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Short Change Hero

Chapter 3: Children of the Revolution

Marco Sappone shifted slightly in his chair to make himself more comfortable, even though no one else moved to a tic. The music thumping from the casino lounge upstairs only drew attention to the rigid silence filling out the large, dominating table, currently seating some of the most powerful bosses in the Saffron Mafia, along with a handful of other reputable gangsters that had thrown in their lot with Giuseppe after losing their business to the Rocket Gang.

There was a tension in the room but one Marco wasn't a stranger to. He glanced down at the head of the table where Giuseppe Depiro himself sat, intensely focused as the scribe sitting to his right exchanged whispers with him, repeatedly pointing to the letter draft between them. Marco wondered if maybe this was overkill now. They'd just sent out a message only a day prior and three more a week before that. Rash decisions weren't Guiseppe's way. Marco knew if this backfired somehow, then that meddling priestess would be to blame.

There was a fleeting moment in which the kingpin's somber eyes flashed to Marco's, unable to fight back temptation. He didn't smile though. He just sort of regarded him plainly for the half-second it took to get Marco to grin for the both of them; and then, just as quickly and fluidly, snapped right back into focus without flinching.

Giuseppe never ceased to impress Marco in his unwavering professionalism. The young mob boss sat with more regal dignity than the late Mos Vinci could ever scrape together. It was like he was born to lead. He had the posture down, sure, but he also carried the image. Legendaries, he was tall, especially for just fifteen-years-old. Even when just sitting, for the matter. In fact, he sat about a head taller than Marco, despite being a whole year younger.

He looked so mature for his age too, not like Marco at all. He cut a robust figure, with broad shoulders and piercing brown eyes that were more keen and pensive than menacing. He also had just the faintest dip in his chin that was hammocked between sharp, granite jaws. Marco always found himself drawn to that feature most, not that he would ever tell his friend and make things uncomfortable. Those things didn't need to be said. Giuseppe knew how he felt and that was enough.

And yet Marco regularly wrestled with himself over what someone so strong and formidable like Giuseppe could possibly see in him. He wasn't tall or big or intimidating like the other mobsters. Hell, the only scary feature about him, easily, were the scars parading his narrow face. Even looking past that, there wasn't much to redeem it. His build was lanky, not even respectable, really; and his eyes were a dull grey, like even they were trying to go unnoticed and blend into the background. And then there was also his long, obnoxious blue hair to consider, grown out and tied up into a half-assed, low ponytail that didn't at all compliment his friend's sauve trove of brown, which was so neatly and professionally combed back.

Regardless, Giuseppe had insisted it was potential he saw and admired in the other boy, though it was hard for Marco to reconcile with that too. He'd been born into nothing with nothing. His father had been a butcher working at one of the mob's favorite joints before an Electrode blew their meager livelihood to smithereens, leaving Marco scarred and fatherless and with nowhere turn to except the slums of Saffron City with only the Rattatas to keep him company.

Now here he sat, among some of the most powerful, fearsome gangsters in the Kanto Region, flaunting a perfect bill of health, with a stomach that never went hungry, wearing a lavish suit, earning a damn fine living and carrying two years of smuggling experience under his belt. He didn't deserve any of it, yet Giuseppe had made it possible, for no logical reason. Maybe he'd seen his own struggle to survive in Marco somehow; they'd both been born unprepared to deal with their respective life-changing circumstances, after all, and now they were two teenagers standing together at the head of a reborn criminal empire.

Oh, no question, this wasn't conventional for kids like them. It just wasn't the norm, for Marco especially. At least Giuseppe had had the birthright in his pocket; it didn't matter that he was only fifteen because he'd been the next in line after his father, Don Calypso, to take over the business. It was just expected him, regardless of his inexperience, which turned out not to be a monkey wrench after all. Mos Vinci, who had been the interim boss pending Giuseppe's ascension, had failed at every turn to bring the Saffron Mafia back to glory and refused to fight for any opportunity to do so.

Then Vinci died, sooner than Giuseppe was ready for. It hadn't stopped him from bearing up and doing his duty though, at least from everything Marco had heard. The young Depiro accepted the ascension at only thirteen, giving up his childhood and becoming the man and leader the crime family needed in order to weather the shitstorm left for them by the late Rocket Empire. All those years of quietly studying and learning from the failures of his elders had stuck with him, informing his decisions for the better part of his two years as the godfather. Giuseppe wasn't vicious like Calypso or cowardly like Vinci. He could be ruthless, sure, but he was fair in his leadership, with a sense of honor and justice unlike any of his predecessors.

But Marco still understood his own situation was different from Giuseppe's and that nothing could change that, regardless of what little ground they shared in common. He knew that, between the two of them, he was the one that stuck out like a sore thumb, and it wasn't because of any remarkable feats or traits. He had none. He'd just been lucky, really, to earn a place at Giuseppe's side at all, let alone become his friend and confidant. And more than that.

Some murmurings traveled up the table between the cigar-chewing mobsters as they waited on Guiseppe, and Marco let his gaze follow their voices in his own boredom, unnoticed. He'd never really stopped to appreciate how snazzy they all looked in their new suits, a far cry from how he'd seen them in Vinci's company whenever they visited his father's deli. This wasn't all that suspring though. Under Giuseppe, the mob had become scrupulous in how it presented itself in the eyes of competitors. Giuseppe's goal from the beginning had been to toughen up the mafia's weakened image, and that extended to each every underboss and mafioso in the family. Gone were the lax dress code days of open chest hair, medallions, polyester, and flower patterned dress shirts. All the flashy colors and extravagance bragging Mos Vinci had encouraged were a thing of the past now, lest they be looked down on as a bunch of clowns.

The only thing left from those days was the very meeting room they were now seated in, as far as he could tell. The deep blue walls, a floor tiled in dark red, and varnished wooden accents such as the table gave the room a comfortable ambiance that didn't completely meet with the new stylistic renaissance. Some hanging lights lit the area in a purposefully dim manner, probably to hide the glaring fact.

Otherwise, earth tones, grays, whites, blacks, were in full force now and prevalent in how he and the others mafiosos suited up. Then again, this could have also been the times and trends changing right under Marco's nose. The seventies were sputtering to an end, last he'd check. The past year alone had flown by for him. He'd blinked, and suddenly he'd risen from the bottom of the gutter all the way up to Giuseppe's side. Maybe the universe or the Legendaries had grown impatient and just shoved him along to this point in time before he knew what was what.

"You know why he's keeping us waiting, don't you?"

Marco turned his head, his body with it when he realized the middle-aged underboss to his right, Ignazio Salvador, had whispered the question at him. He regarded the stocky, hairy man with sideburns with a flat expression. The mobster had been on his ass lately about keeping Giuseppe on his toes. Ignazio definitely had good intentions, and he respected Marco, but he also knew that Marco was close to Giuseppe, and constantly saw that as an opening to make his voice heard.

Marco, in turn, respected Ignazio, if only because the other man likely knew the full nature of his relationship with Giuseppe and yet still kept quiet about it. Marco once suspected he would use the knowledge to leverage something out of him, but fortunately, that danger never reared its ugly head. Ignazio genuinely cared about the future of the family and the business. He'd lived through Calypso's reign. He'd lived through Vinci and the disastrous fallout of the empty promises made by Torino prior to shedding its skin and unleashing the Rocket Empire.

Even so, Marco understood there was a time and a place for everything. "Not now," he muttered to the mobster with a straightening of his posture. "We can talk later."

Ignazio opened his mouth to protest but just as quickly shut it. Marco felt the reason why before even looking. The air had become hot, stuffy; and the room suddenly fell quiet, causing Giuseppe to glance behind his shoulder. Marco felt his stomach twist up as he followed the kingpin's eyes to the double doors where a tall, bipedal Pokémon shaped like a flame slowly entered the room, a light grin flashing beneath her snout.

