A/N: Eh. This chapter is pretty much ALL explanation. I really hated it for that reason, and six pages in I was going to revise it, but then realized I'd never get anywhere if I keep doing that and I needed to hurry up and finish the darned thing. So, sorry if the chapter is boring to you. Lt. Surge is OOC, sorry. Maybe I can fix this later. And I realize almost all of the background in this story is completely non-canon and also weird. Please forgive it. Also, I know Surge is from America, not Orre. My reasoning behind making him from Orre is this: Orre is based off of Arizona, which is part of America. For this story, calling him "American" does not mean he's from the U.S. ; the term American means from one of several politically separate, but culturally similar regions in what was once the United States. Erm. Anyway. Thank you if you bother to read through this. Hopefully there's enough humor to get you through this chapter. It gets interesting next chapter. Hehe... yeah.
I stared at the map of Kanto as if I hadn't memorized it. I flicked the pointer over every location as if I actually had time to visit them. That's what you do when you're sitting on the end of a table, isolated, and everyone on the long sides is glancing at you in between whispers. You pretend to be doing something.
There were four minutes left until the meeting was to start. We could have begun right then, and some people, like Ibuki and Kasumi, were obviously impatient. But Natsume hadn't arrived yet.
NIBI CITY HANADA CITY KUCHIBA CITY
Kuchiba City.
I pictured the blond-haired man who now sat in his proper seat, glaring at me.
"Help me, Houou", I mumbled under my breath.
Wataru, sitting on my right side, touched my hand under the table. It's amazing, the way he can touch. Like he can just brush all the worry away. I clutched one of his fingers and smiled at him nervously. He looked as me reassuringly, then let go of my hand to scratch his face. It was then 9:57, and Natsume would show up any moment. I leaned my chair back so its front legs were off the floor and I could see the stained-glass ceiling. I suddenly thought of the mosaic Mew on the wall. Then I had one of my strokes of brilliance and got the idea into my head to lean far enough back to see it.
I went gradually, inch-by-inch. By the time I was on my tiptoes, I could see the very tip of the picture. But not enough of it. And let me tell you something about me – I do not know when to quit. I mean, I like that trait and all, and I don't think I'd ever have been Champion without it. But it's not always so good, since it doesn't always apply to stuff that important. Without even thinking about it, I lifted up one of my feet and wrapped it around the leg of the table – and shrieked. My chair collapsed underneath me, I fell, my head hit the wall, and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor with my legs in the air and the voice of DJ Lilith came through on my PokéDex, chattering, "Like, Wataru! Can you believe it? I mean, he may have been Champion, but look at that silly cape he wears! And his hair!"
I banged my PokéGear against the floor and it shut up. There was a moment of awkward silence until Wataru said kind of quietly, "I like my hair." And then the laughter came. Not only at Wataru's remark, but at me. Even the mosaic Mew – of which I now had a decent view, I thought with less satisfaction than it was worth – seemed to be laughing at me. I wanted to lie on the floor and never come back up.
I'm an idiot. I informed myself.
And then there was Wataru, standing above me with a smile – a real, genuine smile, not a smirk or a leer – on his face, and his hand out for me to take, and that was why I didn't jump to my death out the window then and there. (Exaggeration.)
So I stood up, and Wataru, being the gentleman he is, picked my chair up for me and held it out while he waited for me to sit in it. I plopped down in probably the most un-ladylike way possible, and didn't realize it until I noticed Karen cringing at me and Kasumi giggling. I suddenly remembered what Kasumi had taught about "looking professional", so I crossed my legs at the ankles and held my hands out in front of me and stared straight ahead. And then Wataru kicked me under the table.
"Start the meeting!" he whispered.
Shoot. Natsume had, apparently, teleported herself in and I hadn't even noticed.
I sprung to my feet quickly and slammed my notebook down on the table, practically shouting, "Welcome! I am Crys, the current champion, and this meeting will now officially commence!"
There was a moment's pause. Now what?
Green raised his hand.
"Yes?" I said.
"What's the meeting about?" he asked.
I blinked at him. "If you don't know that, you're an idiot."
Kasumi guffawed.
"It's a – um, sequel – to the last meeting. But just about the thing that… Matis proposed."
Green raised his hand. "By sequel," he asked, "do you mean, 'continuation'?"
"Uh, sure," I said. I looked past him. "Something to say, Natsume?"
It took her a while to answer me. She gazed at me in that somewhat off-putting way Natsume does, and remarked, "This isn't worth my time. I'm leaving."
She vanished, leaving behind a sealed envelope in her place.
"It says, 'My Proposal'," Anzu announced as she grabbed it. "Should I open it?"
