to join ACE. Encapsulating an entire culture within a five-minute conversation was difficult, and omitting the parts she knew her father would admonish her for if he knew he'd told an outsider - even if that outsider was on the Elite Four - added an extra layer of complexity. Still, Lorelei seemed pleased by her explanation.

"Don't you ever get tired of wearing the same stuffy outfit all the time? Me - I can never pass up a good designer piece. I'd die if I had to give up my wardrobe."

"They're less restrictive than they look. Its enough for the line of work that I'm in."

"But - what I'm trying to ask is do you like being forced to wear only one thing?"

Shinobi were inclined to be pragmatic. From the food she ate, to the way she moved, to her dress - everything was dictated by necessity; begrudgingly, she accepted that it was also dictated by her father. She had never seen a need to pry too deeply behind the natural order, anyway.

"It seems a bit constricting to be constantly told how to live."

"A small sacrifice made in exchange for something greater."

Throwing up her hands, Lorelei gave a resigned sigh. "I see that I'm not going to get through to you. That's perfectly fine."

She asked why Lorelei had such an interest in learning about her background in the first place.

"You want the truth? Sure, okay. I've got nothing against you - you seem like a nice girl - but your clan, or those monks over in Ecruteak, or even the nuns from Sinnoh… people like that have never sat well with me. Personally speaking. I suppose I'm a bit too secular for their tastes, anyway."

"No offense taken."

"That's a relief. I'd imagine your dad would have my head on a pike if he found out I'd insulted his only daughter."

His only child, to be more accurate. "You have the wrong impression of my father. I know he seems closed off, but he's really not like that. Once you get to know him, at least."

"Hmph. Getting to know him is easier said than done."

Rolling her eyes, Lorelei said, "That's the thing about people like your dad. In my experience - and mind you I've been around for long enough to get a pretty good idea - it's the same wherever you go. If you're not born into it from the start, no matter how much you try, you'll never be good enough, the way they see it. I might as well be a piece of dogshit one of them found on the bottom of their shoes. They act like they're better because they have all this history, as if that gives them the right to sneer at the rest of us who moved on. I'd wager you've seen your fair share of it too." The Elite Four member looked almost rueful for her sake.

A white kimono. Shattered teacup.

She did know.

"So you have." Lorelei leaned back in her chair, idly tying up her hair into a bun as she spoke. "They cling to whatever's left from the pre-war era because they think it means something important. Maybe they have to transpose a little bit of this, a little bit of that, to make it all fit this new narrative - I don't see how they could afford not to - but it all boils down to preserving their iteration of the status quo.

"I think it's as worthwhile as trying to fly a kite in a hurricane.

"Did you know that before the war, science had debunked PK as a myth?" Lorelei took another bite of her omelette before going on. "I mean, it probably wasn't the most important topic in your history class, but it's worth knowing. Fortunetellers, mediums, telekinetics - people put them on talk shows just to gawk at them as novelty items. And now, you've got people like Sabrina and her cohort of freaks doing who-knows-what in Saffron. Oh! My, that wasn't very nice of me to say, wasn't it? Don't tattle."

She grinned blithely. "Well, if I'm being honest, there aren't too many people like Sabrina. Yet. Some of the rumors about what she can do have been terribly exaggerated - the dollhouse incident was just something the press decided to run with until it got out of control - but by no means is she someone you should underestimate if you care about not getting screwed over. With the kind of… power that she has, sometimes I wonder why she even bothers with a team at all, though I guess they're a nice accessory.

"Just look around. We're making new discoveries every week, and we still haven't scratched the surface of what these - " She gestured. " - these creatures are capable of, or what we're even capable of. Give it another decade, and who knows what the new standard will be?"

"I'm guessing you think you will."

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not nearly so self-absorbed as to think that," she chuckled. "Koga might not give a damn, but I think there's new opportunities to be found in the way things are going.

"Speaking of opportunities, you've been the frontrunner to take your dad's place at the Fuchsia Gym, if I remember correctly. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"How lucky for you," Lorelei fawned. "I hear that Koga's been campaigning for election next term as well. Your family's got its hands quite full.

