Two updates? In one month? What is this madness? Now have some Riley.

Tsunayoshi Una Sawada: Thank you so much for the review! I actually do enjoy me a bit of Steelfedorashipping every so often myself... and guess who has a major role in this story?

Chapter 2: A Businessman Who Hates Business

Riley

I really like to sleep.

Most of us do, so it's no great revelation or anything, but I still hold on to my position.

I really like to wander around.

And then I like to sleep.

(Even though I haven't been sleeping much lately.)

But when it's the end of a hard day of battling, of having people yell at you for things that may or may not have been your fault, and traipsing through undergrowth where wild Pokémon leap out at you without notice, it's very nice to relax in an isolated area of the Battle Area where you can enjoy a nice supper with your best friend.

Those who congregate here—mainly gym leaders and fellow stat trainers who also work at the Battle Tower—do it for social interaction. The air is hot and humid here, choked with ash from Stark Mountain not so far away, and the place is little more than a poorly lit shanty-shack with nothing more to offer than a hastily marked battle field scratched in the dirt and a flickering TV constantly spouting its commercial tripe, but it offers a strange sense of peace and welcoming.

The not-so-aptly-named Survival Area is the sort of place only a truly Bohemian soul could appreciate. Compared to the flashiness of the rest of the island, this sleepy little place, tucked away in the heart of the jungle across the bluffs that make up the rough terrain, is a hidden gem.

This club is also kind of a restaurant. A fellow stat trainer at the Tower and little brother of the Elite Four member named Flint, Buck, has his grandfather cook for us and hosts private battles for only the greatest trainers in Sinnoh.

That being said, I have no idea why I'm allowed here.

I specifically told Byron that there were to be no battles today. I'm due on my ship in forty-five minutes and I don't need any delays. It's that time of year again where I have to abandon being a trainer and put on my businessman suit. It's inspection time at Canalave Industrial and it's my duty to orchestrate it.

Normally the idea of having to do it is enough to make me want to shoot myself, but this season I anticipate interesting things to happen.

That is, if Steven's right.

Across from me, Byron sits, a mug of beer clenched in his hand. He's a big guy, and his odd beard and cape makes him look downright intimidating. The fact he looks like this and is also a Steel-Type trainer makes me think of the god from the olden days, Thor, with his mighty hammer. Or maybe he reminds me of a Viking. Byron probably has some Viking blood in him. He'd be fearsome if I didn't already know he's really just some fossil-loving nerd who completely dedicates himself to raising his beloved son properly.

My faithful Lucario sits next to me. He taps the wooden table with a heavy paw impatiently. Finally, the red irises of his eyes slit and he sends me a thought.

This is boring.

Byron often chides me for treating my Pokémon like it's people. What he doesn't understand is that Lucario are prideful creatures, which expect utmost respect and can understand the language of man beyond simple battle commands. A few, particularly amongst users of Aura, can even communicate telepathically with their trainers. Lucario and I share such a bond.

Aura is, to put it simply, the essence of all living things. It's a rather abstract concept, but think of it like reading sound waves, except these sound waves telegraph such things as how pure of heart a person is, or how one is feeling, and sometimes, even what one is thinking. All Lucario and a handful of other Pokémon are capable of feeling it—but only the exceedingly rare human is hypersensitive enough to it to see it manifest normally as a bluish-green energy rippling from a living being… and even fewer are able to use and manipulate it at will.

I'm one of these few people. Colloquially, we're called Aura Users, and if we're feeling particularly on our high horses, Aura Guardians.

But that's not important at the moment, and perhaps that's far too long of an explanation as to why I can talk to my Pokémon.

Be still, my friend, I tell Lucario. We'll be on the ship soon.

You humans are unexciting creatures. When will I get to battle again?

There will be other trainers on the ship, probably. Do me a favor and stay put for now, or else I'll send you back to your Poke Ball just to stop your ceaseless complaining.

"Lucarrrrrr…" Lucario mutters his displeasure through pursed lips, but he quiets.

"You all right, Riley?" asks Byron.

"Huh?" I switch back to the audible world and nod. "I'm just thinking, is all."