Marco frowned when she came to stand beside Giuseppe, the torch in her hand making him wary, as always. He wasn't a cultured or scholarly fellow, given his lowly upbringing, but he'd recently rifled through Giuseppe's book collection just to learn this Pokémon's name and origin. It was apparently a Delphox—some Fire-Type Pokémon from the Kalos Region. This one went by the name Rue, however, and had supposedly traveled overseas just to serve Giuseppe.

As if that in itself wasn't suspect, she had quickly gone from silent and observant to rarely ever leaving Giuseppe's side. Marco didn't like this, partly because he couldn't be alone with Giuseppe as often as they were used to; but also because he didn't trust her. She often claimed to have visions and whatnot of Giuseppe fulfilling some grand destiny, yet details and proof such prophecies seemed to be foreign concepts to her. In Marco's mind, she was just a needless distraction. The problem was that Giuseppe was neither sending nor caging this distraction away.

Marcos wasn't dumb though. Even if he didn't have Rue's end-game pegged yet, he knew what path she intended to take. He knew she was trying to nudge them all into a violent conflict—with Giuseppe's estranged mother, of all people. It made sense on some level, given that the Rocket Gang was the only real threat to the Saffron Mafia's future. And sure, the plan to seek retribution against the usurpers of the criminal underworld had always been Giuseppe's; but this Pokémon was pushing for action a lot sooner than any of them were ready for.

"You did not need to wait on my account," Rue spoke, her dark, rich voice reaching everyone telepathically.

Giuseppe's didn't meet her gaze, his explanation quick and curt. "I want all of my associates present. They deserve to know what the future holds. Nothing more to it."

"I already know the future," Rue said, smirking down at the kingpin. The words made Marco tense a bit. He didn't like the way she smiled at his friend either, amongst other things; but he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut about it like usual. He could never dishonor Giuseppe in front of his men. If he had something to say, he would wait until they were alone.

Giuseppe didn't answer her this time, instead motioning to the scribe. "Go on," he prompted; his voice was that of a well-educated leader: strong, controlled, and aloof. "Let's hear what you came up with. And be sure to speak up."

The scribe cleared his throat and, as instructed, began to read the draft of the letter out loud; Marco was eager to hear it himself and find out just how much more of a punch it had than the others before it.

"'To my beloved mother, your Rocket Gang has demonstrated itself to be'—'"

"She isn't my beloved mother," Giuseppe interrupted quietly, glaring at him. "I don't love her. She doesn't love me."

The scribe blinked at the kingpin. "It's... really just a harmless a courtesy, sir."

Giuseppe shook his head, stubborn but attentive to detail, as always. "Courtesy or not, it's a lie. Remove it."

The clerk nodded, frantically scribbling out the line in question. He paused before fixing the error, glancing up at Giuseppe. "'To… Madame Boss'?" he suggested. Once he was given the nod of approval, he jotted it down and cleared his throat again to read the rest. "'To Madame Boss, your Rocket Gang has demonstrated itself to be a collection of thieves slowly building its enterprise off the earnings of harder working men'—'"

"Imitators, not thieves," Giuseppe stopped him yet again, much to Marco's withheld amusement. "Call them what they are."

The scribe hurried to amend the error much like the last one before picking up where he left off. "Ah… 'has demonstrated itself to be a collection of imitators'—"

"Make it skilled imitators," Giuseppe muttered. "Whatever they're guilty of, they're not without their merits."

"Err… 'a collection of skilled imitators slowly building its enterprise off the earnings of harder working men. That said, I, Guiseppe Depiro, hereby respectfully request that all and any inheritance'—"

Giuseppe shook his head, rendering the man silent again. "There's nothing to request. I am demanding what is mine by right, not requesting."

"That kind of wording might ruffle some feathers," one of the underbosses near Marco admonished. Marco already knew it wasn't a concern though.

"Then let it," the kingpin bit out flatly. He reached forward, gently poking the top corner of the letter. "I'm not interested in making friends or mending barriers. Write the brutal honest truth."

After making the final touches, the scribe clicked away his pen and carried on reading. "'I, Guiseppe Depiro, hereby respectfully demand that all and any inheritance owed to me be paid in earnest, along with all the riches, provisions, and properties promised to the Saffron Crime Family by the now defunct Torino as reimbursement for its past loyalty. If these reparations are not met, the Saffron Mafia and its branches will be forced to take extreme measures, which'…"

"Which would compromise the Rocket Gang's longevity in the criminal otherworld," Giuseppe voiced the unwritten conclusion when the scribe trailed off. There was no emotion in his voice—nothing to indicate the depth of his feeling, if any. No anger. No sorrow. No joy. He had himself under perfect control, and it filled Marco with a sensation of pride knowing he got to serve under someone so fearless.

"It just needs your signature, Don Giuseppe," the scribe squeaked beside him, tenatively holding up the letter. Marco pressed his smile back into a frown when the paper magically levitated out of the man's hands and landed gingerly into Giuseppe's, courtesy of Rue. The Pokémon apparently had no reservations about flexing her powers when there was no rhyme or reason for it. She was just spoon-feeding him more reasons to dislike her at this point.

As Giuseppe signed the letter and handed it back to his scribe to be finalized, Rue gently clapped his shoulder. "Your enemies have great fear of you, Giuseppe. But a piece of paper and some ink cannot win a war for you. It will only delay one."

"Then let this be the final letter." Giuseppe pressed the tips of his fingers together just below his cleft chin. His eyes flicked to the scribe a final time. "See that that these terms find their way to her by morning. If she either declines them or fails to respond within a day's time, we move to engage. I've given her more than enough time to cooperate as it as. I've no interest in playing games."

"Yes, sir," the scribe obeyed, scampering off to fulfill his wishes. The rest of them weren't exactly itching with that same eagerness though. It seemed the time for talking was fading and Giuseppe was, in fact, gearing up for an armed conflict with the Rocket Gang as so many of them had feared he would, Marco included.

Rue, perhaps sensing the change in the room, scanned up the table. "The Saffron Crime Family rests on the fringes of its former glory," she declared, doing her damn best to reassure them, even though Marco could see right through it. "It only requires one more good push, even if that necessitates some sacrifices."

Ignazio leaned in close to Marco, his voice a whisper again. "She has one ear. You have the other. And you know this is all so screwed up."

Marco swallowed. He almost didn't answer at first, but he knew Ignazio would just keep poking and prodding unless he stood his ground. "Giuseppe is our kingpin," he whispered firmly, unwilling to debate the fact. "We follow his lead, even if we don't like the path. He hasn't let us down yet. He's brought us this far, hasn't he?"

"Exactly why she needs to be stopped before she can undo it all!" the older mobster urged—hissed, really. "I mean, how soon before the others smell something fishy going on and mindless infighting breaks out?"

Marco kept his face turned to attention but responded out of that same immovable loyalty. "I don't serve the others. I serve Giuseppe."

"I do too, Marco," Ignazio said. "But look around. He's surrounded by cowards and yes-men. He trusts you, Marco. Just tell him the truth about her—"

At last, Marco swung his head around, glaring at Ignazio. "And what truth would that be? What do you expect me to say?"

The next voice to speak belonged to Giuseppe, and it was pointed at them.

"Why are we whispering?"

Ignazio quickly turned his head to focus, Marco following in suit.

"They speak ill of me," proclaimed Rue, glaring at the two of them. How the hell had she known?

Marco was ready to, at the very least, own up to disrupting the meeting. He didn't want to hash it out with this strange, foreign priestess in front of everyone. He didn't want to disrespect Giuseppe, or worse yet, disappoint him. But then again, he feared he may have already. If only Ignazio had kept his damn mouth zipped...

Ignazio's chair legs scraped against the linoleum when he stood suddenly, even as Marco realized as much and tried to anchor him by his sleeve. Ignazio didn't care though. He was glaring now, right at Rue, totally unafraid. This wasn't going to be pretty.

