Being a mentor couldn't be possibly as hard as his Aggron lead him to think. His first week of being a champion became a reclusive blur. He had one battle against a trainer who, he had to admit, had a lot of talent. During their battle, he tried to find points where the opposing trainer could improve and rattled them off in his brain. It was so simple to think what he wanted to fix about their form, but on the one occurrence where he actually tried to verbalize it, he stuttered and stumbled over all of his words. Farran had been out wrestling with a Rhydon at this point, and had actually stopped to look at him like he was about to be sick. Truth be told, Mike had been close.

The young man came up afterwards and shook Mike's hand, conceding defeat. When he got closer, he noticed the odd look on the Champion's face.

"You okay, champ?" he asked.

"Never better," mumbled Mike.

Most of the rest of his week was spent ferrying his belongings between his house and the Champion's Bungalow again. Babe the Grumpig easily teleported them to and fro, and with Mike and two of his other teammates helping, they had soon shifted everything to the hillside funhouse. As the Aggron and the Breloom hauled in various bits of furniture, Mike took a seat with Babe for a moment, scratching the pig absently behind the ear.

"What's up," Babe asked, leaning in to the scratching, "oh, wait, I'm a psychic." The attitude was not lost as Mike felt the tendril of power slink in to his mind. It retracted rather quickly, and the Grumpig frowned up at his trainer.

"I don't mean to stomp on your dreams," the Grumpig started, causing Mike's face to fall, "but you're gonna have to break up with that Bertha girl."

Mike's hand stopped scratching in slight surprise. This wasn't the news Mike thought he was going to receive. "Huh?"

"Your mind's a depressing hell-hole," the Grumpig explained, nudging the free hand with his snout, prompting Mike to continue scratching, "and whoever this Bertha girl is, she seems to be the cause of it. I personally don't peer further back than when you caught me, do you mind filling me in? Why do you like her so much?"

Mike sat there for a moment, thinking hard for the right way to put it. He didn't just want to flat-out say 'I was desperate and she was willing', but that was the case. During the few months they were actually, physically together, Bertha had been a source of affection and understanding. The last few weeks before he left, however, he was becoming sick of taking orders from her. She had worn the pants, and there wasn't much he could do to fight it. She also hated Pokémon training, and had become more outspoken against his team. But she had loved the idea of going to school, and Kanto had several great colleges. Mike spun a yarn about going off to college in Kanto, and then he was completely home free. He skittered back in to the Hoenn wilderness and trained to his heart's content.

Babe grunted indignantly. Mike had stopped scratching again, and the noise pulled him back to the present.

"Saw your little trip down memory lane." Mike attempted his magical shrinking act again, but the Grumpig just gave a sigh, "your actions weren't right. You should have just broken up with her."

"I did try, once," the trainer admitted, "but she started sobbing at the thought of it, and I just… Couldn't."

"So your answer was to run away?" Mike didn't want to discuss it. He stood up, but the Grumpig called out to him, "wait! I did say that it wasn't right, but it was also a justified action."

"You think so?" Mike looked to his Grumpig for some sort of forgiveness, something to settle his mind. The pig nodded, and his spirits lifted.

"You're a trainer, not a pet," the Grumpig turned to one of the few boxes that was left and started an odd dance, levitating it, "you should find someone who enjoys training as much as you. And you should break up with Bertha." The manipulate Pokémon's words sounded final, and Mike gave a sigh as the pig entered the house.

"He's right!" Farran and the Breloom called from the other room. Mike was caught off-guard. He though that the conversation had been a private one.

"Goomba, Farran!" Mike began his march, and called in to the bungalow as he entered, "how much of that did you hear?" He hunted down the two Pokémon, who gave him their best innocent looks. Farran eventually broke face and started snickering. Goomba the Breloom thumped him hard on the arm.

"No need to sound so terrified," Farran smirked, "we didn't hear anything. We just figured that you were talking about Bertha again, and hoped that Babe had called her a slut or something." Farran and Goomba chuckled to themselves as they shifted a sofa in to place, and Babe went about his odd dance as he arranged clothes in to a drawer. Mike just sighed again, taking his seat in the old leather armchair.

