POV: Cyrus / LOCATION: Veilstone Galactic HQ

It is a matter of time before I realize that I have been staring at the same clause of this contract for the last two hours. What's worse, I have been squinting for the entire duration, and my eyeballs are vibrating like someone has clapped me on the skull.

With great reluctance do I set aside my work for a quick stroll to the coffee machine. As soon as the coffee finishes brewing, I thrust the entire cup up with a hearty swallow. Strange. I no longer feel the bitter scald on my tongue, just a faint, tingling sensation. Damn my body and its fondness for breaking down at the most inappropriate moments.

I slump back on my chair with my fingers on my temples. Why is the damn room spinning like I'm on a ship? I feel like throwing up. So I resign myself to putting my forehead on my desk, staying as still as possible to conserve energy that has yet to be expended.

"Kid, you're still not dead yet?"

Through hazy vision, I can make out the scowling face of my right hand Commander. My head throbs in trepidation for another unnecessary lecture.

"I am not sick," I growl.

"You're shivering like a baby Starly up at Snowpoint." She tosses a box of tissues into my face. "Not only do you sound like a congested Wailord, but your nose is running like a waterfall."

I snatch some tissues and shove them against my nostrils. "Watch your language, Commander Jupiter. Need I remind you that I am your superior? If you fail to understand your position—"

"Then what? You'll fire me?"

I glare at her. She merely rolls her eyes, unfazed by my intimidation.

"What do you want?" I mutter.

She coyly hands me some more tissues. "For you to be a big boy and take your medicine, of course."

On my desk is a small white bottle, one I had not placed there previously, along with a glass of tepid water.

"Last Winter's fever was the most brutal," she murmurs. "You were in bed for a week, Cyrus… not eating, your temperature breaking 40°." Then she utters a gallows laugh. "Although, you almost bit my finger off when I tried to drag you to the hospital."

A mere mention of that wretched institution is enough to make me break into cold sweat. I absolutely abhorred hospitals. I'd rather suffer in a dark hole somewhere than be confined to a gurney with a needle in my arm.

"Two pills per meal period," says Jupiter. "Or else you're treading saline drip."

Grumbling will accomplish little in this situation. I reluctantly select two round, chalky tablets, slide them into my mouth, and wash it down with water.

Horrible. The taste of powdered acetaminophen brings back memories I longed to forget.

"Oh. Is it evening already?"

While Jupiter is distracted by the passing clouds, I quietly empty out a handful of tablets and cram them into my mouth. The gritty mass of crushed medicine grates down my throat akin to swallowing shards of seashells.

If need be, I'll cling to this illusion of perfect health if it tricks my body into working properly again. Hell, I feel better already.

When Jupiter finally returns her attention to me, I only need to spare her a flimsy smile.

"That wasn't so bad," she says, smirking. "This bottle is for fever though. Regarding your burns, we'll need stronger painkillers, but I'm worried about all these chemicals in your system—"

I stand. "What I need is to talk to B-2. Pardon me."

Jupiter seizes my collar. "I'm coming with you. We don't want a repeat of last time, when you fainted in a pool of blood in the lobby after your visit to Celestic."

A steady orange glow steeps the chromatic paint in dappled honeyed light. The floor can very well be a sea of sand whose grains glisten like diamonds.

"Cyrus?"

I peel my gaze from the window to Jupiter, who's staring at me like I truly need to get my brain checked.

"Why are you dawdling?" I say. "Come along now."

B-2 is not difficult to locate, given his defining characteristic. I spot his swollen arse boasting to the younger recruits about his heroic deeds—the only one that recently involved me.

All it takes is a tap on his shoulder to instantly disband the gossip circle.

"Cyrus!" B-2 yelps. "I-I mean, Master Cyrus. I, uh… Crap."

I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes into the back of my skull. "Why is it that every time I ask you to keep your mouth shut, everyone knows about it?"

"Why are you so surprised?" says Jupiter. "You're not exactly the epitome of physical health."

"And it you get sick so often that we got used to it," B-2 adds proudly.

I already feel a headache creeping up. "Never mind that. B-2, the updates I requested."

At that, B-2 discards his jester's façade, standing up straight with his arms crossed.

"Cynthia's been going in and out more often these days," he murmurs, eyes darting around the crowded corridor. "My scouts reported that she's been meeting with two people in Hearthome City."

Jupiter frowns. "Hearthome City? Was she seeing Fantina?"

"No, ma'am. We failed to see their faces, but we can confirm that they're both male Trainers."

Male Trainers? A duo? A sudden thought crosses into mind, a rather apprehensive assumption.

I suppose playtime is finally over.

"So your little publicity stunt at Valor Lakefront didn't cast off suspicion as intended." Jupiter glances at me. "What's with the blank look? Didn't you take her out to gain her trust? If the CEO of Galactic is seen with Sinnoh's Champion, all healthy and in one piece, no one would've guessed that you attacked her hometown."

"I was merely visiting," I gently correct. "It was her Garchomp who opened up the mural cave. Also, I have my own reasons to take her to the beach."

"Suuure you did. With you, there's always a reason for everything."

B-2 clears his throat. "Anyway, we apologize for not returning with adequate intelligence, sir. It was too risky if Cynthia were to catch wind of my intentions—"

I still his rambling with a hand. "You did what was requested of you, B-2. Update me once Cynthia returns."

"Yes, Master Cyrus." Then he hesitates. "Um… I'm aware that you're sick of people telling you this, but you need to take better care of yourself. All of us depend on you. If something horrible is to happen to you…"

I brush him aside. "Jupiter, I'm going to the Laboratory."

"He's worried about you," she hisses. "As do I."

I taste blood on my tongue as I continue marching steadily ahead. You think I'm that ignorant, Jupiter? Why can't you invest your time into something more worthwhile in the long run?