"Maybe I did," the mobster spat in reply to the Delphox.

"Ignazio, sit down," Marco urged out of the corner of his mouth, still tugging at the other man's sleeve cuff. "This isn't the way."

Giuseppe must have caught on. He held up his palm to Marco, his voice monotone and stern. "No. Let him speak his piece."

Slowly, Marco let go of his associate. He'd have been a damn fool not to at this point.

Rue elevated her snout, flashing a closed-mouth smirk at the mobster still refusing to sit back down. "Yes, speak your mind, Ignazio," encouraged the priestess Pokémon as she began to chart a path around the table. "Whatever it is you feel compelled to say about me can be said to my face."

Ignazio visibly flinched when he saw Rue making her way toward him, but he forced his gaze to Giuseppe. "Meaning all respect, Don Giuseppe, sir," he began, raising an accusing finger at the approaching Delphox, "but this Pokémon—this witch—is going to drag us into a war we don't even know we can win."

Giuseppe said nothing. He just sat there, stone-faced and listening. Marco wished he could peer into his mind and see what he was thinking.

"We were a laughing stock after the Rockets left us high and dry," continued Ignazio. "But then you came into your birthright. And in just two short years you won back our integrity, our moxy!" His pointer finger flew back in Rue's direction. "Now she's going to rip it all away and put us right back where we started—with nothing!"

The Delphox drew to a halt some feet away from Ignazio, frowning, almost in a pitying way. "You poor, misguided man. I am only here to help guide our leader to victory."

Ignazio flared up, face turning as red as a Charmeleon's. "No, you're here to twist his mind until he can't think for himself! You and your fancy magic and fancy fire tricks don't belong here! You belong on the curb—no, inside a cage! Everyone at this table is thinking it but is too chicken to say it!"

Rue brought up her flaming stick, gently waving it back and forth in front of her, a challenge Marco hoped Ignazio wouldn't play into. Calmly, she whispered, "If you want to stop me, then stop me."

With those words uttered, all eyes at the table fell upon Ignazio, waiting to see what he'd do. Marco, however, looked pleadingly toward Giuseppe. The kingpin never met his gaze though. He was patiently waiting out the tension choking the room like everyone else.

When Ignazio's hand snapped to his belt, Rue didn't flinch. She just watched quietly as he tore the Pokéball from his waist and held it out in front of him, presumably to set his Pokémon free.

But the device didn't respond.

"What the—" Ignazio shook the ball, a jerking motion that quickly became frantic. Even then, nothing. Marco understood though. She'd used her psychic powers to deactivate it.

"Is something the matter?" Rue asked innocently, causing Ignazio to chuck the Pokéball at the floor in a fit of rage. As all this was happening, Marco anxiously rubbed his hand through his own hair and down the back of his neck. He couldn't stomach to let this go any further, and when he looked to Giuseppe again, he found his voice this time.

"Look, Boss, I think—"

"Ignazio has disrespected you, Giuseppe," Rue interrupted softly, giving Marco no quarter. "No sin should go unpunished. Do you not agree?"

Giuseppe's voice was low and measured, but sincere. "I don't care about respect. Only loyalty." Slowly, the tall, imposing teenager rose out of his seat, looking past Marco and upon the bitter underboss. "I will ask you this just once, Ignazio. Can I trust in your absolute loyalty?"

Ignazio went abruptly still. He tore his gaze from Rue, swallowing hard. He seemed to be considering his answer, his situation—at least, Marco hoped he was.

Finally, he let his anger go with an exhale. "You can, Don Giuseppe," he whispered. "I am loyal to you always."

Marco smiled, relief filling him—until he noticed Ignazio's hand slowly disappearing inside his jacket.

"And that is why I must do this!" A dagger flashed in Ignazio's hand before Marco could react, and in the next instant, it was airborne, the blade's tip ruabing toward Rue's throat.

Then the dagger froze mid-air, just an inch shy of the smirking Delphox. Inexplicably, the blade suddenly caught fire, spooking everyone out of their chairs. The damn thing hadn't even touched the burning stick she was grasping. Marco had never known a Pokémon, let alone any being, to make an object spontaneously combust.

What sort of witchcraft was this?

Rue's fingers twitched, and the floating, flaming dagger turned back toward Ignazio. Marco looked away, hearing the balde whistle by one moment and then thud of Ignazio's body hitting the floor the next.

The stench of burning flesh wafted over the table next, hitting Marco's nostrils the hardest as he was closest to the corpse. Giuseppe, meanwhile, sat back down as if nothing happened; Marco wasn't buying it this time though. Behind that solemn, brooding pair of eyes was a boy grappling with despair, maybe even remorse. He was a ruthless gangster, and a damn good one, having kept the mob alive through sheer will; but he was still a teenage kid just like him and he wasn't without at least a shred of empathy. Ignazio had been loyal to Guiseppe's family for years, so Marco could only imagine how much this demonstration of Rue's had shaken the young kingpin underneath that all that tough armor.

Eventually, Marco worked up the courage to glance over his shoulder. While he couldn't bring himself to look down upon Ignazio, he did let his gaze follow Rue as she calmly strode past him to stand over the burning corpse. The air was still hot, but Marco somehow felt cold now. There was just something in her eyes, something evil.

"Be at rest now, old man," the Pokémon cooed, holding her stick over the body to collect the embers before they could spread. "Be at peace as the fire burns your sins away."


In a defeated gargle, Cloyster dropped to the hard terrain of the Viridian Gym like a stone, the arena shuddering from the impact. Gio couldn't help but smirk from his overhead balcony. It had taken a Raichu, a Venusaur, and finally a Hitmonchan to bring only the first of his Pokémon to its knees.

"How do you like that?" Gio's cocky ten-year-old opponent shouted from below, fisting the air as if he'd already won. The poor kid probably thought he was the next Pokémon League Champion in the making.

Even so, Gio decided to indulge him. "Not too shabby," he admitted, calling Cloyster back to its Pokéball. He unclipped the second ball from his jacket and let it fly. "Now let's see you try your luck with this one."

He'd said it without even knowing which Pokémon he'd sent out, not that it mattered. The match was already decided; they were just pointlessly spinning wheels at this point. The kid was down to his last Pokémon and Gio still had two ripe for a fight.

Scizor emerged from the radiant white energy as it splashed onto the battlefield. The boy across the battlefield flinched, clearly unfamiliar with the species.

Before Gio could issue a command, a light from the outside spilled over the Gym grounds. Gio squinted past the Trainer to find Ariana escorting a strange woman clutching clipboard into the building. Whoever she was, she carried herself confidently with an air of strong authority that rubbed Gio the wrong way.

The sound of the doors clanking shut behind them finally broke Gio from his trance, and he snapped his fingers to grab Scizor's attention. "Start with Quick Attack!"

"Parry with Mega Punch!" the boy hollered to his Hitmonchan.

As the two Pokémon rushed to exchange blows, Gio chanced another quick glance at the woman now observing the battle off to the side. Ariana was no longer tending to her, and her expression was that of someone determined to accomplish a task. Whether that was good or bad for Gio was up in the air, though he had to guess the latter, given the ice in her eyes as she soaked in her surroundings and scribbled rigorously into her clipboard.

Who did this lady think she was barging in on him in the middle of a Gym Battle?

Suddenly Ariana was with him on the balcony, leaning over his shoulder. "You probably noticed we got company," she whispered, apparently just as annoyed by the unwanted presence as he was. "Must be some PLC snob."

Gio nodded, saying nothing, and returned his focus to the battle. If the lady wanted a show, he'd give her one.

"Scizor, use Swords Dance!"

Crossing its claws over its chest, Scizor stood unfettered against Hitmonchan's wrath, slipping into a deep focus. The opponent's flurry of punches more or less bounced right off Scizor, a perk that came with a ridiculously high defense stat after two long journeys and two whole years of feeding off experience from Gym Battling.