Byron sighs and takes another swig of beer. "Don't get too lost in those thoughts of yours. Your Xtranceiver is ringing off the hook, and it's bloody annoying."

At last I'm alerted to the presence of it, and I fish it out of my pocket, flipping it open to read the caller ID.

Steven.

"Mind if I get this?"

"Not at all." Byron drinks some more, and takes a bite of his sandwich. "I'm kind of shocked that old-fashioned Riley Fannin is finally using technology, though."

I roll my eyes at him and press talk. "I'm having dinner," I tell Steven, somewhat annoyed, but what he tells me next freezes me cold. "Oh? There's been a sighting? Heading toward Sinnoh, really? Well, I have to check up on the mines in Hoenn anyway, so maybe I can see you. Maybe I'll bring you one of those rocks you like so much. I have to finish eating now. Got to be across Sinnoh by tomorrow. Bye."

I hang up and Byron looks at me quizzically.

"Who's that?" he asks.

"Friend from Hoenn. I think you'd like him. Steel-Type master. He likes digging and excavating to an unhealthy obsession." I laugh.

"You can never dig enough, Riley! What were you talking about just now?"

"Oh. Nothing. Just a Pokémon I hope to find."

"All right." He finishes off his beer. I still have a half-full glass of sherry clutched in one hand. Lucario nudges me with his foot. "Is he also a miner? Is he the one you're asking to accompany you on the safety checks this year?"

"Oh, no." I laugh and passively wave the suggestion aside. "He's not a miner. Merely a hobbyist. Besides, he works for Devon Corp."

"So have you finally learned about mine safety so you can do it on your own this year?"

"Don't have that much faith in me, Byron!" I take a swig of sherry. It's my third glass of the night. By now I wouldn't be surprised if I'm a little tipsy. "I still don't know a thing about it. Mining bores me to tears!"

"I take offense at that!" He punches my arm playfully. "Odd thing for you to say considering your line of business."

"Well, there's money in it." I grapple for my own sandwich, but I miss it, and then I realize I really am drunk. "Might as well keep the family business alive."

"Why don't you just send another inspector then?"

"Well, look at it this way, Byron." I signal Buck's grandfather over to refill my glass. "If you were in my position, what would you rather do—travel around the country and make friends and experience new things, or stay cooped up in an office all day? And I might as well put that law degree to use and show the old Five-O I know what I'm doing."

Byron chuckles. "Hah! Typical Riley! Can't sit still for five minutes! Who's going to take your place at the Battle Tower? You can't just up and leave!"

"The arrangements have been made. I'm going to turn Lucas loose for the position and see how he does. I really would miss my yearly trip around Sinnoh and Hoenn; sunny, tropical Hoenn! This year I'm also going to be visiting Unova to see if I can expand the business there."

"Unova? Fancy."

Speaking of boring to tears, you are boring me to tears.

Fifteen minutes, I mentally snap at Lucario.

"It's not all fun and games, Byron! I've busted some serious human rights violations in my own mines throughout the years."

"And nobody ever recognizes you?"

"You know I keep a low profile. I think you'd be pleased to learn, however, that your son earned the highest approval rating from his employees and his mine proved to be most efficiently and safely run last year."

"I wouldn't expect any less of that kid!" Byron's eyes twinkle and he finishes his food. "And you gave him a nice little bonus for it, too. Got himself an apartment for his eighteenth birthday with that money, he did. Living independently will serve that boy well, I think."

"Oh my… so he's living on his own, now? It seems just yesterday I was trying to drag little Roarkie into the bathtub after a long day of playing in the dirt."

That's one little detail Roark didn't divulge in his letters. I have his most recent one in my back pocket. The others are in my briefcase. Tomorrow he will get no reply from me, but there won't be any need for it.

"Yeah, they grow up fast. Too fast, if you ask me… but don't tell him I said that! Truth be told, though," and his expression morphs into a frown, "I'm kind of worried about him. When he was last here a few months ago he left without warning. Said he had work, but he seemed kind of mad at me. He isn't calling me, either, unless I call him first. It seems like he tries his hardest to keep our conversations as short as possible. I also heard from Gardenia—his friend from Eterna City—he's been skimping out on his battle skills."

