The wind picked up by the time Guzma had stomped all the way up to Route 2, fuming the whole while. Of course Kukui had been behind all of this, the asshole! He was always sticking his nose in shit that wasn't any of his damn business! Always trying to play the hero! Always butting in when he wasn't wanted! It made Guzma want to smack the stupid smile from his face. Some things never changed. As he walked up the steep slope, he stopped, pivoted on the spot, and slammed his heel through part of the weathered and rotting wood fence. It splintered satisfyingly under his force, and Guzma snarled as he lashed out again. He wasn't an idiot, and he wasn't helpless. Debris went flying as more old wood shattered. There was a gap in the fence, now, and with a wild surge of energy Guzma decided it needed to be bigger. He whirled to the next post and wound his leg back, ready to smash it to pieces.

And then he paused.

Broken. Shattered. Shit. More property damage. Instead of striking out, he stepped back once, then twice, anxiously looking both ways down the route. He didn't see anyone else, he realized with some small hint of relief, and if he was lucky, no one had run off to snitch before he noticed them. It was an old and shitty fence, but he was still up to his ears in fines for Po Town. Desperate to put the scene of the crime behind him, Guzma started back up the route with renewed vigor, snatching his cell from his pocket and slipping his buds into his ears. He hit the speed dial; it hardly ringed once before a familiar voice answered.

"Guzma," Plumeria said, "that's a surprise. What's up?"

"Uhh," Guzma answered, slipping his phone back to his pocket as he held the shitty built-in earbud mic towards his lips, "I, uh, just got bored. Thought I'd call. Where... where are you?"

"Battle Tree, dumbass, where do you think?" A pause. "Guz, is everything alright? You get in trouble again?"

"No. Uh, well, a little. Mostly no. I don't—think anyone saw. Ah, but the mall—I tried ta buy some shit, and goddamn, Plumes, I swear, the hoops you have to jump through just to get in a fuckin' shop..."

"What do you mean 'a little?'"

"Nothin'—s'nothin'. Just, uh, broke somethin'. Again. A fence. No one saw!" he quickly clarified, "I'm just, y'know, tryina find somewhere to hang so no one catches me, and, uh... It's been a weird day. Can we talk? Let's talk. How's the Tree goin'?"

Plumeria had done a much better job of turning thing around than Guzma had, relatively speaking. She was still out in that shitty trailer, but he knew she'd been spending her time training pokemon professionally. Every now and then she'd call to invite him to watch her challenge the Champion at the new League, but he made a point to stay far away from Mount Lanakila, and not just because fuckin' Kukui would hang around there on his off days. There were plenty of people who frequented it that he had no intention of speaking to, ever, until he died and came back to haunt them. Of course, Plumeria spent her time training against other trainers at the Battle Tree to get ready for her title matches. That's usually where she was when he caught her.

"You know, it's goin' alright, today," she answered, "lotta new foreign trainers must have blown into town. Been battling a lot of new faces."

"Ugh," Guzma replied as he made his way down to the shoreline, "fuckin' idiots with their socks and sandals, crawling all over the place. Had some Kalosian prick doin' Kukui's dirty work, today."

"Guzma, for the last time, Kukui's not out to get you."

"Fuck off. Yes he is. He's a jackass."

She sighed heavily over the line; she must have been sick of that topic, by now. Guzma maybe felt a little bad. A little. But he had no one else to bitch about Kukui to, and both of them were stuck on this island, together. He couldn't get far enough away—but he always knew one wrong turn, at any time, could bring Kukui into his path. The thought made him bristle. He wanted to smash the fence again.

"Don't smash anything," Plumeria wearily ordered, and not for the first time Guzma wondered if she was secretly psychic-type. "Come on. Grab a mantine and surf over, we can catch a few battles together. You need to let off steam. You could even stay the night with me, if you want."

"I can't," he grumbled, "I gotta work tomorrow if it don't rain."

"It's going to rain. Look at the sky."

"Might not be soon enough to get me out of mulchin'."

"Fine. But you have to come battle with me this weekend."

"I'm scrubbin' Po Town. Old man Nanu won't be happy if I fuck off."