The first week blurred in to the next, which was relatively quiet until a Dragonite showed up at his door with a letter. Mike roused himself from bed to find that it belonged to Lance, and another meeting of the Champions had been called. Pokémon-delivered summons were a long-running tradition amongst the country's various leagues, and the dragon-tamer Kanto Champion must have pulled the short straw. Or offered. Mike didn't know much about Dragonite, but when it took off at near-sonic speeds from being almost motionless on the ground, he figured that they were incredibly fast fliers. He tore the seal and noted that the meeting would start the next day at noon, and his attendance was checked as "MANDATORY" in a little box. This wasn't unusual to him: new Champions absolutely had to attend their first meeting, under threat of… Mike stopped to ponder this. He was already one of the strongest trainers in his Region, what exactly could they threaten him with? He shrugged, making sure to write the time in sharpie on the back of his hand.

The next morning, bright and relatively early, Mike took a hold of his Grumpig's little paw and they warped away in to nothingness. The next moment, he reappeared in front of the Indigo Plateau. He looked up at the intimidating building, noting the many statues that formed a small maze at its front. Just getting to the fortress was a test of mental strength. Or of simple ingenuity. There was another moment of nothing before the trainer and Grumpig appeared on the front step. They just had time enough to read a hastily scribbled note taped to the door (CLOSED FOR MEETING) before it swung open.

"Ah, just wondering when you would arrive," spoke a sharply, yet theatrically, dressed trainer, "I forgot to remove an hour for Hoenn time, so it's good you arrived early. Mike, was it?" Mike took a moment to absorb the fact that people still wore capes. Kanto fashion was bizarre. Though, he though, Wallace had worn a cape. The man gently cleared his throat, and Mike snapped back to reality and noticed that he had left the man's hand extended. He shook it quickly, before recalling his Grumpig.

"Yeah. Uh," Mike wracked his brain for a moment while the man gave the Pokéball containing his Grumpig an appreciative look, "Lance, right?" Lance nodded, holding the door open for Mike to enter. They strode swiftly through the Pokémon Center and lobby and up through the Elite Four's rooms.

"I didn't know Grumpig could learn teleport," Lance commented, Mike struggling to keep pace as they pounded up another set of stairs, "it's a shame. We were taking bets on how long it would take you to get through the maze."

"They can't, but a trainer I beat while I was training was from Kanto, and offered up some old TMs as payment," Mike huffed as they surmounted the last staircase, "turns out just about any psychic can learn it. Sorry for ruining your fun, though."

"Don't be," Lance said with a smirk as they passed through the fifth and final arena, "I put a grand in the pot saying that you'd be smart enough to either teleport or fly." They shared a chuckle before finally reaching the Champion's lounge. Next to the Pokémon Recording Machine was set up a large, round table covered in boxes of Pizza, take-out boxes, and cans upon cans of soda. Mike couldn't help but smile at the sight. Champion's Meetings were basically parties where the small talk was provided for you. Around the table were seated maybe a dozen people. Half seemed to be teenagers and twenty-somethings who were world-weary, and the other half were old trainers who were kids at heart. And, to Mike's surprise, there were a healthy amount of capes. Or cloaks. Or trench-coats.

Mike took a brief second to look at his attire, plain jeans and a black Polo shirt with a Keckleon-style Blue zigzag. Keckleon shirts had always been relatively popular in Hoenn, but he could already see some of the teenagers (especially the few girls that were there) give him looks and smirks. Horizontal stripes, regardless of how they zigged or zagged, were not slimming. 'Or maybe,' he though with a pang, 'they have all heard those Bertha stories about me…'

"Pot's mine, I-" Lance called with a grin as he approached the table, but he was met with a quick retort before he could finish.

"Finally, you could use some loosening up!" came a comment from a trench-coated Champion, who immediately produced a small, rolled-up… something. A roar of laughter met this, but it petered away when the offended Champion grabbed the joint and expertly tossed it in to a trash can on the far end of the table. In the commotion, Mike seated himself between two Champions he had never met before, and helped himself to a slice of pizza. Lance took his place at the head of the table.