"Wait 'til the meeting ends," Matis answered for me.
I stamped my foot immaturely, but no one noticed. Conversation had erupted. "Quiet, please," I said in the most professional way I could, and then I grabbed a piece of paper from the table in front of me and began to read. I normally was a slow reader, but I'd practiced reading this particular statement so often that it was half-memorized and came out fluidly. "Ahem. The statement of the problem is thus: Challengers of the Pokémon League, Kanto and Johto, have been known to cause problems that overall stem from immaturity. There have been reports of young Trainers cheating in Battle, neglecting and abusing their Pokémon, running away from home, stealing Pokémon and items, using Pokémon to harm humans, and other such offenses. A survey shows that the committers of such offenses are approximately six times more likely to be juveniles or adults who did not graduate from a valid, Kanto-based school. Is there anyone who denies the validity of this problem?"
Nobody raised their hand. Nobody could deny that those things happened – I'd encountered all of them at least once during the first month of my journey.
I tried not to look directly at Matis as I repeated the standard phrase. "Does anyone have any…"
And then I forgot. I forgot the word that I was supposed to say, the word that was like propose, except it was a thing and not an action. Time was running out! A word came from the back of my head and I blurted it without thinking.
"Does anyone have any prepositions?"
Nobody said anything. Finally Green raised his hand.
"Yes, Green?"
"Through, over, around," he said.
"Um, what?" I looked at Wataru for help.
"Prepositions is a grammatical term," he said kindly. "I think the word you have in mind is propositions. Or proposals."
Oh.
"Right, proposals, then. Does anyone got any of those?"
Silence. Finally Matis, without even bothering to raise his hand, stood up. I sat down because I was starting to get light-headed. He banged his fist. We all looked up.
"I have a proposal," he declared. "I propose that we revert the League back to the thing it was supposed to be in the first place – a method of finding competent leaders."
"Please explain," I said curtly.
"The League," he said, "has been the way it is now for centuries. It is embedded into all our hearts as a symbol of our culture and our region. It is the bedtime story we all heard as dreamy-headed children, the epitome of hope for the future, because its nature entails the permission of anyone to join, no matter what, and become a legend. Because of this, we are afraid to change. But think of what can happen if we don't!
"Listen. I grew up in Pyra Town, Orre – an anarchy in the most brutal sense of the word. Oh, we do have mayors and police there – but it's a mere formality. The true power belongs to those lucky enough to possess Pokémon. Those with Pokémon do whatever they please, terrorizing families and the community. One needs merely to step out of one's house in the morning to become the victim of a mugging, or worse. Of course, it wasn't always like that.
"When I moved to the much nicer – but still very dangerous in comparison to any nameable town in Kanto – Phenace City, I took a History of Orre class in school. I learned that the root of our problems sprouted seven-hundred years ago, in The First Century of Pokémon. The weak governing system of Orre was founded upon the principles of tradition rather than common sense. Orrenian First Trainers simply tried to mimic the governing system of the nation from which they emerged, which was a democracy."
I didn't know if my slight trouble understanding him was more related to his accent, or the big words he used.
He continued, "So, in the end, there was no law. No one ended up managing to get anything done. Someone would say, 'We need to build houses', and they'd all vote and say it was a good idea. But then the house would be half done and they'd get bored. They would vote to stop building the houses. The ones with common sense would end up having to build the houses all by themselves, but of course they alone couldn't do it well. Go there now and you'll see the quality of the buildings. People there die in earthquakes yearly, because of that. But they can't make building laws because no one votes to put in the extra effort. The point is, back then in the Time Before Pokémon, the democracy thing managed to work for a while. But it didn't work for our First Trainers and it doesn't work for Orrenians now. Yet people are too afraid to change the ancient tradition. We may not be at Orre's level yet – but we're the same way.
"The First Trainers of Kanto were children – scared, confused, children. They needed to be able to cooperate to survive. They needed an easy method of choosing a leader, someone to hold them together, who everyone would listen to. Children only listen to those they respect, and they respect those who are most talented among them. Thus, the method of allowing the best handler of Pokémon to be their leader was the most effective thing for them.
"But Kanto is not a nation of children anymore. We need a leader who is not only talented, but also educated, intelligent, and professional. We need more than deciding who to throw into prison and where to plant berry trees. We need a leader who will understand the issues on which he or she will rule, who will be able to negotiate with other leaders. We need a stable planner – not someone who drops out of school at a young age to start a journey. You're all aware that the previous four Champions we've had, fit that pattern.
"I don't mean to dispute the competence of those four Champions – Wataru, Green, Red, now deceased, and Crys – as Trainers. They are all excellent Trainers. But, save Wataru, none of them are educated. How can we expect them to be good leaders?"