She was silent for a moment as Guzma sat himself down at the base of a tall palm tree, making himself comfortable in the sands. He knew she was disappointed. He wanted to go. Really, he did. But the winds were blowing and times were changing, and despite it all, Guzma was never one to abandon his responsibilities. Or... tried not to, at least.

"I could help you, you know," she finally whispered, "they should have made me do it too, anyways, I was just as much part of everything as—"

"It's alright," he told her softly, "really, Plumes, it's cool. It's what I wanted. Focus on you, now. Make somethin' for yaself. I hear you did really good last title match. Ya need to keep trainin' so you can smash those punks good, next time."

"I miss hanging out with you."

He leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree and took a deep breath. That hurt more than anything. It was a terrible ache; a hole he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to fill again. But it was for the best. Everything was for the best. The sooner Plumes and the Skull kids moved on, the better their lives would be.

"I miss it, too," he replied, "I miss it so goddamn much. But you gotta show the numbskulls they can do it, too. You gotta beat the Champion down, and beat them down, and never let up. You let your big bro worry about all this stupid cleanin' shit."

"You need a new catchphrase," she teased him, "if I have to hear that line one more time I might tear the entire Battle Tree apart."

"Don't you dare," he shot back, "I swear, I take my eyes off you dummies for three fuckin' seconds... I'm almost out of minutes, anyways. Talk to you later?"

"Yeah. I got another round coming up. Later, bro."

She ended the call before he could fish his phone out of his pocket, but that suited him just fine. He was starting to feel warm and sluggish, and he scooted himself a little further from the tree so he could lay down properly, lowering his sunglasses over his eyes. He still had some Tapu Cocoa left, too. Yeah. He deserved a moment to relax. He took a long sip, set his eyes on the clouds over the horizon, and slowly drifted off.


Sycamore went immediately back to Kukui's after he watched Guzma march off. His shirt and slacks sported huge coffee stains, and although he did like the smell of espresso, he positively reeked of it in the humid heat. What had he said? He thought he'd been perfectly pleasant for that entire conversation! It wasn't like this was the first time he had hot coffee thrown in his face—awkwardly he remembered his younger days in Lumiose, hitting on people in the cafes he frequented and eventually saying something pig-headed that rightfully earned him a scalding bath. But he worked on himself since then: he tried to always be polite and respectful. He was a lot less loud than he used to be, too.

He replayed the conversation in his mind as he sullenly walked. He'd tried to do a good thing. It was just a marker, after all. Just one single marker to try and help someone have a good day, and things seemed to have been going well. Mentioning Kukui, though, that brought out a level of rage that took him entirely by surprise. Kukui was a good man, he thought, so why would anyone have such a vitriolic response to the mere mention of him? There had to be something there, right?

With a huff, he let himself into the shack and started for the ladder up to his little loft. He hardly put one foot on the rung when he heard footsteps coming up from the basement, and on his shoulder, Zip puffed out his frills menacingly and leaped to the ground in a ready stance. There wasn't anything to be worried about, though: it was only Burnet, her favorite lab coat over her tanktop and shorts as she came up the stairs, and when she reached the top, she stopped and smiled wide as she caught sight of him.

"Gus!" she greeted, "I thought you'd have been with Kukui at the school!" She looked him over, her eyes lingering on his coffee stains and his tired frown, then put her hands on her hips. "Go on," she continued, jerking her head towards the kitchen, "get changed. Washer's in there, and we've got some stain remover you can soak it in."

"Thank you," Sycamore replied, "sorry. I won't be long." He climbed the rest of the way up the ladder and stopped to strip off his shirt and shorts, dropping them into a pile as he wiggled back into a fresh pair of pants and another old concert shirt.

"Have you lost weight?" Burnet called up to him as he pulled the new shirt from his suitcase. Sycamore paused and frowned down at himself as he considered her question, then noncommittally shrugged one shoulder.

"I suppose," he answered as he pulled the shirt on over his head. He scooped the dirty pile up into one arm and carefully climbed back down.

"Have you been eating?"

"Your husband served us nachos last night. It was... good."

She followed him as he tried to escape to the washer, laying his shirt and shorts out before looking for the stain remover. She came up next to him and pulled the spray bottle from one of the shelves, handing it to him.