The ground beneath Scizor spat out a pillar of red aura, infusing the Pokémon with a surplus of strength that would close out the match in short order. This old routine had become second nature to Gio; even if Gym Battles didn't satisfy that unscratchable itch anymore, he always made it a point to dazzle on his opponents, give them something to remember and maybe aspire to.

"Scizor," Gio said calmly, pointing. "Use Aerial Ace and let's be done with this already."

Before the kid could predictably shout for his Hitmonchan to dodge, it was already over. Scizor had clipped upward one instant, then executed a killing blow the next from a clean diagonal angle, smacking Hitmonchan flat into the earth.

"The match is over," Ariana announced unceremoniously from beside Gio, holding up a tiny mirror to her face and applying red lipstick to her lips. "The Gym Leader wins. The challenger loses. Yada, yada, yada. Better luck next time."

Below, the Trainer rushed over to comfort his fallen Pokémon and give the usual empty praises, a tired consolation prize Gio remembered spewing time and time again during his own journeys. It wasn't without its uses, of course; it made the Pokémon feel better, usually. But the sting of the loss never truly went away. There had been so many times Gio wanted to vent his failures and scream to the top of his lungs, yet he'd filtered himself at every turn, ashamed to show that side of himself to Delia and Samuel and Spencer.

And to complete strangers, even.

Reminded of his uninvited guest, Gio recalled Scizor and turned irascible eyes to the woman pacing up and down the sidelines, scrutinizing every little detail of his Gym. He turned to exit the viewing the balcony and start down the staircase, setting a brisk pace as Ariana speedily clicked after him.

When he emerged below, his challenger had already departed with his Pokémon, leaving just one nuisance nosing around the premises after hours. "If you were hoping for a Gym match, you'll have to come back in the morning," he addressed her, keeping his voice low and neutral, at least for the moment. "I was just about to lock up."

"Do I strike you as a ten-year-old?" she clipped back, whipping around to face him. Like Ariana had positied, the woman had 'government' written all over her, from her grey pantsuit to her tightly bunned hair. She was young, though, with an energy to her; her eyes were alert and her pale neck stood out boldly to get right in his face.

After taking pause, he scraped together a dignified but witty answer."Trainers of all ages are welcome to challenge me. I don't discriminate."

"I'm not a Trainer," she said absently, shouldering past him to examine more of the Gym and scribble down more words. "I'm an inspector sent on behalf of the Pokémon Association to make sure this Gym of yours is adhering to official regulations."

Gio glared at her from behind, but couldn't get a word in before Ariana butted in. "Oh, is that so?" she challenged the other woman, planting her hands on her hips. "How about showing us some proof?"

The woman didn't miss a beat, twisting on her heel and producing a government badge from what could have been thin air. Gio frowned. The fact that she was the real deal somehow made her even more of an irritant.

"Narissa Amado," Ariana spoke the name on the badge, squinting at it suspiciously. "Pfft. This could easily be a fake."

The woman chuffed out a laugh without humor. "Who might you be again? His secretary?"

The last word made Ariana's jaw set so tightly Gio was afraid her teeth might splinter. "Listen, sister," she growled, her finger jabbing the air to punctuate her words. "I happen to be Mr. Sakaki's business associate—"

"She helps manage my affairs," Gio spoke over her. Going along with that, Ariana smiled tightly and stuck out her hand to Narissa.

"Ariana Phate is the name," she introduced herself.

"Daughter of the famous lawyer," the inspector replied, a bored statement more than a question. She then jotted into her clipboard, possibly just to get on the other woman's nerves.

It worked. "That's right, sister, so if you give my associate here any trouble, you'll be facing litigation out the—"

Gio turned to her sharply. "Ariana, I can handle this."

With a snort, Ariana whipped her head away, then her body, before marching off in a huff; one less mouth for him to answer for, at least.

As the nosy inspector began to cover more ground, Gio didn't miss a beat and stayed right at her heels. "You won't find anything wrong with my Gym. It's running just fine."

"I'll be the judge of that if you don't mind."

"Suit yourself," he muttered, attempting to hide his scowl. He knew she wouldn't find anything out of the ordinary, nor anything incriminating. The Pokémon his gang had rounded up for the week had been shipped off to Team Rocket. Besides, she had no warrant to inspect his garage in back, as that was officially devoted to his auto repair business, totally unrelated to his Gym Leader duties.

No, what bugged him was that she was keeping him on the clock. He wanted to get home, spruce up the place for his upcoming weekend with Delia. Legendaries, he just wanted to hold her in his arms again after so many weeks apart from her, press her close. She was the link to humanity he needed to feel grounded and quiet and happy—and able to deal with nonsense like this!

Once Narissa eventually finished her indoor rounds, she stepped outside and brought her inspection to the foregrounds of the Gym. He followed her at every step as she drank in the aptly maintained and gardened property, keeping his hands in his pockets to show just how casual he felt. If the trimmed hedges and the clean fountains nestled between the twin staircases were impressing her, she wasn't letting it show, still doing her best impression of a Claydol.

"So is this some new push by the Military Government to put Gym Leaders on a shorter leash?" he asked once he'd grown bored of the silent treatment.

She took a moment to jot something down before answering. "The Military Government now works in junction with the Pokémon Association. So, yes, regulation enforcement is going to be a bit tighter."

"At my inconvenience," he muttered.

"We would never want to inconvenience you, Mr. Sakaki," she said, though the words were hard to take to heart when she wouldn't even look him in the eye. He couldn't help but snort.

"And yet I only make back half the investment on all the upkeep I do around here."

This time she pinned him with a firm glare. "The Pokémon League still licks its wounds after a near-irreparable government crisis, yet you feel you're owed a bigger paycheck? You should count yourself fortunate you're employed at all."

Gio considered her words, a retort already ready on his tongue, but he didn't wish to argue and drag more scrutiny over himself. If any part of him did feel owed some debt, though, it was only because the aforementioned government was still intact at all due to his life-staking actions two years prior.

Not that he expected anyone to remember any of that. Giovanni Ketchum was dead, after all. And he couldn't take credit from a dead person.

Her inspection must have reached its conclusion because she was walking out through the gates and off the property, not even giving him notice. He pursued her, locking the gates shut behind them. Ariana would leave through the back once she was done in the office, he figured. His main concern was making sure no more uninvited faces could just waltz through his place of business.

"If finances are truly a concern, perhaps you should rethink your budgeting," Narissa remarked, staring at Diamond Dust, which he'd left parked at the curb.

He bristled a bit at the implied insult. "I'm not entitled to transportation?"

She shrugged. "Your residence is located only a few blocks from here, is it not? I am, of course, referring to that beautiful, luxurious estate listed under your name."

"I inherited it if that's what you're getting at," he cleared up quickly, moving toward his bike.

"From the late Rita Ketchum?" she asked, something akin to interest in her tone as she watched him. "She had a son that died as well, didn't see?"

He mimicked her shrug from her earlier, zipping up his leather jacket for the brisk ride home and stretching his leather gloves over his hands. "If that's what the official record shows, I guess that's what happened."

She overlooked his vague response, again turning to his motorcycle. "Since avoiding inconvenience is so important to you, I advise you sell this thing. Reports of a phantom biker gang calling themselves Team Righteous and causing trouble around these parts have been escalating. It would be a pity if someone suspected you of some kind of... involvement."

He spat out a mirthless laugh, seeing right through her words. "I'm going to take a wild shot in the dark and guess that someone is you."

She gave a sigh, though there was no hiding the amusement in her eyes. "Viridian City is my home every bit as much as it is yours, so I make it a point pay close observation to anything suspicious locally."

Gio glared. "I'm not affiliated with Team Righteous."

"I never said you were."

