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"Up, up now, mi príncipe." Such a soft voice. She who spoke took the boy by his shoulders, raising him up from his bed despite his grumbles and protests.

Made to sit, the little boy rubbed his eyes and turned to face her, his eyes peering through squeezed eyelids. "Yes, momma."

"Come now, you will be late," his mother pressed, helping him stand up though he felt exhausted. "Papá is not a patient man, remember?"

"I know, momma. Thank you," he politely spoke, though his yawns said otherwise. Following the blurry figure of his mother, the daydreaming kid wandered through the lavish building with her, walking past a mirage of inflexibly expensive furniture, including waxed mahogany drawers, ceramic ornaments hung on walls, carpets of the finest wool strewn about the floor and tables made of quartz. The entire living room had been decorated: a fireplace carved in by the gentlest stonemason; a polar bear's entire pelt flattened for feet's comfort by it; curtains of silk; silver teapots and golden cutlery…

The entire place looked straight from a dream. The boy, as usual, was unfased.

Standing behind an important-looking desk on the furthest end of this wallet-crunching room was a man with long, straight clumps of white hair and a bun behind his head. His entire face was wrinkled and his eyes were sunken, showing his age and the long-endured stresses of his work. He was gowned in a regal reddened purple coat that fit as low as his ankles and stretched up and around his neck. The coat was lined with two golden silk lines that zigzagged by the middle of his coat from top to bottom, and on his right chest was a clipped on platinum badge with the shape of a poker spade. To his right stood at attention a lithe yet also somewhat busty pale figure with a natural white dress and green hair; her eyes closed and her hands clasped together by her waist. Her diligence and obedience abounded. By how highly she stood, she easily rivalled most men. The boy recognised her.

"Hi Caramel. Hello, poppa," he waved at them. His tone soured a bit when he mentioned his father. Much to practice, the boy kept himself close to his mother's hip, who looked more like a servant than a spouse from how she garbed; far more humble-like.

"Mi niño, Lorenzo," the man at the desk, his father, croaked out, his voice tarnished from decades of shouting and debauchery. "I trust you must have been busy as not to garb the boy," he said to the mother haughtily, earning him a bow of his own wife.

"Sí, señor. He insisted not to stand, and I daren't disturb him in his sleep."

"Mujeres. So dramatic." He waved his hand dismissively. "Déjanos."

Without a word for protest, the mother performed a curtsy and left, leaving the boy to whatever fate might come of him. Lorenzo blinked, watching his mother disappear down the halls, before walking up nearer the desk at his father's beckon.

"Poppa, why do you speak in weird tongues?"

"Worry not, mi niño. You will abandon it when you age."

"I want to learn what it means!"

"You will be much too busy to worry yourself over tongues," Caramel, the Gardevoir, added at her own discretion. The father nodded.

"Precisamente. Now, come closer, hijo mío."

"Can I sit on your lap, poppa? I miss it."

"You may sit on Caramel's."

The Gardevoir tapped her legs invitingly, but the young Lorenzo only looked disgusted. "No! Pokémon are beasts!"

The father guffawed. "Exacto! Yes, that is just right. Beasts, mi hijo. Monsters."

Caramel rolled her eyes with a smile, giving the man's shoulders a rub.

"Now, though this is true, they do serve a purpose. One day, it will be your job to keep them underfoot. You understand this, ¿sí?"

Lorenzo folded his arms. "But I want to be a pianist, poppa! I've been practicing for—"

"You will be whatever your father tells you to be, Lorenzo," Caramel argued.

Lorenzo shot a finger her way. "Shut up, monster!"

The father cackled some more, delighted to see his son's influences take form in his mind. For decades, he had fed the lad the same slop story. Pokémon were monsters beyond human understanding, and could only co-exist if they were subservient. Though she should be offended, Caramel only giggled at his blatant racism.

"Tus hermanos, Hector and Valentino, have already taken over our guerrillas and plataneros. They are hard working men! We just need one more strong man to take over your old Papá's charges. You would like to know, yes?"

