Cyrus inhales deeply, letting the dusty air fill his lungs with determination. One hand grips the wheelchair handle, the other gropes the wall.

Nope. A sharp pain shoots up his kneecaps, and the next thing he knows, he's eating a handful of musty carpet. But Cyrus grits his teeth and forces his back upright. He gingerly folds his legs, eases his buttocks on the heels of his feet, and faces the darkened television.

"You will endure this," Cyrus mutters to himself. "This is nothing. Rotom's pain is much greater than a flesh wound…" The clock in the room had stopped long ago. Any notion of passing time is dictated by the irregular cadence of his heartbeat.

Then the hairs of his neck rises. All right. Don't mess this up.

"I know I'm the last person you want to see, but please lend me two minutes of your time." Silence. Cyrus breathes through his mouth. "I was inconsiderate of your feelings, and due to my negligence and ignorance, I've caused you undue stress.

"However, I know what I am capable of, and I know that I cannot keep all the promises I've sworn. These white lies… are like second nature to me. I never knew how much they could hurt those around me.

"That said, if you haven't given up on me yet, please give me another change to make it right. N-No promises, but I-I'll try to live up to your expectations of me."

"How-zzt-long have you been kneeling there, zzt?" Rotom hovers closer. "Cyruzzt, your knees are bleeding, zzt…"

"I refuse to budge unless I hear your judgement," Cyrus states flatly. "I don't expect forgiveness. But if you'll let me, I'll be a better f-fri… acquaintance—"

Rotom latches onto his chest. "Cyruzzt, you idiot, zzt… You're Rorom's old friend, zzt… I accept-zzt-your apology. Rotom also broke Rotom's promise too, zzt… I'll try not to be a crybaby anymore."

Cyrus almost topples from sheer relief. He holds Rotom tighter. "Heh. I… I guess we both have… hah…work ahead of us."

Rotom shakes its tears away and flashes a bright, wet grin. "C-Cyruzzt, let's go see the flowers! They're so beautiful, zzt!"

"Of… of course."

"What's wrong, zzt? Doezzt your stomach hurt?"

His chest is vibrating. "Can you… help me stand up?"

Skritch. Skritch. The sound of fingernails against thick, scruffy fur is music to Cyrus's ears. Weavile is purring until its grin fills up its face, which only prompts its Trainer to spoil it silly.

Someone coughs on his right. "No, I didn't forget about the rest of you," Cyrus hums. "You too, Rotom. There's still room on the chair." With Crobat clutched in his arms, Cyrus rests his chin in the groove between its ears. He closes his eyes, sighing deeply when the warm rays of sunlight kiss his nose. The laughter of the forest Poekmon wafts in and out like a summer breeze.

"Gyarados, over there. Do you see the roses and oleander? Next to the bushels of lilies, gladiolus, and balsamine… Hmm? You have a point, Honchkrow. Something is missing in the trio… Well, over there is a very peculiar arrangement of trees: from left to right, it goes: oak, elm, birch, rowan, juniper, and sycamore."

Then Cyrus frowns. "I… I had an odd dream last night. There was a big storm. Looking down from the top of the bluff, I saw the sea. I felt the wind against my back, as if I was falling… There was a reflection in the water, but it wasn't mine."

The Pokemon are dead silent. When Cyrus returns to the present, he realizes he has company.

"Master Cyrus, you okay?"

Cyrus gives a small nod. "Good morning, Mars and Saturn. Why must you insist on calling me 'Master Cyrus' as if you're addressing a cult leader?" They look quite rattled at the observation, as Cyrus expected.

So he backpedals. "Please call me Cyrus. Do I make myself clear?"

"But Ma—" A glare. "Bo—Cyrus." Saturn flushes. "H-How much have you remembered?"

"Not enough, but I'll repay you in due time." A sudden pain pricks the back of Cyrus's skull, in a particular spot on his scalp. This always happens whenever Saturn is around.

"Ma… C-Cyrus," says Mars. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." White noise is ringing in his ears. Cyrus swallows down a grimace. "I… I've been meaning to ask, but is Miss Jupiter your maternal guardian?"