"No, but you're thinking it," he grumbled, furiously snatching the helmet hanging off the bike's handgrip. "If you have something you want to say, come out with it already because I'm not sticking around much longer."

She was silent for a moment, then straightened. "Alright, then," she huffed. "Pallet Town was targeted just last night in the latest of many Pokénapping incidents. And you're the only registered motorcyclist within ten miles of Pallet, not counting Officer Jenny. Forgive me, but sometimes coincidences are just too incredible to believe."

Shaking his head, Gio retorted, "And sometimes coincidences are just coincidences." A bit of that edge had returned to his voice but he stomped it down, exhaling slowly. "Look, I was nowhere near Pallet Town last night. I was here at the Gym working late. You can confirm with my assistant. If that isn't enough, I have security cameras set up outside my office. You can review the footage yourself."

"That's a policeman's job, not mine," she answered evenly. "I'm only a government inspector."

He smiled so tight it was almost a grimace. "Then start acting the part or maybe I'll report you for harassment."

They stood staring at each other for a bit before she backed off with a curt nod. He took this as his cue to leave and shoved his helmet on. He waited for her to start back toward her car and then hopped up on Diamond Dust. He needed to ride right now. Hard. Fast. If he didn't, he was going to explode on someone.

Legendaries, why couldn't it just be the weekend already?

He was about to start up the engine when he noticed Narissa slowing her steps, as if something was gradually occurring to her. Then, she twisted around to face him again.

"Many people have forgotten the Ketchums," she uttered, catching him off guard, "but I have a daughter who hasn't."

Gio slowly leaned back on his seat, still gripping the handlebars, but listening.

"She was just five when she heard about a heroic teenage boy who risked his life to protect the citizens of Pallet Town from a maniac," she pressed on, a fond smile touching her lips. "I still remember the way her face lit up that day. And it didn't stop there. She followed his adventures through the Johto Region, listened to all the stories about the Pokémon he'd befriended and all the wicked people he'd overcome. Even when that whole Rocket Empire scare took the world by storm, she never once left the radio. She believed that boy would save the day, Pokéball in hand. And by some unexplained miracle, the day was saved."

Gio swallowed, looking off for a second.

"You can see now why I don't believe in coincidences," she remarked, and only then did he meet her eyes.

"Get to the point," he grumbled.

She stepped closer, hugging her clipboard to her chest with affection he hadn't know she was capable of. "That boy gave her hope, and courage," she explained. "She turned ten just recently, received a Bulbasaur as her first Pokémon after deciding she wanted to become a Trainer and see the world just like he did."

Gio let his guard down, and bit. "Then what's stopping her?"

She paused, dipping her head. "Her Bulbasaur was taken from her by Team Righteous. Nabbed right out of her arms while she was out playing."

The words touched something deep inside of him, forcing his eyes to retreat to his gloved hands. If there was something he was meant to say or apologize for, he couldn't find the words. He couldn't afford to.

"If that Ketchum boy fought to make the world a safer place for my daughter, why must she still live in fear?" she asked, and he knew the question wasn't rhetorical. It was meant for him.

He eventually glanced up, but still, he didn't speak. She must have expected as much because she was already clearing her throat and gathering herself.

"Your Gym meets the necessary permit requirements," she bid, her voice back to its initial cool professional timbre. "Good day, Mr. Sakaki."

With that, she went on her way, leaving him to stew in her guilt trip. He wanted to hate her for it, but the boy inside himself wouldn't allow it. He had to check himself, and remember why he'd formed Team Righteous in the first place. He'd done it to protect Delia and the others… but if he and his gang were becoming the very thing he'd sworn to defend them from, what was the point? If they were just as bad Team Rocket now, how was he any different from his mother?

No, he couldn't be like her. He wouldn't. He had his demons, he'd been shown as much, but he would keep them under his thumb for as long as he still had the fight in him. For Delia's sake, if nothing else.

Shoving the key in the ignition, he peeled away from the Gym and sped into the city to cool his head for a while.


The Pallet House was dead by sundown, but as Delia came out from the kitchen to make her rounds and collect the various bills left behind, she was pleasantly surprised to find a friendly, familiar face seated at the end of the counter. His beach brown hair swept marginally over his bookish blue eyes as he spaced out into the wooden countertop, his head almost sinking into the collar of his lab coat.

"Professor?" she chirped, smiling as she moved behind the counter. He looked up, waking from whatever daze he'd fallen into.

"Oh, hello, Delia," Samuel Oak greeted back, a chuckle in his voice. "Sorry, I was lost in thought for a moment there."

She giggled. "What are you doing here? It's not like you to visit, what with your busy schedule."

He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the diner briefly, then sighed and turned his head forward again. "Tucker didn't happen to come by here earlier, did he?"

She cocked her head, frowning. "No, I haven't seen him."

"Well that makes two of us," the young professor sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice; he seemed tired, overworked. "He didn't come home from school, is all."

She furrowed a brow and turned to reach over the warmer to grab a pot of coffee. "Really? I could have sworn I spotted the bus go by earlier."

He rubbed his face again, hard, as if to wrestle the sleep from his eyes. "Well if he wasn't on the bus, I think I have a pretty good idea where he is."

Delia suspected she did too, though it didn't need to be spoken, as it was a touchy subject. Instead, she slid an empty mug toward her old friend, sighing, "Well, as long as you're waiting..." She filled his mug, spawning a small pillar of coffee steam between them. "It's on the house. You definitely look like you need it."

"How very kind of you," he said, chortling, before reaching into his coat pocket and spotting her a small but generous wad of Pokédollars. "But I insist. You work hard too. You deserve it."

"Thank you, Sam," she said, returning the smile and graciously collecting the payment, tucking it into her apron. She didn't like accepting money from friends, yet she'd barely made anything in the last few days. She needed something to show for all her hard work if her mother was ever going to let her leave town to visit Gio over the weekend.

And even that still seemed like a lifetime away.

"You seem out of sorts, Delia," Samuel noted. "Is everything alright?"

Delia perked up, smiling and turning to set the pot back on the warmer. "Oh, you know, the usual."

He nursed his mug, eyeing her carefully. "Have you been to see Gio lately?"

"In a few days," she huffed, leaning into the counter to rest her weight on her arms. "That's why I've been working double shifts this week. I figure it might make up for any lost wages this weekend on my account."

He nodded, holding up his mug just a fraction. "Do give him my best," he murmured, despite that distracted look returning to his eyes.

She frowned. "I must not be the only one out of sorts."

His eyes flashed up to hers, and he quickly shook his head, trying to dispel her worries. "Oh, it's nothing. It's just... Tucker."

"What about him?"

A laugh fell from his lips, but it was a soft noise without humor. "He's growing up much faster than I was ready for, is all." He picked his mug back up but didn't drink, just let it warm his hands. "I thought the years would have tempered him, but he's still so… rambunctious. So eager to leave the nest."

Delia shook her head with a small giggle, understanding now. "He doesn't want to leave the nest, Professor. He just wants a little taste of adventure, is all. What boy doesn't dream of becoming a Pokémon Trainer? You know, I remember you being the first one to push Gio and I into exploring the Johto Region."

"Yes, and I remember almost losing the two of you to the dangers you faced," he pointed out, sighing. "When you become a parent, you'll understand."

She gave him a lopsided smile. "You don't have to be a parent to worry about someone. Trust me."


As Gio pulled up to his home following his joyride, he wasn't all that surprised to find Tucker Oak sitting patiently against the manor gates, clad in his school uniform and hunched over a backpack two thirds his size in his lap. This kid just never quit. It was past sundown, and the twelve-year-old apparently wasn't beneath camping out on the sidewalk, if it meant waiting up for Gio.

Sighing, Gio eased down on the breaks as he pulled up to the gates. The sound of the motors alerted the young boy to his presence, and he rose to his feet, glowing at first but quickly toning down the expression to something more sheepish when Gio removed his helmet and revealed his heavy gaze.