"Are you worried that he'll lose?"

There was an edge to Lorelei's voice that she had either been too oblivious to notice before or which had made itself apparent the further they'd gone down this topic. Her reply was appropriately measured.

"Tsk tsk. That's all? Fuchsia's not a bad spot. If he gets in, the evaluation committee might choose to be a bit more lenient with your rank. Blaine's getting old, and Cinnabar's re-evaluation has been a long time coming.

"Or… how scandalous. You're secretly hedging your own chance at the League on his rejection."

Her nervousness was beginning to mount. Lorelei, ever-focused on her behind the steel rims of her glasses, looked like a persian eyeing a choice piece of meat. Their conversation was being maneuvered in an uncomfortable direction, and she wanted out. As quickly as possible.

"Ambition's not always clean. If you're headed for the top, you've got to step on a couple of toes once in a while. No big deal. I've done it, your father's likely done it - join the fun."

"I'm not averse to getting my hands dirty."

"No, you aren't, are you?"

Another grin, though this wasn't nearly as entertained. Very deliberately, Lorelei picked up her knife and fork and cut into an omelette, the soft yellow inside spilling out onto her plate.

"I appreciate your candor. It's so refreshing to hear someone like you saying what's truly on their mind.

"So, in the spirit of transparency, I hope you won't mind that I took the liberty of erasing those files you've been trying to smuggle out."

She felt her blood run cold as Lorelei simply laughed. "Honey, that look on your face is priceless. You didn't think I wouldn't notice, did you?"

Abruptly, she felt her wrist being enclosed by Lorelei's hand, the other woman's nails digging into her skin. "I'll bet dad's warned you, right? She's not just some diva, she's on the Elite Four, treat her with some respect, right? It's okay if you're a little confused. We all make mistakes. The idiots who let you into those servers, for example - they weren't as thorough as they should've been. Fortunately, I am."

After her grueling lessons at the estate and then her stint under ACE, a woman of Lorelei's build should have been little more than an inconvenience. Just taking into account the silverware on their table, she could think of seven ways to incapacitate Lorelei, four of them discreet and two of them potentially lethal if she wanted.

None of that mattered, however, because she knew that the datacard in the hidden compartment of her jacket was empty. There wasn't the faintest indication of a lie in Lorelei's gaze.

She had underestimated who she was dealing with.

"Stealing from the person you're supposed to be protecting isn't the type of behavior the future head of the Koga clan should be getting up to." Lorelei's smile could cut diamonds. "You might have thought you were doing good by the rest of the country, or ACE, or dear old dad, but all you're really doing is being an obstruction, and not even a good one. We have a system for dealing with this kind of thing. Next time, let the adults handle it instead of butting in where you don't belong."

She wanted to know what was in it for Lorelei if she was going out of her way to stop the leaks before they overflowed into the public. Lorelei waved away her questions as she chewed, each bite methodical, wiping demurely at her lips with a napkin.

"What fun would it be if I told you? If you were trying to get all this in a recording, I'm sorry to burst your bubble again. Freya's not a fan of journalists." She extended a silk-sleeved arm to lightly tap the barrier, which gave a glassy ring as her hand withdrew.

"I must say, it's been lovely getting to know you these couple of days. Maybe I'll even put in a good word for you at the League. You'd make an excellent addition to the Four once you've cut your teeth somewhere less do-or-die. I'll be cheering for you from the sidelines."

She was frozen to her chair as Lorelei wiped the last of the butter from her lips, got up, and picked up her purse, swapping in a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses.

"Freya, come out, dearie."

The jynx emerged, coalescing from blue light into its disconcertingly humanoid shape, the pleats of its dress barely skimming the floor. Its palms shone with psionic luminescence as it levitated the rest of Lorelei's bags toward the exit, glassy eyes fixed on her all the while. She could only watch as it dispelled the barriers and the sounds of the city came flooding back in, Lorelei looking on with perfect nonchalance. A victor's smirk.

She couldn't move.