"Yes, poppa!" the boy exclaimed, enthusiastic. The unease still lingered in his mind.

"Very good, very good! Lorenzo will be un hombre fuerte one day, no, Caramel?" the father stood and asked the Gardevoir, stroking her cheek all too affectionately.

She cupped his hand with her larger one, her cheeks beaming pink. "Of course he will, Gwyn. He is your son."

The father, Gwyn, smiled broad, turning back to his son. "As you know, Pokémon are worth a lot of money when they work. That is where gloria lies. Our gloria…"

When faced by Gwyn's puzzled look, she nodded and said, "Glory."

Gwyn nodded. "That's it. Our glory. We know they are not merely good for chewing and mauling and brutalising. We know they can be better than that, can't they mi hijo?"

Lorenzo didn't look comfortable to see his father treat that nasty Gardevoir witch like his bride, but he knew better than to complain to him. Always submissive to his father's whims, he nodded, his fists balls excitedly. "Yes, poppa! Leonie is good! She's a very good friend, and knows to behave!"

Gwyn looked back at the Gardevoir and then at his son, allowing a tense silence to settle. "She is not your friend, son."

"Wh- huh? But… why, poppa? She says—"

Gwyn raised his voice some. "She is your toy. How do you treat your toys? Like your friends?" he asked, coming closer and bringing his face down near Lorenzo's, imposing his stature on the young lad.

"B-But… I treat them like…"

"You throw them, don't you?" Gwyn mumbled. "You kick them. You push them, squeeze them, break them. Don't you, Lorenzo?"

"O-On accident, poppa…"

Gwyn hummed contentedly, standing up straight again. "And I keep having to buy you more! But that is okay. A young man cannot gain strength without breaking his toys."

"I'm sorry…"

"Do not apologise, Lorenzo," the Gardevoir chimed, her voice almost as soothing as his mother's. Her's, however, was deceptive. Cunning. Ill intent seeped off her tongue like venom. "You can do the same to Leonie. When you grow older, you will know how to treat her. And she will do well by learning her place beneath you. And if she doesn't…"

Lorenzo gulped, seeing her eyes glow.

Caramel sighed. "I will protect you."

"P-Protect me? But Leonie wouldn't…"

Gwyn interjected. "She would rip you to pieces, mi niño. Pokémon are vicious creatures. If they are not educated… If they are not shown where they belong, they will rebel. They become monsters."

Lorenzo's eyes brimmed with tears. "But I don't want Leonie to be a monster…"

"Then treat her like a toy, sweetie," Caramel said with such a placid yet dangerous smile.

"B-But… I don't like seeing her cry…"

"You will one day, mi hijo," Gwyn said, cooing his trusty Gardevoir. "Promise me."

"P-Promise what?"

"That you will keep that Zorua underfoot."

Lorenzo looked down, hands behind his back. He wanted to say no, that it was wrong to hit his friend, but he knew not to disobey his father.

"Yes, poppa…"

After all, Pokémon were monsters. If they weren't raised beneath humans, they realised their strength and chewed innocent men and women and children apart. Even Lorenzo, at such a tender age, would be torn to pieces. And so, he took the picture his father gave him—a picture of his future workplace, the nature of which he would not understand for a few more years—and walked back to his room.

His stomach was empty. Lorenzo didn't want to eat. He threw himself in bed, staring at the ceiling. His sniffles would go unheard by his father. His crying would be pampered by his mother, a mere shell of a human being that worked more out of servitude than a motherly instinct. It only made him feel worse, especially when she walked out of the room with that meaningless smile of hers. Instead…

"Lenzy…?" another voice reached out to him. Lorenzo sprung up from his bed, noticing the little dark fox that had slipped in through his window.

"L-Leonie?" the boy choked out, quick to wipe his eyes of tears. "Leonie! What are you doing h-here?"

"I saw you crying, you know," the Zorua pouted, stomping her little foot.