"He teleported past the maze," there was a collective groan at Lance's smugness, and a great deal of money flowed down the table and in to the dragon tamer's hands. "… And with that, out last Champion is here. The meeting is in session, team leaders on the table, please." There was a short pause before everyone produced a Pokéball and placed it in front of themselves on the table. The longest-running Champions seemed to place their capsules almost in unison, while the newest Champions had to fumble and grope for their teammate for a few moments. Mike placed Farran on the table with a timing nearly in the former category, just a hair slower than Lance had been. He took a moment to look around the room, as they all did in the following silence. The eldest of the Champions held in front of them Apricorn Balls of various colors and shapes. There was at least one ball with a spigot instead of a button, as was the old style. The younger trainers almost unanimously had standard Pokéballs, with few exceptions but in varying conditions. Mike's was middle of the road: covered in scuffs, fingerprints, and scratches, with a small dent on the top-left side of the orb.

"Why do we do this again?" Mike looked up to see who had posed the question. It was the trench-coated man from before, and a few of the elder Champions scowled at him. Lance, however, just gave a sigh as he rolled a very worn Ultraball between his fingers.

"Leaving your most prized Pokémon on display is a show of respect," Lance paused and muttered something under his breath, to which the closest few Champions near him snickered, "and, at older meetings, it gave the courtesy of knowing what was coming if an argument arose. Back when Pokéballs were Apricots with names carved in them, or custom-made and highly expensive Capsule Balls that would usually be engraved with the name and species. I see some of you have even marked your newer models, or written on them with sharpies."

"Or our hands," hissed a smartly-dressed, caped trainer to an attractive blonde-haired twenty-something next to him, "and the lard-ass still can't get here on time."

Mike took the opportunity for an example. He flicked Farran's Pokéball across the table, where it connected with the cup in front of the offending boy. As soda spilled down his front, a large angry Aggron appeared at his back. Before he knew what was happening, he was hauled in to the air and away from his own Pokéball. Farran bellowed loudly, locking the trainer in a full nelson and causing everyone's head to snap around to the metal lizard. Some of the younger trainers even jumped in surprise, and Mike was sure he could see his little monster smirking at the quivering trainer in his hands.

Lance and a few other trainers went for their own Pokémon, but the blonde raised her hand towards the head of the table. "The young man next to me just made a nasty remark about this man's figure," she spoke. Her voice, though stern, seemed to hang in the air with her slightly mystic tones. She motioned towards Mike with a small smile, "if you ask me, it's a picture perfect example of why we have our dearest member so close at hand."

"He called you fat?" Farran growled through his translator, having dropped his usual lax demeanor in favor of his natural defensiveness, "this twiggy little prick is making fun of you for being healthy?" He punctuated the last word by hoisting the offending trainer higher still in to the air. The clever caped boy croaked out a cry for help. It was ignored for the moment.

"Farran," Mike soothed, "I was just making an example." He could have sworn that the Aggron whined at him. He must have been right, because most of the other Champions began to chuckle.

"C'mon, just a nibble," Farran asked to more laughs. He was lapping the moment up, leaning in to the trainer and giving a deep, metallic growl. Mike smiled at him, eyeing the cape around his neck.

"Just the cape," Mike conceded, to with Farran gave a roar of joy and snapped in to the fabric. The trainer screamed in fear for a moment before he was roughly set back down in his chair. Reaching around with a claw, the Aggron cut the string holding the cape around the boy's neck and proceeded to practically inhale the cape. With a belch, the room finally lost it again, and Lance had to thump his own Pokéball like a gavel to get them to come back 'round.

"Come on, we've got some important stuff to discuss!" Lance gave Mike a sharp glare and he took it as a cue to return Farran. Retrieving the Pokéball from in front of the recently roughed-up young man, the Aggron disappeared in a flash of light. "Cynthia, however, was right. That was a perfect, if out of character, display. From what we've seen of you, you've been a bit on the meek side of things lately, Mike. You alright?"