"Ah, don't bother with the check. I told you it's my treat, remember? Help yourself to some fruit or a scone - I've got to run, unfortunately, but don't take this as a personal thing. I really do like you, Janine. It's just a shame we had to end on a sour note."

Before she left, she bent down, the scent of her perfume thick and cloying, and whispered into her ear, "One last word of advice. If you were serious about climbing the League, steer clear of Giovanni Vittore."

"Gareth Oak?"

Even half-awake in his pajamas, the grandson of Dr. Samuel Oak, world-renowned metabiologist and physicist, lounged across the sofa wholly unperturbed, a lazy grin spreading across his face at her introduction. His umbreon, which had been napping on the armrest, opened its eyes to shoot her a baleful look before curling up and falling back asleep.

"Call me Gary," he said. "Only Gramps uses 'Gareth' when he's pissed."

"You also go by Blue, if I've been correctly informed."

Gary's smile widened. "Shit, you have done your research. Tell me, what's the daughter of the infamous Viper doing here in bumfuck Pallet Town on a Monday morning?"

Clearly he was just trying to get a reaction, but she'd been in this long enough that she could keep herself from getting riled up by a teenage boy. Even if that boy was a candidate for the Viridian Gym only six months after his debut in the circuit.

"I'd like to ask you what you know about Red."

She did get a small amount of satisfaction in seeing that self-satisfied smile disappear. When Gary spoke again, the hint of insouciance in his tone was gone. "And what exactly would that entail?"

"For starters, September 20th of last year. Tell me about the Celadon Game Corner incident."

Erika's lips quirked upwards as she poured both of them another cup of tea and listened, the room fragrant with the aroma of steeping rooibos and, faintly, a whiff of sage.

Autumn now; she'd had time to pull together a semblance of the underlying pattern after meeting with a contact from Blackthorn City across the border. Still, clarity eluded her. The League elections were in six months. Her window was closing.

"I understand that I'm not the only one you've talked to," Erika said, her features blankly demure as she lifted the sleeve of her kimono to pick up a dainty bite of teacake. "Misty Whiterush messaged me yesterday evening. You've been doing some field work."

"I have a theory that I think I'm close to proving, but I need your help. Silph is moving a new shipment into the region in a week. Your family's company owns the warehouses where they'll go before putting the product into transit."

"I see."

"If it's too much to ask - "

"It's not."

A pair of bellossom were watering the shelf of plants behind Erika which she noticed, upon closer inspection, hadn't been just flowers. Jimsonweed, henbane, fellenwort, meadow saffron - other names she'd skimmed over from her pharmacology lessons. When the tea was ready, Erika refilled her cup again and blew on the surface, her rose-hued lips pursing just so, before taking a sip.

"You're getting into dangerous territory the more interference you put up. If they catch you, you're not getting off with another slap on the wrist."

That last statement had been deliberately loaded, she deduced; the sting of another similar conversation gone awry still picked at her insides. She could sense Erika's eyes boring into her, assessing, trying to prize out the truth. "I owe your father a debt, and besides, we share the same blood. An Imperial looks out for their own."

"And I'm grateful for that."

"But you're becoming sloppy. Misty noticed. So did I. I'd thought ACE had trained you better; your father too."

The accusation would have made her bristle if it hadn't been true to some degree. An image of a snowfield outside Viridian flashed through her head. A nameless man.

"Messy situations don't always allow for the cleanest methods." Her hands tightened around her cup. "I know what the stakes are. I know what I have to do to get it done."

"So you say. Others have said as much.

"There are eyes and ears in every corner of this region. I'm not asking for a guarantee, but I want to be sure that you won't let yourself be compromised at this stage of the game."

Erika was looking at her expectantly. She gave the only answer she could.

"I give you my word."

A trace of uncertainty still lingered in the Celadon Leader's face, but she nodded and in an instant her features had settled into carefully neutral.

"Very well. My classes are due to begin on Tuesday, so come after seven; Minami will show you where to go in. In the meantime, I'll be in touch."