"I know but… What are you doing?! If poppa sees you, he will hurt you! Caramel will… will feed you to the dogs!" Lorenzo panicked, rushing to pluck the fox from the windowsill and hide her under his covers like he had several times before.

Not concerned with where she was taken, trusting the tiny human, she smiled comfortingly. "I know, but… You were sad. You need my help."

"N-No Leonie, I'm fine."

The Zorua didn't believe him of course. As a trickster herself, she could easily see through lies, even at her age. Nuzzling him, much to his giggling affection, she smiled up at her best friend. "Don't worry, Lenzy. I will put a stop to whatever bully did this to you."

"N-N-No, Leonie… It wasn't a bully. It was poppa."

The Zorua gasped. "What? What did he do?"

Lorenzo sighed. "He just said some mean things…"

"About you? That bully! I will chew his ankles!" Leonie barked, snapping her jaws in emphasis.

The boy giggled, trying his best to stay quiet. "Shush! He will hear you! And no, it wasn't about me."

"Hear me?" the Zorua said. Raising her head high, she twitched her ears a bit, and then smiled. "Don't worry, they're mating right now. He won't hear us."

"M-Mating? Oh… Ew!"

The Zorua giggled some more at his childish disgust. "Did he tell you where you're gonna work when you're big?"

"Yes, he said I was gonna work in a uh… A uh… Mmn…" Lorenzo struggled to remember the exact words. Instead of piecing together a memory he likely lost, he took out the picture from earlier and showed it to her.

From just the picture alone, which included a sign with a Lopunny figure on a pole, the Zorua could figure out what it was. "Oh…"

"Mhm. Poppa said it's a place where men go to see naked girls. And they're Pokémon! It's so gross! I don't wanna work there! Why does Hector get to work with soldiers while I have to work with a bunch of weirdos!"

Leonie chuckled sheepishly. "I mean, it's not all that bad. You won't be in danger or stuck under the sun all day."

"I want to be in danger! I want to be under the sun! I love adventure! I don't wanna work in a sweaty place like that!" Lorenzo protested, waving his arms about.

"And… well… you could mate." Leonie added, a huge blush on her face.

"I don't wanna mate! Especially not with a Pokémon!"

"Hehe, well, okay. But what did Gwyn say to you that was so mean, anyway? If it wasn't about you…"

"Ah, well, he said that… that…" Lorenzo struggled to finish his sentence. Feeling the urge to protect his friend, he suddenly grabbed her in a tight embrace. "He said I'm supposed to hurt you…! I don't wanna hurt you, Leonie! I only want us both to be smiling, forever and ever!"

Leonie blinked, returning his hug with all the affection she could muster. Having heard his words, she smiled. "You know… You're the first Mayth I've heard that has ever shown so much compassion."

Lorenzo unlatched from her for a moment. "Huh…?"

Leonie giggled. "Well… Your daddy, your mommy, your brothers and even your granddaddy were always very mean to Pokémon."

"Well… they're monsters…" Lorenzo muttered out, though it felt a lot worse saying that around Leonie. "But you're different, Leonie! You're a good person, a-and more than just a creature!"

Leonie smiled. Though young, she had gone through so much already. Planting a little kiss on his cheek, she said, "Thank you, Lorenzo. I know your future sounds scary, but I promise, I'll always be there for you. I will protect you."

Lorenzo blushed. When he heard that Gardevoir witch say it, it sounded wrong. Forced. Scripted. It felt as though she would devour his very soul if he did entrust her with his life. Caramel terrified and disgusted him. Like a creep on a bus, she was always there. Watching. And yet, when Leonie said it, he felt a genuine wave of comfort wash over him. Leonie, unlike that witch, meant every word she said. The irony that an illusion-conjuring fox would choose not to deceive him, while the Pokémon that brimmed with beauty and elegance would, made him sick to his stomach. So quickly, just like that, his heart was given.

He gave it to a Pokémon.