"And before that?"

"There... there were peanuts on the plane. I slept through the meal service."

He was sweating, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the heat. He spritzed the stains with enough remover to de-sludge a grimer and pointedly avoided her gaze as she tried to catch his eyes.

"And before that?" she repeated flatly. Sycamore ducked his head shamefully and threw the clothes into the washer, adjusting the settings and then pressing a button to run the cycle. He tried to inch his way back towards the living room, but Burnet was quick to cut him off.

"It's, ah," he lied, "it's just slipped my mind. It's been busy, you know, the transition, and so there hasn't been, uh, much time for..."

She didn't call him out on it, even though she clearly didn't believe him. Instead her face fell with disappointment, and Sycamore felt shame blossom anew in his stomach. She reached out tentatively to pat him on the shoulder.

"I'll spare you the microwave meals, tonight," she tried to laugh, "we'll all go out for dinner together. There's this great seafood place near the marina, I think you'd enjoy it."

Again, he tried to slip around her, but she was quick to anticipate his every step.

"I don't know, my friend, that sounds like it could be expensive, and I don't really..."

"We'll treat you. Just this once."

He couldn't escape, and she was so, so disappointed in him. She tried to mask it, but the damage was done, and Sycamore knew that was just one more person he let down. It wouldn't be long until she told Kukui, he was sure. So two people. Three, if he counted Guzma. So far, Alola as an adult wasn't his favorite. He really did miss his party boy years, sometimes. Things were so much easier, then.

"Alright," he gave in, "but just this once. I'm making a point of not being a burden on you, right now."

"You're never a burden," she assured him. Finally, she stepped aside, and he anxiously stepped around her, stopping on the other side of the counter. There was no point in trying to run, now. He leaned back onto the edge, trying to find the strength to look Burnet in the eye, but his gaze could hardly make it up from his feet.

"That's because I try very hard," he replied. But he was desperate to change the subject, and before she could try and convince him again, he quickly redirected her. "Speaking of hard work, I hear your research has been going phenomenally."

And even though she realized, clearly, what he was doing, she indulged him. She spoke at length about the Ultra Wormholes, filling him in on some of the new readings she'd been able to take in the time between the tragedy in Kalos and his arrival in Alola. It was interesting stuff: not only had more Ultra Wormholes been appearing in the past few months, but she even had been gathering readings suggesting something more may have been coming through the rifts than some stray energy.

"It could just be debris, at these disturbances," she told him, "but I'm starting to wonder if there's something more. Something living."

"Something primitive," Sycamore asked her, "or something developed?"

She laughed. "I honestly have no idea. It's exciting, not knowing! But you'd understand that, huh?" She nudged him gently with her elbow, and he couldn't help but break a smile. Her face lit up at that. He couldn't deny her the feeling, and so his smile widened when she mirrored it. "Don't worry, Gus. We'll get you back to researching, yet."

"I'd be happy to assist you," he answered with a small chuckle, "I've got excellent references. How did Rowan put it? 'He's actually useful when he's not always clubbing.'"

"You're too old for clubbing," she teased as she checked her watch. Then, she went to the fridge and dug inside for a minute before pulling out three identical sandwiches, already made and sealed in zip-locks, and stuffed them into a lunchbox with a cooler pack. She jerked her head, his instruction to follow her, and before he could so much as ask why, Sycamore was following Burnet out of the house and up to the route, walking together down the path.

His silent question was answered soon enough. The Trainer's School was just down the street, and Burnet was leading him there with her head held high. It must have been noon-ish, as the sun hung just partly past mid-way in the sky. When had it gotten so late? He ran a hand through his frizzy hair. Days were still blending together, time still escaping him. It was better to be out and about again.

The school was big, three stories total with its own little parking lot and a few practice fields out front. Sycamore could only admire its spaciousness, and much like Kukui's lab, the building showed signs of wear and tear from wayward pokemon attacks. Unlike Kukui's lab, it seemed to have gotten some half-way decent repairs. Maybe even professional. But he didn't have time to admire the handiwork. Burnet led him inside and up one flight of stairs, then down a long hallway.