III. Maturation

Pewter City had been a mining town in the past, before the League had picked it up for development and its value skyrocketed in the span of less than a year. The ruins of the last major coal-refining plants, cast aside by the rapid pace of urbanization, stand sentinel at the edge of the city's borders crumbling into the decades. Graffiti and weeds have colonized almost every inch of empty space, and wild pokemon have filled in the rest.

The Rocket grunt tied to the chair in front of her screams obscenities as her toxicroak digs another talon into the soft skin at the base of his neck. It had taken months of training and the aid of an interpreter to fully communicate what it was that she wanted, but she'd managed to establish a system for denoting the effects and dosage of every variety of poison her toxicroak could synthesize and secrete. Kanto's relationship to Sinnoh is tangential at best, a coincidental overlap of theology; not many people in the region are equipped to diagnose and treat the symptoms of toxicroak venom. Certainly not this grunt.

"You bitch," he pants. "Go back… go back to your shithole of a - "

The sentiment remains unfinished as he jerks upright, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. At this dosage, the venom isn't lethal. What it will do is lead to a cascade of reactions in the medulla oblongota, the portion of the brain responsible for involuntary functions in the heart and lungs. She's studied the applications of it enough to know which specific reactions will lead to shortness of breath and, if unchecked, asphyxiation. An antidote is stashed in her pocket, ready to be administered if necessary - and the way things are going, she anticipates it will become necessary more than once.

As soon as his choking subsides, she repeats her question. Fifteen seconds, another dose. Thirty, the antidote.

There is no joy to be found in the process. She is not yet so cruel. But she recalls the quiet house with a small vegetable garden, the bludgeoned corpse of an infant, and she thinks that there is a pleasing duality to the house, then, and the rusted hulk of Pewter's mining legacy now thick with his pain.

She repeats her question. Even the drones must answer to a queen.

An hour later, she has it.

Mid-afternoon. The old manor in the foothills of Cinnabar Island still burns with the memory of the fire that claimed its inhabitants decades ago. Two black-clothed bodies lie hidden in the tangle of bushgrass, warming under the noonday sun. A set of tracks winds down the rotted wood, weaving through the wreckage of old equipment in the basement laboratory, and stops in front of the now-empty vault, gaping silently into the husk of what had once been Kanto's most prodigious genetics research division. Everything else that could have been salvaged has been methodically destroyed. A final taunt from the shadow that has dogged her all this way, as if to whisper, jeering, Too little, too late.

Another girl would be crying. But this is a luxury she no longer has the time for.

At the edge of the coastline, she thumbs through her list of contacts and decides on the number. Her phone buzzes once before he picks up.

"They've already taken the asset. I'm headed to Vermilion right now if you're not too busy."

"Gym's cleared for the rest of the day," Surge replies, gruff. "You gonna fill me in on what happened?"

"Meet me at the docks in two hours and I'll tell you everything."

On June 5th, the governing board of the Indigo League voted on the newest addition to the Elite Four following Agatha's retirement and Bruno's subsequent promotion. She had been busy sifting through a new string of leads, diligently avoiding the speculation on discussion sites. Most of it was useless gossip anyway; names of people she didn't know, like Karen or Will, bled together like so many shades of grey. Finally, she'd slept at midnight, her investigation still running in circles and with no clear consensus on who would be the winner. It was anybody's game.

The next morning, her father held the second seat, and there was a new message waiting in her inbox.

Come home. We need to talk.

The front gates to the estate creaked as she opened them, flurries of maple leaves gusting across the lawn as she walked down the stone-lined pathway to the front door. Before she could knock, a maid - a new hire, apparently, because she couldn't recognize her face - opened it and ushered her inside to the reception area. She sat with her fingers pressed beneath her legs, trying to keep herself from fidgeting. It was only her father. She had no reason to be nervous.

His footfalls were audible as he rounded a corner and stopped, hovering at the edge of the entryway. Her head turned toward the sound to look.

"Janine."

After two years, they finally saw each other.