Blank stares. Then Mars's lips part. "Oooh, you mean our mom? No, my mom has red hair like me. Jupiter can't match my mom in two dimensions!

"Anyhow, Saturn wants you to fix his toy."

"Hey! It's not a toy, it's a ProTeam Omega Galaxy Soldier! Give it back!"

"No!"

"HEY!" A crunch. "MAAAAARS!" Saturn looks like he's about to cry. This must be an object of sentiment, for its destruction to incite such an emotion.

"Saturn, may I borrow this for a second?" In his spare time, Cyrus had hollowed out a compartment in his wheelchair to stash his tools. This occasion calls for a screwdriver. Maybe a hex key too…

As his fingers dance on the metal stage, Cyrus finds himself humming a tune from the foggier pits of memory. A melody built on off-beats, laced with a swing. It relaxes him, as if he's currently strolling down a starlit corridor to a cozy office at the end of the hallway.

Some black coffee would be nice right now.

"You like jazz," Mars says with the finality of a statement and not a question. She puts her elbows on his armrest, lacing her hands under her chin. "Do you sing in the shower? I bet you have you a very angelic voice."

Cyrus chuckles. "If you want mirrors breaking, then sure. Nevertheless, jazz is interesting in that its composition deviates from what is considered to be 'classical music.'" Mars is watching him with utmost fascination, so much so that it makes him very uncomfortable. "S-Saturn, did you build this robot yourself?"

"No… Someone built it for me." Saturn is talking to the ground. "Why do you think he would go out of his way to make it, if he considers it a waste of time?"

What a strange question. "I wouldn't know, Saturn." Cyrus presents the newly fixed robot. "But… seeing how you've taken very good care of the gift, that person must be very proud. It won't hurt to ask him yourself if it bothers you this much."

Saturn ponders on that as he clutches his figurine. Mars appears to be lost in her own thoughts as well. Seeing how none of them appear to be leaving soon, Cyrus invites the two of them for a stroll in the garden.

Cyrus hears them before he sees them. This time, however, he seizes the opportunity before they can.

"I want to apologize for my behavior recently," Cyrus states. "I acted hastily and in my own selfish interests—"

A body flings itself into his arms. "Fuck you, Cyrus! That was 40,000 whopping volts of power! I-I know you said your spirit was bright, but I didn't mean it literally!"

"F-Flint, I… I can't breathe…" It's like struggling against an Ursaring. "I can get you a napkin…"

Volkner scowls. "Did a scruple enter your programming when you were a kid? Or did you fall on your head? Is that why you turned out to be such a mess?" Those words sting, but they must be said.

"I understand your concern, Volkner, and you're not wrong. But… I-If you're willing to give me another chance, I will try my best—"

"You're so fucking stupid."

"Y-Yes, I know. I'm very sorry…"

Flint is sobbing into Cyrus's shirt. Volkner rolls his eyes. Then he grabs Cyrus's shoulder. Squeezes it until his fingernails dig through fabric and the whole hand starts to tremble.

"If I'd accepted you earlier…"

"I'm sorry?"

"Idiot!" Volkner shoves his fists into his pockets. Shoves his back into the former's face. "Well? I clearly won, so you need to fulfill your side of the bargain. And no, I don't give a crap what Cynthia said. I'm the damn winner, and I want my goddamn juice."

A consequence of not wanting to sleep spawns the urge to do renovations in the middle of the night. That would explain the spanking new café in the kitchen.

Flint gives a low whistle as he takes in the lights and colorful Berry arrangements. "Dude… love what you've done to this place! The Spinda theme is so cute, just like my Lopunny! Look, Volks, there's an actual Spinda on the counter! Come here, little fella!" As Flint gushes over the spinning panda, Volkner has his eyes fixed on one thing in the room.

"The first step is to choose an ingredient," begins Cyrus. "I've picked an Oran Berry for this demonstration. Mint leaves and cardamom work well with this specific flavor… After we seal this, we shake it this way… Shake it that way… And stir it all around! And it's done!"