"Uh… hey, Gio," was all the greeting the young Oak could muster, flashing that coy, dimpled smile and rubbing behind his dirty blonde curls, as if he'd just accidentally ended up there without realizing.

"Surprised you haven't had your own key made yet," Gio remarked wittily in leiu of a lecture. Sure, he wanted to tell him off for showing up announced, again, especially on top of everything else he had to deal with. He wanted to lay into him, raise his voice… but he just couldn't bring himself to. Every time he looked at Tucker, different instincts took over. The kid was the picture of innocence, reminding Gio of himself some years back.

Tucker shrunk just slightly into his shoulders, tugging uneasily at the collar of his uniform. "You're not mad, are you?"

Clicking his tongue, Gio glanced over his shoulder, then back at Tucker again. "What happened? Miss your bus?"

"Not exactly." The boy's grin was as guilty as it was mischievous.

Gio elevated a brow. "Want to talk about it?"

"Is it mandatory?"

Snorting a laugh, he drew up his shoulders into a shrug. "Hey, if you're going to keep crashing here every so often, that's my price of admission."

With a resigned huff, the boy nodded, giving in. Gio couldn't help the smirk pulling at his lips, and he extended his helmet to the kid.

"Come on, hop on."


Gio cracked open his beer with a long, winded sigh, and finally sauntered onto the front porch to join Tucker on the steps. Meowth followed behind him, having spent the day away from the Gym to keep an eye on the house.

"Can I have a sip?" asked Tucker excitedly, pointing up at the older boy's beer.

Gio smirked. "Sure, when Digletts fly," he quipped, handing the kid a soda pop instead and plopping down next to him.

"Cheers," Gio said, clunking his can awkwardly against Tucker's bottle and then twisting left to do the same against Meowth's coin since there was nothing else on the Pokémon to clank. The three of them together had mastered the art of just kicking back beneath the stars, swapping war stories and pretending life were as perfect the rest of the world made it out to be these days.

"What are we toasting?" Tucker laughed snarkily, taking a long swig of his soda and drumming his heels against the bottom step of the porch.

Gio shrugged when nothing leapt to mind. "New beginnings, I guess."

"Don't much feel like celebrating that," the much younger boy mumbled, tilting his head back on his shoulders to stare into the starlit abyss. Gio downed half his can, all the while searching the other's face, recognizing the oppressed look. The look of a prisoner. He'd worn that look. too, a long time ago.

Smirking again, Gio reached and playfully pushed at the side of the boy's wispy, blonde head. "Come on, Tucker. Today was only your second day at the academy. How bad could it have been?"

"Try second year," the twelve-year-old grumbled back. "And anyway, it's not just that,"

Gio sucked in a hard breath. "Let me guess: your father?"

Tucker nodded, saying everything by not saying anything.

"Another fight?"

The boy licked his upper lip petulantly, and his voice cracked. "He treats me like I'm a kid, Gio!"

Gio almost laughed at how little he'd thought that sentence through."You are a kid, last I checked."

"I just turned twelve! I'm practically a teenager!" Tucker slammed his bottle down beside him and was suddenly on his feet as if to make a point. "He knows becoming a Pokémon Trainer is everything I've dreamed of since I was little and he still won't let me do it! It's not fair!"

"Fair?" Gio laughed the word into his beer can. "I didn't get my Trainer's license until I was fifteen, so settle down."

"Yeah, I guess," the boy ceded briefly, shrugging his small shoulders, "but things were different back then. It wasn't as safe. After the Pokémon League lowered the age requirement to ten, I thought I could finally leave town and see the world as you and Delia did." He snorted, digging his heel into the brick of the stairs. "Who was I kidding? Two years later and I'm stuck in some Pokémon prep school, learning about all the things I should be out there experiencing for myself."

Gio twisted his head, brining his finger to scratch underneath Meowth's chin as he mulled over Tucker's words. He sympathized with him, really. He saw a lot of himself in the boy—the impatient, adventurous side that didn't want to be caged away, that was. Everything else that made Tucker who he was also made him all the more deserving than he had been at his age to go out and experience the world.

Because even if Tucker wasn't without flaw, he was utterly without sin. He was pure, with a heart of gold, not a single mean bone in his body. He would make a way better Pokémon Trainer in the long run.

With a huff, the boy loosened his uniform collar and tie and sat heavily on the bottom step of the porch. "I really thought this was going to be the year he'd change his mind, Gio. I really did."

"I know, pal," Gio murmured, trying to be consoling. "Tough break."

Tucker's golden head perked up then, and he glanced over his shoulder to shoot Gio a smile brimming with white teeth. "Hey, you know…. school only just started. It's not too late! Maybe you could talk to my dad and convince him—"

"Tucker," Gio tried to stop the idea before Tucker could run rampant with it.

"You're his friend, aren't you?" Tucker pressed, scrambling up the steps to sit next to the older boy again. "Heck, after everything you two faced together—"

"Things were different back then," he repeated Tucker's own words against him, the finality in his firm tone shutting the boy up real quick.

Tucker scrunched up his nose and frowned, his head falling in defeat. It bothered Gio that he couldn't be upfront with him, tell him why he and Sammy couldn't have that conversation and hash things out. It bothered him, too, that Sammy, his former mentor and guardian, now looked down on him as a bad stain and influence on Tucker. Sammy would never say it out loud, of course, but Gio just knew, based on everything Tucker had told him of late about his father.

"Look, he's probably just worried about sending you off on your own," Gio ended the tense silence, shifting gears a bit. The last thing he wanted was to turn Tucker against Sammy and reap those consequences later down the road.

Tucker huffed in frustration, pouting again. "I wouldn't be on my own though. I'd have Pokémon with me. And besides, he's totally fine sending other Trainers off on their own."

"They're… not his son," Gio pointed out, trying to find the right words. "It's just, you know, after what happened to your mother… he probably just doesn't want to lose you, is all. You can't blame him. Trust me, even with Torino gone, it's not as perfect out there as you'd think."

A tense moment passed before the boy spoke, and when he did, his voice was tight with remembered pain. "It's because of my mom that I have to do this."

Gio exhaled wearily through his nostrils, nodding. "So you've been having those nightmares again."

Carefully, slowly, the blonde dragged his gaze down to his lap."For the longest time, I couldn't figure out why I kept seeing her, why she'd keep coming to me in my dreams. But now I think I know." He lifted his head, meeting Gio's gaze. "She wanted for me to become a Trainer. She wanted for me to grow up like you. Heck, she made you my godfather, didn't she?"

Gio was ready to argue that... but wisely clamped his mouth shut, out of respect. He tried again, saying in a low whisper, "You don't want to grow up like me."

Tucker laughed that contagious laugh. "What are you talking about? You're a Gym Leader, for Articuno's sake!"

"Watch the language," Gio warned in a chuckle, before going off Tucker's point. "And believe me, it's not all it's cut out to be. You're still stuck in one place most of the time, doing the same thing day after day."

The younger boy dragged out a sigh. "It sounds like you're just trying to take my dad's side now."

"I'm not," Gio laughed, elbowing the boy lightly. "Believe me, I know what it's like to feel trapped. My mother never let me leave this house growing up. She kept me under her thumb for most of my childhood, but that was for her own good, for her own image. Your dad isn't like my mom. He's selfless. If he's watching your every move, it's for your own good, not his."

Tucker nodded, understanding but still far from happy. "I know, I get that. It's just… maybe that's not what I want. Maybe I want more out my childhood than to be locked up inside a tech school. These are supposed to be the best years of my life, Gio, and I just keep getting bombarded by all this responsibility and schoolwork and boring stuff!"

Gio smirked into the rim of his beer can as he brought it to his lips. "Sounds like you are still a kid after all."