"Oh dear." I try to make myself sound surprised. Byron doesn't know about our letters, and he doesn't have to.

"Sometimes I think…" He gives a long sigh. "I think he's not taking the divorce as well as I thought."

"Well, he has every right to be upset."

"But that kid… He's really sensitive, you know, but he keeps his emotions bottled up all the time. I mean, I didn't know until years later that he was hurt when I moved to Canalave."

"We all keep a lot of secrets bottled up inside." I finish my umpteenth sherry. "But he's resilient. He sinks sometimes, but when he does he kicks like hell to get back up to the surface again."

"That's true."

"Plus, many families go through divorce. He'll understand eventually that what you and your ex did really was for the good of all of you in the end. He's smart, and mature in many respects, but has some growing up to do in others. If you ask me, it sounds like he's getting kind of bored."

"Eh?"

"Bored." I lift the glass up to my lips, forgetting that it's empty now. "He's eighteen years old and stuck in a mining town with no way to have fun. In between working in the mines and leading a regimen of scheduled gym battles, I'm sure he's getting depressed and stir-crazy. I mean, look, his idea of fun is going to the museum, but I'm sure he's memorized every word on every placard in Oreburgh's by now. And that's why I'm asking him to accompany me on inspections this season."

"You're what?" He smacks down his beer mug and nearly chokes on his own spit.

"Did I mince my words?" I raise an eyebrow, but he probably can't see it through my hat. "What, did you want to go? Um, no offense, Byron, but I offered the job to you two years ago and you declined. Besides, he's perfect for the job. A bright young mind, experienced in what he's doing, with every reason in the world to get out of Oreburgh."

"You so sure about that? The kid's a workaholic."

"He inherited that from you, you know. I'm sure he'll accept."

"What makes you think that?"

My eyes blaze and I give him a sly smile. "He will accept. He really likes me."

"L-Lucar!" Lucario suddenly sputters out, clapping a spiky paw to his banded muzzle. In Lucario language, that translates roughly to "giggle-snort." That's an understatement.

Hush!

You have not finished your food, he telegraphs out of the blue. If you are not going to eat it, give it to me.

I'm not very hungry, so I push the plate to him. Lucario squeals delightedly and digs in.

"Teach that thing some table manners," says Byron.

"You can lead a Rapidash to water," I reply. "Well, how about it, Byron? Don't you want him to see the world? Maybe he can win a few gym badges from leagues in other regions and he can use them to laugh in his colleagues' faces. And I'm sure I could teach him a thing or two about Pokémon battling."

"You're an attack-based trainer, Roark's an attack-based trainer. What could you possibly teach him?"

"Remember! I have my roots in defensive Steel-Types! Well, what do you say, Byron? Can you trust me with your son?" I chuckle. "Think back to when you were his age. Wouldn't you want to have a little fun before you're too old to walk anymore?"

Byron pauses, then nods. "Well, you haven't gotten him killed yet…"

"Oh my, such high praise."

"And besides, he's old enough to be making his own decisions now." He gives a wan smile. "You be his mentor now, and make a man out of him. But don't be so confident that he'll say yes."

"Oh, he will."

"Want to make a bet of that?"

"Sure. Whoever loses has to pay the cost of this dinner."

Has it been fifteen minutes yet?

I look down at my watch, and Lucario's right. "Eh, Byron, I have to get out now. It was nice having dinner. Here." I open up my wallet and thrust a few wads of cash at him. "This ought to cover the bill."

"What? No! I'll pay!"

"No need for that. I'll see you as soon as possible. Besides, I'll be getting that money back soon once Roarkie accepts!"

"Don't count on that!"

I laugh and tip my hat to him, stumbling out the door. Lucario happily gets up and bounds after me. Across Route 225 I go, a can of Max Repellent in my hand to avoid wild Pokémon. At last I make it to the pier, the main hub of the island. The ferry is already boarding, but my fellow stat trainers and employees at the Battle Tower are at the dock to wish me goodbye.

"Bye-bye!" wishes young Mira, the special attack trainer, waving happily to me.

"Goodbye," says the speed specialist, Marley, without much feeling. She doesn't talk much, but I feel her well wishes in her Aura.