Touches of gray speckled the hair near his temples. There were new lines in his face, and the ones that had already been there before she'd gone away seemed to have grown more pronounced in her absence. The rhythm of his gait was less sure, the angle of his back less straight.

At this point, it was in her nature to notice.

"I'm sure you know the results."

"I assume you wouldn't have asked me to come back otherwise."

He drew in a heavy breath. "The League has made its decision. I must report to Indigo Plateau at the end of this week to be sworn in. Until the next season starts, officially, I am still the Leader of Fuchsia City's Gym.

"After that, it will be yours."

Ah.

There it was.

For years, she'd thought she would be proud to serve in her father's place. What other role would better denote her as his equal than to take up the mantle he'd held for years, grown from his own legendary wartime prestige into something else. A different legacy. To carve out a legacy of her own - when she was sprawled across the dirt, beaten into submission by her father for yet another time, legacy had seemed like necessity.

Today, she registered the words and felt a cold gnaw at the center of her chest.

This was never the way she imagined it would be.

"No words for me, daughter? Have I already become a stranger to you in so short a time?"

On the way here, she'd wondered what she would say when she saw him at last; she'd imagined two years would be longer than what it had actually been - a blink, and she'd missed it, and now she was back where it had begun all those years in the past.

She couldn't say with certainty that she loved him, nor could she say that she hated him for how he'd raised her either. Her father had never been a cold man, but his kindness, in the thin, fleeting form it took, had never been enough.

Seeing him as he truly was, every piece finally clicking into place - she couldn't stand it. That singular question that had burned in the back of her throat ever since then - it begged for release.

Why him? she finally asked. Why didn't you fight? Why did you let him win two years ago?

In her father's eyes, she saw the connections snapping together. Recognition. Guilt.

A bit of sorrow.

"He was simply stronger," he admitted. "Is that so hard to believe?"

But you were supposed to be the strongest, she wanted to say.

You were supposed to be the strongest for me.

"You've come across him in your research as well. The challenger with no name." Koga's expression shifted, wistful. "They only know him by what the spectators call him. Red.

"We had been trying to track him for a while - myself and a couple other Leaders. There were always stories about him in the places he walked through - how he'd driven out a gang of Rockets holding a town hostage, how he'd singlehandedly stopped a pokemon trafficking ring operating right under Celadon. People thought him almost a myth.

"I confess that my loss troubled me for many months after the fact. I felt unfit to lead Fuchsia's Gym. I even worried you. For that, I am sorry."

To reconcile her father as he had been in the now-distant haze of childhood with the man speaking to her here - a man, who was also clothed in flesh and not infallibility - she doubted she was ready to confront that truth now, or perhaps ever.

"Do you hate him? Or do you hate me?"

In truth, she replied, she didn't know what she hated. She was afraid of what she would say if she reached, deep into the core of her being, and spoke true. Her father's expression still seemed shadowed by the pain of remembering, and she, for her part, felt another stab of guilt for having widened those chinks in the armor.

"Myself, Surge, the others who supported him - we believed he could do some good. No one else had fought against the Rockets like he had, back when they were still young."

She asked him where Red was now.

"Vanished several months ago," her father answered. "And in his wake, Silph and Indigo have risen to even greater prominence.

"So many of us know the truth that Indigo is hiding. But only a few of us are willing to resist."

She told that him that she had been fighting. For all of the past two years, it seemed, she had been running across Kanto, searching for the answers that were always beyond her grasp. A part of her that she'd imagined she'd buried was cracking, like so many shards of glass crushed into the soot.

It finally hit her that she was tired. Tired of the secrets. Tired of the rigidity of this path.

She saw her exhaustion reflected in her father's eyes as he spoke, hesitantly, once more.

"Sometimes - sometimes I ask myself, if I had done as your mother wished and left the clan behind, whether you would have still become the same woman you are now."

A rueful smile touched his lips. "I stayed because I thought you needed to learn our ways, for your own sake. I thought I was protecting you. Now… I can no longer be sure.

"We were so naive to think we could avert catastrophe a second time. Even after the first great disaster, our two regions fought for dominate the other, only stopping once we'd exhausted ourselves and our people. The peace promised by Indigo is nothing more than words on a paper - meaningless and doomed to fail.