I uncrossed my legs and then crossed them again.
"It just doesn't make sense," he continued. "We get people who are used to traveling and battling and have them change to holding meetings and signing contracts. It's not good for us or them – think of the incident a few years ago. One of our Champions couldn't face the reality of his position and was never heard from again."
I noticed Green clench his fist and stare at the table.
"It just goes to show that the two things aren't compatible." Matis sat down.
"Does… anyone have anything to say?" I asked.
Wataru raised his hand. "I'd like to answer one of Matis's questions. 'How can we expect Trainer to be good leaders?' It's simple. Trainers are leaders. Their ability to lead their Pokémon is what makes them powerful. Furthermore, logical or not, adults are not much different from children when it comes to who they respect. They'll be more likely to listen to someone who's proven himself or herself."
"That's true," agreed Matis. "That's why we don't want to abolish the Pokémon League all together. We just need to limit it so that we get people who know what they're doing."
I stood. "So you want to kick out the kids?"
"Not just kids," Matis shook his head. "Anyone who hasn't graduated from a Kantonian school."
"So what are Johtonian people then, second-class citizens?"
"She's right," said Erika nervously. "They deserve a chance, too."
"Yeah, you got a problem with Johto?" Shijima demanded.
"Of course not," he said, turning to me. "I mean no offense to you, them – " he motioned towards the side of the table which included the Johto Gym Leaders, "or your culture. But Johtonian schools just don't teach the things that world leaders need to know."
I clutched the edge of the table. "What do I need to know that I don't, huh?"
He thought for a moment. "The world proposals."
Should've seen that coming. I heard a few muffled snickers.
"So what if I said the wrong thing?" I demanded. "It's not like you've never done that. It's just a mistake; everybody makes those. Everybody's fallen out of a chair at least once in their life!"
"Champion," he said tragically, shaking his head, "that's just the thing. At your age, you shouldn't have to be defending yourself over something like that. You should be giggling about it with your friends at home."
I resisted growling at him. If he didn't want me to have to defend myself over something like that, why was he attacking me for it?
"And yet," he continued, "you stay here, too proud to back down and admit that this Championship thing is not what you had in mind. And of course it wasn't. Or else you – carefree teenager that you are – never would have chosen it."
"How can you say that?" I argued. "You hardly know me!"
"But it's true, isn't it?"
That caught me off guard. Was it? I almost didn't know.
I was spared having to answer by Green's hand slowly rising. I was afraid of what he'd have to say and almost told him to put his hand down – but then I caught sight of the expression on his face. It was oddly sober.
"Yes, Green?" I said.
He stood up. "You know, I think you're right. Being the future Champion is just a thing for kids to brag about on the playground. Most of them don't really understand the reality. And the ones that do – the ones that know that if they become the Champion, the fate of the region depends on their education – are surpassed by those playground kids who start young, neglecting their studies, to defeat each other. It's not fair to other potential Champions, and it's not fair to the kids.
"Red ran away because he bit off more than he could chew. Or maybe he didn't bite it off. Maybe… some of us… stuffed it in his mouth. Like the media. And me." He shook his head. "But the thing is, we all know there's more to this than just wanting an educated Champion. You know why? Because Matis never graduated from a school in Kanto. He's not going to try and get himself kicked out of the League with this proposal, though. He's going to change it to adult citizens of Kanto. And in the end it'll all come down to one more debate over one more thing that we want to separate from Johto."
Matis shook his head. "Of course not! I'd make a program for adults who didn't get the chance to graduate from a proper school, to learn the necessary skills!"
"Yeah," said Green airily, "but then you'd realize that it took time and money and you'd change it to adult citizens of Kanto."
Matis shrugged. "I won't deny that it's a good alternative. Would you believe that citizenship of Kanto is directly related to likelihood that you'll graduate from a Kantonian school?"
"But not true in your case," Green pointed out.
"I passed the citizenship test," said Matis. "You need to understand how the Kanto government works to do that. In fact, I believe I understand it better than many who've been citizens of Kanto all their lives. And people from Johto can become citizens of Kanto, too. They're just so stubborn that they often don't do so."
"It's different for us," I protested. "People from Orre can just be citizens. That's all there is to it. No sacrifice. They can go back to Orre whenever they want to. And people from Kanto treat them as fellow Kantonians. But if you're from Johto and you become a citizen of Kanto, you're never allowed to return home. And you're never able to feel at home here, because all the Kantonians bother you and call you 'Johto punk' all the time. Who in the heck would choose that!?"
Matis shrugged. "Listen. If you're going to rule over our region, is it asking too much of you to be a citizen of it?"