"Maybe." Tucker's voice tilted and drifted off, a telltale sign he was fast at work, the cogs in his mind spinning as he fought to think of something. "And maybe… that's the problem. I am a kid, but I'm also not. I never get to be one or act like one. I never get to have any fun. And maybe that's all I want. Maybe that's what my mom wanted for me. Is that so terrible?"

"Meeroow," Meowth chimed in, a yawn more than anything. Tucker ran with it, of course.

"See! Meowth agrees!" He shot to his feet, practically dancing with energy again. "And even if I do one day decide I want to become a Pokémon Professor like my dad, shouldn't I get out there and start actually meeting Pokémon now while I'm still young? Getting some actual experience? Those are the key ingredients for every Pokémon specialist!"

Gio reached out, gently snatching the boy's wrist before he could get carried away on another tangent. "I get it, Tucker. I do," he said, smiling. "But speaking as a guy who didn't have the luxury of growing up with a father, I think you should try appreciating where he's coming from. And maybe try having these conversations with him once in a while instead of… well... me."

"Yeah, I know," the boy muttered, and quick as a whip, with a bright, bashful smile, he chuckled, "I guess I do sort of show up here unannounced a lot, huh?"

Gio said nothing, only smirked as he sucked down the last drops of his beer. This got a laugh out of the younger boy, who playfully punched his shoulder.

"Seriously, it was a lot easier when you still lived in Pallet with the rest of us," he rambled on, sitting back down. "I could see you almost every day back then."

Gio crushed the empty can in his fist, and chucked it aside. "Yeah, I know."

The twelve-year-old laid back on the porch, his legs hanging down the stairs and his hands propped under his bushy head as his olive eyes darted over the constellations. "The only good part about enrolling in that stupid school is that it's right here in Viridian and I get to be closer to you."

Gio felt a laugh ripple in his chest, surfacing as a grin. He'd been selfish to try and keep his distance from Tucker, give Sam a reason to trust him again. But Tucker was like the kid brother he wished he'd always had growing up. And Tucker still looked up to him like a role model or a cool uncle, despite how much he'd drifted away from the shining pedestal everyone once held him up on. Really, Tucker was the only one besides Delia who could make Gio feel better as a person, make him forget all the bad for even just a half second.

And sometimes that half second was really all he needed.

"You should call your father and let him know where you are before he sends Officer Jenny out looking for you," Gio suggested quietly, snapping back to the present.

"Sure." Tucker sat upright, scratching at his shoulder and making with that bashful grin again. "Any chance you could give me a lift back to Pallet Town?"

"In the morning," Gio said, ruffling the boy's unruly hair as he rose to his feet. " You can crash here for the night—again."

"Awesome!" Tucker cheered, rising with him at twice the speed and energy.

"I hope you at least packed a toothbrush in your backpack this time."

"Sure did," the boy exclaimed triumphantly. As he turned toward the house to unpack, he stopped to point to Diamond Dust parked at the inner gate. "Probably better we don't ride into town on that thing at this hour anyway. People might think we're part of that biker gang."

Gio smirked. If only he knew.

"I'm not kidding, Gio," the boy insisted, his features warping into a serious expression that didn't suit him at all. "They've really been giving people a scare lately. If I had some Pokémon of my own, I'd set them straight. It's like they have nothing better to do than pick on Trainers and steal Pokémon for fun."

Gio leaned against the balustrade next to him, tugging absently at his gloves. "Maybe it's not for fun. Maybe they have a reason."

"There's no good reason to steal Pokémon," Tucker countered, his voice a cross between a chuckle and a snort. He really was too innocent, too naive, even for the world as it was now. It drove Gio crazy sometimes, yet he admired it at the same time.

Gio turned his head to smile weakly at Tucker. "Well, I wouldn't worry about them. Something tells me they might cool things down."

"What makes you say that?"

"Intuition, I guess," Gio replied, shrugging. There was nothing uncertain about his decision though. He would have to rein in his gang a bit, even if Team Rocket didn't like it. He couldn't let Narissa's story from earlier continue to haunt the noble Pokémon Trainer still living inside of him, carrying his conscience, sheltering it from the dark.

Tucker gave a yawn, stretching his skinny arms over his head. "Well I hope you're intuition is right about more than just that," he said. "If my dad comes around and lets me have a Pokémon after all, I might just have to wash Diamond Dust for a month or something."

"Deal," Gio agreed on the spot, smirking. They laughed, and Tucker started back inside. Gio looked back toward the night sky, but heard the boy's footfalls stop in the doorway.

"Hey, Gio."

He turned his head, lifting a brow to Tucker.

"Do you ever miss it?"

"Miss what?"

The boy shrugged. "You said you don't get much freedom as a Gym Leader. Does that mean you miss the old days?"

Gio slid his hands into his pockets and wet his lips, scraping his mind for an answer. "All I can say," he began, pausing, "is that you're not stuck here alone, pal."

Tucker nodded, but it was a low, unsure one that made Gio chuckle deep in his throat. Finally, another yawn claimed the twelve-year-old. "Well, I'm bushed. Think I'll head in."

"Call your father," Gio reminded flatly, furrowing both brows to show he meant it.

"Aww, you just had to remind me, didn't you?" Tucker laughed, rubbing his eyes. He turned, stopping halfway to wave to Meowth. "Goodnight, Meowth! Sleep well!"

"Meeeerow!"

"Tucker," Gio uttered, the uncharastic crack in his own voice giving the boy pause. He swallowed, gathering himself before continuing. "Just… for the record, I'm glad you came here."

Tucker smiled sleepily at him, and then without a word disappeared into the house.

Gio remained put, passing a quick glance to Meowth. The Pokémon almost seemed to read all his thoughts with just one look alone. Meowth had only met his father once, for a fleeting moment but in the flesh, back in the Distortion World. Yet Gio was constantly reliving that moment, questioning how real it had been, what it meant for him.

And now every time he encouraged Tucker to appreciate his father, the advice didn't sound any less selfish to his own ears. Because he almost always spoke it from that brief window of time he'd shared with his father in that torn, sundered world, always wishing it could have been longer. His father was alive. He knew it. No one could tell him otherwise. He'd seen him with his own eyes.

But they were worlds apart now. Clint Ketchum was trapped in one dimension, and Gio couldn't feel more alone in his own, constantly pressed in by a darkness nesting inside himself. Delia and Tucker were the only torches he had handy to keep it at bay, yet too often did it feel like they were just dying embers doomed to burn out, and it terrified him just thinking about what might happen when they finally did. What would that day look like for him?

"Dad," he whispered into the night sky, his voice a rasp in his throat. "I'm losing myself. I need you."


The Grandmaster's chambers weren't exactly royal accommodations, but it was the perfect refuge for Aurora's recent problem, commanding a nice lookout view from the top of the Shadow Tower. Not that the White Cloaks—or any Cloaks, really—would care to wander this far out from the Under Region's capital. This zone belonged to the witches, after all, and few cared to get tangled up with their likes.

Aurora pulled more warm blankets over Jax's still form, one paw brushing his bruised forehead. "He hasn't said much. He keeps drifting in and out."

"His recovery will be a long one," answered a deep, well-mannered voice from across the room. She looked over her shoulder; opposite the bed where Jax rested was a reading desk and chair, and against the wall next to it was a tall bookcase filled with books where her master had wandered off to.

He was a tall, wiry human; his silver hair was long and tied into braids and whiptails that brushed against his bright blue robes. His beard, too, dropped far, yet framed his face from around aged, withered lips. It was a strong face, not harsh but full of laughter and wisdom. The crow's feet at the corners of his sunken, green eyes, in all honesty, concealed his true age marvelously.

Pinned to the cusp of his robes, just beneath his neck, was the sigil of the Aura Guardians of old. She remembered once staring at it in bewilderment, clueless to the ancient background surrounding the honorable, medieval protectors of the Brethren Kingdoms. She never would have imagined herself an inheritor of their legacy. If only the people of Paradise Kingdom could see her now...