"You had business," Mike mumbled as the meekness in question returned, "and I had motivation." Lance gave a nod.

"We'd like to see a little more of that ferocity outside of the ring," Lance gave him a reassuring smile, but Mike had been lead back in to tender territory. As he withdrew slightly in to his collar, Lance cleared his throat and continued, "anyways, the main reason I called this meeting is because, after much deliberation, it has been decided that the Kanto and Johto leagues will be fused. We are both very close to the region's major professors, and rather close to the final gyms in the circuit. And, due to both of our region's relatively small sizes separately, it just seemed to make sense. And before you ask," Lance took a long drink of soda to hide his grin, "Karen and I settled the debate in the noble way. Thus, I will be the reigning Champion of the Tohjo League, with Karen as the final member of our Elite Four."

There was a round of applause before the next Champion stood up and began to relay the news he had about his nation. Everyone seemed to be experiencing a rare moment of peace and quiet. Mike found himself wishing he had been champion while he was out training, as all of the excitement in the continent had happened while he wasn't looking. Team Rocket had finally fallen to some young, powerful trainer, another region had more and more sightings of Mew in their jungles, even the Hoenn region had a trio of Legendaries appear. Mike remembered a short period of time where that must have happened, and he had just disregarded it as inclement weather.

"Would the new Hoenn Champion please present himself," Lance called across the table, snapping Mike from his memories of traded news and training days. He stood quickly, looking across the table to the man who had called him. Lance motioned for him to speak, and Mike reluctantly did so.

"Michael, er, Mike Almus," he knew how he had to introduce himself, "Successor of Juan…" Mike hesitated. Juan's last name was particularly hard to pronounce. The blonde trainer from before, Cynthia, helped him by flawlessly pronouncing it. "Yeah, that," Mike muttered to a small chuckle from the others, "most of you know me, anyways. My Starter is Farran the Aggron, I hail from Dewford Town," Mike had a silly thought, and acted upon it, "and I've been sober for about thirty minutes."

"Hi, Mike," chimed some of the sharper trainers as the rest fell back in to their laughter. Mike gave a weak little smile as he continued.

"The Hoenn region's been quiet," Mike sounded more like he was thinking aloud with the volume he was speaking at, and several of the trainers leaned in to listen to him, "but Steven Stone sent me an e-mail the other day… 'Groudon and Kyogre are both still missing, but presumed to be quelled… Scattered sightings of sea chasms and caves mysteriously disappearing, but most stories unreliable… Sky Pillar is still off-limits," Cynthia gave a small sigh of distaste at this news, as did Lance, "and… Oh, both Archie and Maxie have been caught and put in to custody for their violent environmental extremism'. That's about it, region-wise, but…"

Mike hesitated, and the rest of the Champions gave him a look of anticipation. He felt himself subconsciously sink back in to his collar again.

"I want to be a mentor." Mike forced it out after a tense few seconds, to which some of the Champions gave a grunt of annoyance. Champions as mentors wasn't exactly a new idea. But Lance saw he was going somewhere with this.

"Oh?" Lance absently rolled his Ultraball underneath his hand, "well, I don't see there being much of a problem with that. But I don't think you would have brought it up if your judgment hadn't seen a problem…"

"For Kanto," Mike choked this out, too, and the Champions were all very suddenly interested again. In their own regions, Champions were free to do just about anything they pleased with their trainers, short of harming them. But there were often power struggles when Champions meddled in one-another's business. Especially when one of the Big Four - now the Big Three - wanted to preach his ways in another's territory.

Lance steepled his fingers over his teammate's capsule, seeming to mull the idea over. But it was Cynthia who spoke first.

"I've seen recordings of Michael's ventures and battles," the Sinnoh Champion's mystic tones filled the air again, "if there's one thing the young man is good at, it's Pokémon, and everything to do with them. Personally, I would imagine that you could only hope for better if a professor accompanied a trainer every step of the way." She relaxed in her chair, rolling a Pokéball around in her palm, "I think I'd overlook the classical boundaries in this case, Lance."