"But Kanto's been ruling over Johto for a hundred years!" Tsukushi piped up.
Matis grinned wickedly at that remark. "Did you learn that at your little Johtonian school?"
"Yeah," said Tsukushi, "but everyone knows…"
Matis held out his open hand, then put brought his middle finger to his thumb, signaling Tsukushi to stop talking. "Every time I talk to a Johtonian about politics, I notice how eager they are to state their opinions on how unfair it is that Kantonians rule over Johto. And how hesitant they are to bring up the history of that particular arrangement…"
He pointed at me suddenly. "Champion! I'm sure you know about the Pact of Tohjo. Right?"
"Well, yeah," I stammered. "I mean, the king of Johto signed a contract with the champion of Kanto that surrendered all of his authority, in return for Kanto's technologies. Right?"
"Right. What else happened?"
I frowned. "Well, for a few years, some of the soldiers who came in from Kanto used the small print in the contract as an excuse to kill and rape the Johtonians and make them slaves. Until the new Champion made them stop. Is that what you mean?"
"Right," Matis said. "That stuff did happen – some of the time. Of course it did, without any laws having yet been established to prevent it. The Kanto Champion had no idea it was happening, but it did. And I'm sure you've already heard every sick detail of every injustice every Johtonian has ever suffered. Did they ever teach you, though, that Johto was in a state of absolute ruin prior to that? People were rebelling left and right. And Pokémon were rebelling against humans. If Kanto had really wanted, it could have easily invaded. If we'd wanted, you would've all been obliterated. Heck, the easiest way to obliterate you would've been to just leave you alone.
"But we didn't. We did you a favor. We brought some order to your region, as well as our technology. If we were to leave now, what would you have? Everything would go to chaos again.
"So basically, what I'm trying to say is, Kanto is doing Johto a favor by ruling over it. It's like a parent raising a child. Someday, maybe Johto will have developed enough to become independent. But it's not there yet. And it's not equivalent to having non-Kantonians - and children - being our leaders."
Silence. Matis's words tended to have that effect on people. This ridiculous "meeting" had been been adjourned and continued about three times so far, because Matis would talk forever, but once he was done, everyone else would be completely silent. Maybe out of respect, and maybe out of contemplation, or maybe even boredom for people like Tsukushi - who was now doodling on the table with an eraser - but everything was silent. Even Green always ran out of witty remarks once Matis gave his long-lecture.
And me? I was silent because anything I said would have come out as a screaming fury. Really. I was biting my own lips to keep from screaming.
There we were, Kantonians and Johtonians alike, sitting at a table in the Indigo Plateau discussing the proposal that would change the entire future of our culture... and nobody could say anything.
Finally, I spun around on my heels and grabbed the piece of chalk that was on the ledge of the chalkboard behind me. I made an angrily elongated dash next to a numeral 1, then turned to Matis
"How exactly to you want me to word your proposal?" I asked icily.
He paused to consider. "You know what? I'll deign to take Green-kun's idea. To restrict the distribution of Trainer Cards to adult citizens of Kanto."
Several gasps. I just stared.
"You mean you're really going to do that!?" Even Green sounded shocked. "Now? No pretense?"
"Good ideas don't need pretense." He said matter-of-factly.
As I began to write down Matis's proposal on the board, I suddenly remembered something. "Anzu, do you still have Natsume's proposal?"
"Yes. Should I read it?"
"I guess so."
"Here then. My proposal is..." she paused. I turned around to watch her, and saw that she had a funny look on her face. "To end the abuse of Pokémon, theft of items, attacks against humans, and other problems that overall stem from immaturity... shut down all schools?"
Ibuki laughed. "What the heck?"
"Are you sure that's what it says?" asked Mikan.
"Yes I am." Anzu shrugged.
"I vote for that one," said Tsukushi.
"She is a psychic," Karen reminded us.
"Does anyone have any normal proposals?" I asked, jotting down Natsume's odd one anyway.
"I propose you adjourn the meeting," Green said, not even bothering to raise his hand. "It's over."
"What the...?" I asked, and looked at my PokéGear. Sure enough, it was.
I sighed. "Looks like we'll have to continue this. Again. Meeting adjourned."
The Gym Leaders, Elite Four, and I shuffled uncomfortably out of the hall. People slowly began talking as they exited the building, but I knew I'd attack Matis if I stayed around, so I didn't join in. As I passed by Katsura, he caught my eye.
"Don't worry, Crys-chan," he said nicely. "Matis is an extremist. He's obsessed with Kantonians. Kind of ironic, considering he's not one. By birth, anyway."
I smiled even though it didn't cheer me. "Thanks you. I guess you're right."
I hoped so, anyway.