Plenty of children were in class, sitting at desks and taking notes (or doodling) as various teachers lectured to them. Sycamore glanced through each classroom door's window as they passed rows and rows of lockers, seeing young students, older students, even some classes of wildly mixed ages. At the very far end of the hall, near windows overlooking the practice fields, was Kukui's classroom. They paused together outside the door, and Sycamore saw his friend sitting casually on his desk at the front of the room while he motioned wildly, lecturing his students about the properties of certain dark-type moves. He looked far too excited about it. Sycamore's lips twitched into a smile.

"He really does love it, doesn't he?" he mused.

"Sometimes I think he enjoys teaching more than his research," Burnet answered. She reached for the doorknob. "C'mon, let's say hi. I bet the kids will be excited to meet a new Pokemon Professor."

No.

"We shouldn't interrupt them," Sycamore said quickly, far too quickly, his own hand shooting out to grab Burnet by the wrist and stop her in her tracks, "look, look, the children are studying so hard, Kukui is so deep into his lecture, we can just wait here and—"

"Don't be silly," Burnet replied, yanking her arm from his grip, "I drop in on them all the time. Kukui doesn't mind." She turned the knob. Sycamore lunged again, but in his desperation, his tunnel vision made his depth perception... well... lacking. His head smacked hard against the corner of the lockers.

"Merde!" he swore as he stumbled back, pressing his hand hard to the bump that he just knew was going to bruise. Burnet's hand flew to her mouth as she watched the spectacle, and she started forward, wide-eyed, as she fussed over him.

"Holy shit!" she said, "Gus, are you okay? Look at me—Gus, look at me, are you bleeding? Oh, shit, Gus, I'm so sorry—"

The classroom door cracked open. Burnet and Sycamore whirled around. Kukui smiled patiently at them.

"Hello," he said cheerfully, "not to interrupt, but we've got a pretty good class going on right now. With, you know, kids. Children. Minors. Could you. You know. Not swear? In my hallway? Please? Yeah?"

"I have a concussion," Sycamore tried.

"He doesn't have a concussion," Burnet called him out, "he's just being difficult. And possibly bleeding. Sorry, babe."

"Yeah, nah, it's alright," Kukui replied, "just, you know. Dial down the language." He pointed an accusatory finger towards Sycamore. "And you don't get a free pass just because you said it in French."

"They don't know what I said," Sycamore grumbled.

Kukui held the door wide opened and stepped aside, and the two entered. This classroom was a mixed class: students of a variety of ages sat in the desks, all of them sitting up brightly. There weren't many of them: with only four, they hardly filled the first row. When Sycamore looked to the blackboard, what he saw surprised him. Formulas and diagrams lifted straight from one of his old college textbooks were written neatly out in bright white chalk.

"That's Graham's Equation, isn't it?" he asked as he paused on his way in, "Kukui, what on earth are you teaching these children?" One of the students raised her hand. She was a slight girl with bright blue hair and a smile to match, and with a grin, Kukui pointed to her.

"Take it away, Lana," he said.

"Today Professor Kukui's teaching us about the type categorization of Dark moves," Lana said, "and that we can use Graham's Equation to figure out if a move can be classified as one." The boy next to her, easily the oldest of the group with dark skin and a serious expression, raised his hand next.

"Kiawe, it's all you," Kukui called on him.

"We're also supposed to be going over how to use Graham's Equation to determine at what strength a dark move can cause status effects," Kiawe added. Sycamore whistled his amazement.

"That's impressive," he commended, "I didn't learn Graham's Equation until university."

"AP Battle Theory," Kukui said with a proud grin and a wink, "these kids are the brightest in the islands!"

"And the strongest, too," Burnet added, "Sycamore, these are some of the trial captains for the Island Challenge. Kids, this is Professor Sycamore, from Kalos." Sycamore gave them all a small wave as they eyed him curiously. Not wanting to disrupt the lesson further, he tried to shuffle towards the back of the classroom—but as he did so, a hand caught the back of his shirt, and he choked for a second his hand flying to his throat as Kukui pulled him back.

"It's not every day we get a foreign professor in our classroom," he said as Sycamore coughed and caught his breath, "we can put Graham on hold for now, I think. This could be an invaluable opportunity for you all!" The kids sat up a little bit straighter. Yveltal's claws, these kids were all nerds, Sycamore found himself helplessly thinking . No child was this excited for school, let alone visiting professors or college-level move theorems.