"Oh!" Cheryl, the HP and healing specialist, runs up to me with a pot clutched under her arm. She's the only one here close to my age, and she trips, but rights herself, cheeks flushed red. "Mothim found this honey just for you! Be sure to share it with your Pokémon, okay? They've been very good for you! It's been nice having you around. You ought to join us again once you're off work."

You'd better share that with me, mumbles Lucario, after all, I had to put up with your boring talk all day.

There'll be none for you if you act so entitled! In fact, I tease him, I think I'll share it with the rest of the team but you. At least Absol never complains. Maybe I'll give it all to her.

You think you're amusing!?

"They'll all get their share," I promise Cheryl.

Next up is aforementioned Buck, who uses defensive Types.

"Pimps Lucariohat, my man!" he decries. "Leaving us already? That breaks my little heart. Well, you'd better come back again so I can smoke you in a battle! Yeah!"

"You'd better train hard then." I smirk, teasing him like I teased Lucario before. "Because I'll just come back even tougher!"

"You won't see me coming from a mile away!"

Finally, Lucas says his goodbyes.

"See you later, Mr. Fannin! I promise I'll work hard in your place!"

"Mr. Fannin was my father; just 'Riley' will suffice! And I'm sure you will." I beam at him. "You've met and exceeded my expectations, young man. I don't think there's much left I can teach you, truth be told! You ought to go study with Cynthia or something. But now the time comes where I'm going to be taking on a new student."

"Oh, and thanks for the Riolu egg you gave me on Iron Island."

"No, no, thank you. I'm all Riolu'd out. A certain someone keeps showing up holding eggs."

I give Lucario a look. He stares back at me, long and hard, and says:

At least I get some.

I laugh, confusing everyone in the vicinity.

"Aha, well," I sputter, trying to explain myself, "I'd better get going. Thanks for everything." I bid them one last farewell and rush Lucario onto the ship. An attendant directs me to my cabin, and immediately I flop down on the bed, still a little drunk from my dinner with Byron. My luggage has already been brought in, and I rise once more, unlocking my briefcase.

There are no clothes or Poke Balls inside. Instead, there are books and papers. Magazine clippings, newspaper articles, old books almost forgotten to time had it not been for one man's arcane interests…

A smile etches its way across my face as I go through the clippings.

It's not a happy smile.

All the headlines are seemingly unrelated:

TIPS FOR CATCHING LEGENDARY POKEMON

LENTIMAS TOWN, UNOVA: TRAGEDY STRIKES, GIRL MURDERED

SOOTOPOLIS, HOENN: TRAINER, 10 YRS OLD MISSING

PSYCHOLOGY—ATTEMPTING TO UNDERSTAND LOVE OBJECTIVELY

YOU DESERVE A GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP. WARD OFF NIGHTMARES IN FIVE EASY STEPS

CANALAVE CITY, SINNOH: ROCKSLIDE ON IRON ISLAND. 1 DEAD 1 INJURED

Riley, you make my head spin…

Oh, wait, that's not an article. Strange, I thought I had the letter in my back pocket.

No matter.

I chose Roarkie because he's experienced with mine safety and deserves a life beyond work.

I also chose Roarkie because he's inexperienced in love and his emotions are blinding his better judgment.

I have him right where I want him.

All I have to do is get him to accept, and then everything will come into place.

This plan is perfect.

Roarkie is perfect.

Everything is going to be perfect.

AWWWWWWW SNAP, RILEY. WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING, MAN?

Anyway, lest MSHA have my head, have a disclaimer on my lack of mining expertise tomfoolery. According to the Coal Act of 1969, at least two annual inspections are required for surface coal mines, and four for underground ones, which is where Roark works-and usually, the government does that itself. There are similar regulations in many other non-USA countries as well! That being said, if this took place in mind of an accurate portrayal of the modern coal industry, Riley's operation would technically be illegal as hell, and he could expect to pay up a hefty fine or even see the inside of a jail cell! However, this being the Pokemon universe, where animals can be uploaded into computers and ten-year-olds are allowed to run rampant and unsupervised through the harsh wilderness, it can probably be safely ascertained that... standards here are a bit different. The moar you know!