"But I suppose that's no news to you."

Koga gave her a knowing look.

"Our clan is dying."

He said it plainly, without anger or remorse. "They thought of me as a visionary when we were still at war. All because I brought our name back into the sunlight, for a single moment - we were great, as we had been in our prime.

"What I did not realize then was how quickly our countries forget. We were useful. When we outgrew that use, they left us behind. In my arrogance, I isolated us - I isolated you - from that world. So, our adherence to tradition swallowed us, and the rest of the world moved on. Men like Giovanni Vittore have stepped in to fill the hole of our departure.

"His promotion from Viridian to the Plateau itself should have been my first warning. I was too blinded to see all the pieces. When we lost Red, I thought we might have lost our only chance at putting an end to the cycle. But now, with a seat on the Elite Four, I can rectify what I helped create. I can stop him before he throws our countries into chaos again.

"This is why I need you at the Gym. Only you can I trust wholeheartedly to defend our house while I'm gone."

Janine.

That familiar weight pressed down on her, a relic of the sparring matches, the endless exertion, charging down a road that led, inexorably, to this - her father handing over the reins to their future to her blooded hands.

Nature was a cruel circle.

Sensing her indecision, her father gripped her hands, lifted her chin so she was looking him fully. The road was narrowing.

"Have you not trained all your life for this moment? Are you not a member of the esteemed Koga clan?"

That cold, dark sensation was biting at her. Desperately, she wished she hadn't come back, that she was still in that snowfield, the landscape receding, everything pure white and sharp.

Koga's gaze never wavered.

"Janine," he said, tone firm. "If I have failed you in this, then I have failed you ultimately as your father. Look at me, and answer truly."

So she did.

"Have I failed to prepare you?"

She realized that she couldn't back away this time; she couldn't rightfully deny him, no matter how hard she wanted to. Every path led to this conclusion; her answer to this, too, had long been decided.

She shook her head no and felt the warmth of his hand clasping her own. Her father's voice was gentle. "Then you are ready."

IV. Metamorphosis

On the first day of her tenure as Fuchsia City's Gym Leader, she arrives early to set up. With the flick of several switches and a tired electric hum, the floor mechanisms kick into life and begin shifting, constructing a new maze. She watches it all from her seat in the control room, her fingers brushing over the network of dials and screens spread before her.

It's still a strange feeling, standing where he would have stood, knowing what awaits her this afternoon. Her younger self might have buckled under the weight. Her current self straightens and stands a little taller.

Things have changed.

As the first of the Gym's trainers trickle in, she heads upstairs to her personal suite and opens the white box on her desk. A brand new kimono, neatly folded, sits inside. She runs her fingers over the fabric, dark as night and feather-soft. Like a reflection of the kimono she'd worn in her childhood, a pair of arbok winds across each sleeve; the threadwork is exquisite. In spite of herself, she smiles at the similarity.

Of course, she'd only been playing in costume at her first conclave. This, the real thing, flows over her body like a skin of shadow, all precision. Her hands are perfectly still as she pulls her hair into a bun, fastening it with a pin her mother had worn sometime ago. Two ceramic datura hang from chains at the end.

She thinks it's fitting.

Her inauguration will be at twelve, with an interview post-process and a small banquet in her her honor yet to come. Her official induction into the clan as its head will happen tonight at the estate. Some part of her had debated whether to wear her Leader uniform at the televised swearing-in, but she'd chosen to go in full Imperial attire instead. They will see what she wants them to see, she thinks. They will see the girl - not the shinobi, not the blood, not the deception. A tabula rasa for her long-awaited debut.

Her father is miles away at the Indigo Plateau. The clansmen who had held themselves to silence under his authority will feel no such loyalty toward her. No one will defend her name. No one except herself, and this is enough.

She no longer trembles at what the future holds. There is her father, her mother, the war. There is a boy. There is Giovanni.

This is her web to unravel.

She is the blade that will cut Indigo to the bone.