"PFFFFT!"

"Yo, Volks, what the blazing hell?! I just combed my afro!"

"Y-You…" Volkner is smacking his kneecaps like there's no tomorrow. "Pffft! Why do you have to do that little dance when you mix?"

That earns a frown from Cyrus. "That's what Spinda taught me. I'm only honoring its techniques… Why? Does that make you uncomfortable?"

"No," blurts the best friends in unison. Volkner is snickering, but there's nothing mean in his eyes.

"I think it's cute!" Flint adds with a thumbs-up, much to Cyrus's chagrin.

After a couple round of drinks, Flint kicks his sandals on the counter. "Dude, yesterday at the Gym Volks was about to stick a fork into an electric outlet until I came. Cy, tell him that's crazy."

Volkner shrugs as if it's no big deal. "Hey, that's just natural curiosity. Speaking of which… Cyrus, are you a DC or AC guy?"

"I think alternating current is more versatile than direct current."

"Wow, someone can actually hold a conversation with Vo—OW! My foot!"

Cyrus smirks into his napkin. "I've noticed you both have themed Pokemon teams… counterparts at that. Are both of you Gym Leaders?"

Flint huffs. "Dude, I'm one of the Elite Four, the toughest on the block! Volkner here is the Gym Leader of Sun—ow! My other foot!"

"The Elite Four are irresponsible," Volkner grunts. "Well, at least Flint is. I tell everyone he's irresponsible."

"Hey!"

Cyrus chuckles, earning a snort from Volkner. "You two are quite close."

"There's no lost love between us, that's for sure."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Flint wails. Then he claps his hands. "Oh, Cy, we have something for you! Well, Volks built it, but it technically my idea… Here. Sorry about the Christmas packaging though… we had a lot left from last year."

The glossy snowmen wave back at him. A giddy feeling tickles Cyrus's chest, and he instantly covers his mouth. His shining eyes travel down the contents of the gift: the aluminum shaft, the thin, lightweight shape, the cushioned knee platforms…

Volkner pats the speechless Cyrus on his shoulder. "We figured your ass will be stuck on that wheelchair eventually, so… ta-dah. Crutches from yours truly and Flint."

"Thank you!" Cyrus is grinning like an idiot now, and no amount of covering his mouth can hide that fact. "What wonderful handiwork… I'll put this to good use. If there's anything you'd like to me to do…"

"Actually, there is something." Volkner leans in until his minty breath tickles Cyrus's nose, until blue skies touch. "When this is all over, stop by my Gym at Sunyshore so we can have a proper rematch. Promise?"

By the time Cyrus finishes cleaning the countertop, the sun is already dipping low into the horizon. When he turns to leave, he almost runs over someone's foot.

"M-Miss Jupiter." Cyrus bows. "You're not… going home yet?"

"I'm going home right now."

"Ah." You can do this, Cyrus. With a deep breath, he raises his head. "Miss Jupiter, please wait. Do you have some time to spare?"

Jupiter stares at him. Not exactly at him, but she sees him. "Why?"

"There are still ingredients left in the refrigerator. If it's not any trouble, would you instruct me on ways of preparing food?"

"You… want me to teach you how to cook."

"Yes, Ma'am." A silence. Then Jupiter walks away without another word. Cyrus had seen this coming, so he bows again. "Thank you for listening. Have a safe jour—"

The next thing Cyrus knows, he's in the kitchen facing the older woman. Jupiter had changed from her blazer to a tank top that shows her glistening biceps. "Dice the vegetables. If you cut yourself, don't come crying to me."

"Y-Yes! I'll do my best!" As Cyrus takes up the knife, Jupiter catches those scars on his hands. Scars from metalworking, scars from burns, from scratches that went ignored. Her gaze settles on his face.

"Where'd you get that gaudy jacket?"

It takes Cyrus a whole second to realize that there is indeed a jacket draped over his shoulders. "I… I'm not sure. Volkner must've left it on me while I was drying the cups… I'll have to wash this before I return this to him."

A wonderful smell wafts from the broth. Cyrus grasps the bowl with both hands, inhales, and sighs.