Aurora turned her head forward again, her gaze traveling down to Jax's paralyzed bottom half. She frowned at the thought that came to her next. "I fear his legs may be…"

"He has his life," the Grandmaster spoke over her gently. "That is what matters. And he has you to thank for it. You did the right thing."

She set loose a shaky breath hearing that, and turned toward her mentor. "Brutis and the others might disagree."

The human slid a dusty old tome back into its rightful place on the shelf in front of him and then twisted around to regard her. "What they don't know won't harm them," he said, as if it were that simple.

"But what they do know could harm me."

He shook his head, his great beard swaying left and right. "I have masked his Aura signature. The White Cloaks cannot trace him. And even if they could, Morbis would not let them act on it, not until speaking directly to me himself."

She swallowed, and threw another glance Jax's way. "I hope you're right, master."

He moved beside her, standing over the unconscious human's bedside. "Even so, it is paramount we avoid such contention and do what we can for this boy as quickly as we can. You searched his belongings, I take it?"

Aurora nodded and knelt down to scoop up the damp, leather object she'd left tucked into the side of the mattress. "He had this wallet in his pocket."

The Grandmaster stared at it, stroking his beard. "I presume it contains identification of some kind?"

The wallet opened in her paws with a snap, and she gingerly pulled out a laminated card with his photo plastered on it. The corners were wet and crumpled, and the smeared words on it were just barely legible. "His name is Jaxton Kingsley," she read aloud, squinting. "Isn't that the son of Ryker Kingsley?"

The Grandmaster hummed. "Most certainly."

"Ryker Kingsley is a public icon," she said, looking up to meet her elder's ponderous gaze. "How did his son end up in the company of a bunch of mercenaries?"

He didn't respond posthaste, first charting a path back behind his desk. "Children act out and revolt in many different ways for many different reasons."

"You believe Ryker's parenting turned his son into a rebel?" she inquired, following her master's movement across the chamber.

"That is not for us to say," he said in rumbling baritone. He assumed his seat behind the wicker desk and motioned to the bedridden boy. "Our only concern is making this damaged spirit whole once more."

She nodded, clasping the pendant around her neck, inhaling and exhaling slowly. "Of course. All life is precious. The way of the Aura Guardian."

He chuckled once, then his face lighted with a fond smile. "One does not need to be an Aura Guardian to preach or practice those words. Or a Seer. But as you are both, I would say the boy is in good hands."

Aurora offered a smile in return, humbled by his plaudits, but it slipped as she walked back toward the occupied bed. "I've done all I can to alleviate his injuries. The Coalition has the means and technology to restore him to full health, I suspect, but I couldn't possibly go behind their backs."

"Nor should you," the Grandmaster warned. "Everything will be under tighter lockdown now that the Lustrous Orb has been stolen. The risk is not worth your life nor his."

She sighed softly. "Then I suppose he's stable enough to return to the surface and receive further medical care there."

"As he is now, he cannot go back."

Aurora whipped her head around at her master, taken aback by the statement.

He slowly held up his palms, as if to ease her fairly obvious concern for the boy. "His memory of what happened will most assuredly remain with him. There is no guarantee he will stay quiet. Even if the others on the surface do not believe what he has to say, the Coalition has eyes and ears everywhere. They would follow the breadcrumbs and find you and me at the end of the trail, but not before first destroying poor Jaxton here."

She managed a small nod. "I figured all that from the beginning. That was why I brought him directly here."

"A wise decision," he recognized, but a frown was etched into his mouth. "But now we must settle upon another decision. It may be in our best interest to simply scrub this young man's memory. I can call upon Mother Lavender and her clan to perform that service."

She swallowed an apprehensive lump in her throat at the suggestion, and ran her paw comfortingly over the sleeping human's bandaged arm. "Can they be trusted not to speak of this?"

"Few are more trustworthy in the Under Region than Mother Lavender," he assured her, the amiable smile in his voice bolstering each word. She knew she had no reason or right to doubt him anyway. The Grandmaster's judgment was almost never misplaced.

She nodded her consent, but didn't leave Jaxton's side.

"You still seem concerned for him," he observed from his post, and she twisted her head on her shoulders to smile up at her master.

"It's nothing, really," she said in a slight whisper. "I just wish I had gotten to know and understand him a little better, is all."

He sanctioned the sentiment with a nod. "I suspect he wishes the very same. Regardless, he—"

The crystal ball on his desk shuddered in place, silencing their conversation. The shadows within the orb before him began to swirl mystically, and he leaned forward, so close that his nose almost touched the glass. His face turned ashen pale.

Aurora felt his unease palpably, and raced over to his side. "Master? What's wrong? What's happened?"

"A disturbance," he whispered.

"Another one?"

He shook his head, slow and grim. "This one brings death and destruction with it. And beyond that, a blinding light comes to swallow the Under Region from many directions."

"Light? But isn't that good?" She squinted into the glass, trying desperately to see what he was seeing in the black shapes and spirals, but it was to no avail. Unlike him, she'd never trained the dark arts of Mother Lavender's witch clans. He'd explicitly forbade her from exploring those aspects of Aura Mastery, apparently for her own good.

The orb went calm, and he leaned forward so abruptly he almost fell out of his chair. "Aurora," he uttered, his voice hoarse as he began rubbing his temples furiously. "I feared something terrible was about to transpire. Now I know I was correct."

She felt the omen tingle down her spine, but checked herself and straightened her posture. "How long do we have to prepare for this disturbance?"

The Grandmaster peered ruefully at a blank spot of wall beyond her shoulder, spacing off. "As we speak, it is already unfolding," he whispered.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .


A/N: Yes, I aged up Tucker a bit from the last story for narrative purposes. At some point, I'll go back to the first two stories and retcon/edit this.

A very talented Deviantart user has made a beautiful cover art for this story, though I'm not permitted to share it just yet. I'll have it up with the next chapter most likely.

Next Chapter: Gio and Delia spend some much needed time together; Giuseppe declares war on Team Rocket, forcing Rita to make a tough call; an old foe comes to Viridian City to pay Gio a visit.

New Characters:

Giuseppe Depiro: The illegitimate fifteen-year-old son of Rita Ketchum and late mob boss Calypso Depiro. His very conception was on the orders of Metsuma Rocket, who believed Giuseppe would grow into a kingpin Rita could easily manipulate for him in the event his plans fell through and the mob sought retribution. Since Rita never so much as contacted Giuseppe after giving him up to the mob, he now harbors no empathy for his mother, thus no reason not to strike against Team Rocket now that he has ascended to godfather. He has pooled the Saffron Mafia's manpower and resources over the last two years in preparation to take back the criminal underworld. This character was briefly introduced (as a newborn) in the Enigma Chronicles: Echoes.

Marco Sappone: A respected capo for the Saffron Mafia, even at just sixteen-years-old. He is also everything to Giuseppe— right-hand man, loyal friend, and romantic interest. The son of a butcher, he grew up impoverished until his father's death ultimately left him orphaned and destitute. Giuseppe befriended Marco and rose him up into something more, someone of importance. For this reason, Marco now feels intensely indebted to the young mobster and would do anything for him.

Rue: Also called Priestess Rue. She is a Delphox with telepathic abilities and a gift for powerful magic, using fire to see into the future. She has voyaged all the way from Kalos to serve Giuseppe, believing him to be the centerpiece of a mysterious prophecy that must be realized. Many of the underbosses in the Saffron Mafia see her as an outsider and a threat to the business.

The Grandmaster: Aurora's teacher, and a friend to the White Cloaks, particularly Morbis. In many ways, he is beyond their jurisdiction of authority and is one of the few in the Under Region not required to don a cloak of any color. Even so, he does keep a close eye on the Coalition's activities, sharing Aurora's fear that they might be losing their way. Though a powerful Aura Master, the full extent of his abilities is largely a mystery.