"If there's one thing we're all good at, it's Pokémon," Lance retorted, "and as much as I'd like to let him, he has his own region to look after. He can go talk to Birch and sort everything out that way. With all of his traipsing about, he probably knows those jungles like the back of his hand."

"Which is why he should go." Lance and Cynthia both looked to the voice that had spoke. Karen. She returned their surprised looks with a harsh glare. "This is my last meeting for a while, and I'll be damned if I can't say anything during it. That kid knows Hoenn, sure, but what's the fun in dragging some snot-nosed brat around the same boring circuit? The kid's gotta stretch his wings. You know what, Mike? Who cares what Lance thinks. I say do it."

The room was deathly quiet after Karen's outburst. Everyone in the room, besides Mike, Cynthia, Lance, and Karen, were looking tensely between the Johto and Kanto Champions. Relations between the nations politically had always been tense, to the point where people theorized that the Pokémon League was the only thing that kept them united. Now that the Leagues were uniting, however, things seemed to be getting tense between the two of them.

Cynthia, who had been looking to Karen, turned her vision elsewhere and found Mike's. She gave him a small smile of encouragement, but Mike missed it. Mike had turned to Lance and focused, waiting for his response with baited breath. Karen looked around the room, glaring down anyone who focused on her for a little too long. Lance had buried his face in to one of his palms, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

The Kanto Champion sighed after a moment, looking up from his hand towards Cynthia, "will he be able to keep his duties-"

"I'm right here, sir." Everyone's eyes shifted to Mike, surprised at the second show of gumption from the usually painfully shy boy. Lance looked away for a moment, shame and embarrassment painting his cheeks red. Mike's voice shook with fear, or perhaps rage, as he continued, "j-just because I'm not the prime example of a Ch-champion, doesn't mean I don't exist."

"Why did you chose this moment in time to grow balls," murmured Lance, returning his face to his palm. There was a light 'ping' as a Pokéball lazily rolled across the table for a second time that evening. Farran's capsule found its way through the scattered items of food, coming to rest a few inches away from Lance's own starter. When Lance looked back up, Mike was leaning over the table, attempting to bore a hole in to Lance's skull with his eyes.

"Will you be able to keep your duties?" Lance asked from his palm. Mike's reply was curt.

"Yes, sir."

"When a challenger comes along, will you be able to make it back and accept that challenge?"

"Yes, sir."

"Will you stay out of the Kanto Gym Circuit?" Lance looked up once more. Mike hadn't budged.

"Just the Gym Circuit?" It came off as more of a statement.

"As long as you don't earn badges, you're fine." Lance looked down at his Ultraball, rolling it forwards to touch the foreign Pokéball. Mike gave a visible twitch as they connected.

"I will not challenge the gyms," Mike agreed. With a gentle push, Lance returned Farran to his owner, who gratefully scooped him up.

"… Then I see no problem with it." There was a short moment of silence after Lance made his decision, but it was broken when Cynthia began to clap. Karen joined in with a grin, and after a moment Mike was being hailed with a shower of applause. The closest Champions to him clapped him over the back. A wide, silly grin spread over his face as the cheering died down. He couldn't remember much more of the meeting, but Lance quickly dismissed them after that. Everyone took home a little something, and a few even stopped to wish Mike luck.

"Congratulations," Cynthia spoke to him in-between bites from a box of stir fry, "I expect to hear great things from your future pupil. Next time, though, just come up north. You're always welcome in Sinnoh, Michael."

Karen came from nowhere and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, "and I don't give a rat's ass what Lance says, Johto would be honored. It's good to see trainer's with the itch, especially so when Champions still have it."

"You guys are acting l-like I just won s-something," Mike stuttered out, painfully aware that two very pretty, older girls were flooding him with compliments. And one of them had her arm draped around him.

"Didn't you?" Cynthia asked with a knowing look. Karen gave a nod and shoved a box of pizza in to his hands before heading off after some of the other Champions. It was like they were reading his mind. He'd gained a lot more than a title recently. He was gaining some confidence.