"What's so funny?" grunts Jupiter.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry. I never knew I was capable of making anything edible… This has indeed been a very rewarding experience." His eyes are feasting on the food before his stomach can catch up.

"Where are you going?"

"To my room."

"You have a dining table right there." Cyrus stares at her. Jupiter sighs. She grabs the handles, drops him off at the head of the table, and sits down to his immediate right.

"Woah, Cyrus is actually sitting down to eat?" Out of nowhere, B-2 plops down on a chair. R-8 takes her seat and flashes a big grin at Cyrus's direction.

Something brushes against his legs. "Boo!" Mars pops out from under the table. "Ma—Cyrus is eating! Saturn, look, he's actually eating!"

Everyone is staring at him. Cyrus drops his head. "P-Pardon me."

"Your soup's getting cold," Jupiter says with her heel on the wheels of the wheelchair. "Why are you covering your mouth when you chew? Relax, Cyrus." He twitches. "Just eat. It's safe here."

It's safe here… Those words settle over Cyrus's heavy heart. These people… even if I'm useful to them for a while more, they haven't displayed ill will towards me. Someday this dream will end, but… I still have time before I wake up.

"Thank you." There is indeed something wrong with his taste buds, but Cyrus can feel the warmth sliding down his throat, settling in his stomach. Such a blissful feeling.

Jupiter brushes his loose hair aside, making room in his face for his eyes. Her lips gently curve upwards. "Arceus, Cyrus, you need a haircut. You look like a damn Woobat."

"This is the first time I've ever seen him eat with his team. Heh, they do look like a mismatched little family." Cynthia turns to her solemn detective companion. "You don't have to worry about Cyrus, Looker. He won't hurt anyone."

Looker rolls his tongue around in his mouth before speaking. "Cynthia, you do realize that Cyrus is still a convicted criminal. Stealing that Time Gear is a capital offense… and with his written confessions…"

"He wrote what we wanted him to write, Looker. We pushed him to that brink." When Cynthia closes her eyes, she sees that sterile white room. She sees the proud and cold man she once knew pick up that cheap plastic pen with his mouth. The same man who would never sign with anything but his favorite feather pen. Something had happened before that interrogation, something so traumatic it broke it his spirit.

"I'll vouch for him," huffs Cynthia. "Cyrus deserves a happy ending too."

Looker raises his brow. Scratches his head. "People show their true selves when they lose everything. If this is who Cyrus is without his memories, then I don't see any problems with the Champion of Sinnoh advocating for him. Granted, you were the one who put him away in the first place.

"But let me know if you need anything. My job is to help people after all." Looker pats her shoulder. "Take care, chosen ones."

As Cynthia marinates on the detective's words, a new voice sneaks into her consciousness.

"Time cannot stand still for Cyrus," Uxie says. "He will wake up from this fleeting dream. Why delay the inevitable?"

Cynthia answers that with a glare. Uxie sighs. "Yes, I know he's happier this way. Do not chide me for speaking the truth, child. You had your respite, now it's time to refocus on the story.

"Tomorrow, I would like you and Cyrus to begin collecting the five Time Gears. My youngest brother Azelf will await you at Northern Desert. Do I make myself clear, Cynthia?"

"Tch. Yes…"

"Tch. Now if only your words agree with your thoughts…" Then Uxie's face darkens. "Out of curiosity, has Cyrus been in the presence of… evil spirits?"

Cynthia blinks. "Uxie. The history of the Old Chateau is one soaked in blood."

"I know, but this spirit has a grotesque appearance unlike any other. It cannot speak nor heart, but it can sense emotion. It cannot walk upright, so it uses its wings… but the most prominent features are the stitches over its lips and the red chain wound around its neck."

That… sounds like something from a horror movie. Maybe Uxie's losing sleep because of excess worry. "I'll keep an eye out," Cynthia grunts. "Not like Cyrus isn't sick of my supervising him."

Uxie exhales sharply. "Good. You must absolutely prevent them from meeting, lest Cyrus wishes to lose his body."