"I don't know," he said, tugging his shirt collar back down, "really, I don't think I'm that interesting."

"Don't be shy," Kukui said, clapping him on the shoulder, "you've done some cool research. Go on. Introduce yourself, tell 'em about your field, go nuts." He turned to his students. "Everyone, be nice to Professor Sycamore. He traveled all the way from Kalos, so let's make sure not to overwhelm him while he's tired, alright?"

He gave Sycamore one final thumbs-up as he went to the back to sit next to Burnet. Liar, Sycamore thought again, he just wanted to pass notes to his girlfriend while the kids weren't looking. Abandoned him, in front of everyone! Left him there to be devoured by mightyena possessed by the nerdy spirits of alakazam!

"Uh," he said, "yes. Right. Well, then." He looked at the four of them, rocking anxiously on the balls of his feet as he tried to navigate the minefield of what he felt ready to discuss. "I'm... Professor..." It was hard to say. He swallowed painfully. "Professor Augustine Sycamore. From Kalos. And I... I specialize in the research of Mega Evolution."

The kids' faces lit up, and the green-haired girl next to Lana let out an audible 'ooooo.' He took that as a good sign and continued. "I know here in Alola, many trainers specialize in the use of Z-moves. They're an impressive expression of your home's culture through battle. Mega Evolution is much the same for us. But unlike Z-moves, which may be used by any pokemon, Mega Evolution is, so far, restricted to just a handful. Part of my research includes why that is, as well as what causes these evolutions to occur."

The green-haired girl raised her hand. He pointed to her.

"Yes, um...?"

"Mallow," Mallow said helpfully, "Professor Sycamore, does Mega Evolution change a pokemons' moves in any way?"

"Good question," he answered, "not to my knowledge, no. The pokemon's unique ability will often change, and its parameters may experience a surge of power, but the moves themselves remain the same." Lana raised her hand again. "Yes, Lana."

"Um," she said, "how do you know what pokemon can and can't Mega Evolve?"

"Well, like a Z-crystal, you need a special mineral. These stones can't be refined in the same way evolution stones can, and so they are limited in number. We've confirmed the existence of about forty-seven different stones in total."

The boy sitting to Kiawe's other side, who was shy-looking and heavy-set, carefully raised his hand, and Sycamore nodded to him.

"Sophocles," he introduced himself, "and, where do the stones come from, if you can't refine them like others?"

"Well, that's a long story," Sycamore said with a smile. He told them the myth, the first story of the Mega Stones. The old legends were his inspiration, and his passion. They were the reason he had dedicated himself to the study of Mega Evolution, long before he gained an apprenticeship with Rowan, and even before he applied to university, in the first place. As he told them the stories, he relaxed, easing more and more into his role as temporary professor. They were all as bright as Kukui made them out to be, jumping over each other with new and unique questions, some he had answers for and some he had yet to find answers to, himself. Kiawe was the only one who remained quiet through it all, his serious, pensive gaze boring into Sycamore as he spoke.

Eventually, Kukui had to cut back in.

"Alright, everyone," he said, "it's about time to let you go. I know lunch is late, today. Did anyone have any final questions for Professor Sycamore?" The other kids shook their heads. Kiawe raised his hand.

"Sorry," he said slowly, "isn't he not a professor, any more?"

Sycamore's heart caught in his throat.

"Wh-what?" he stammered out through his suddenly dry mouth.

"Well, he keeps calling you 'Professor,'" Kiawe said, "my cousin Grant, he's a gym leader in Kalos—he told me the last professor had been removed. I thought the professor now is a girl? Do you... still do research? Why did they get a new Pokemon Professor?"

Sycamore swallowed.

"What?" he repeated in a high, stressed voice, and his eyes darted pleadingly to Kukui, whose eyes were wide open in shock.

"That's all for today, actually," Kukui said quickly, trying to laugh the situation off, "go on, rugrats, all of you scram. Go eat outside, it's a wonderful day!"

"But—" Kiawe started, and Kukui cut him off again.

"By the way, if any of you can solve the first problem in the chapter review before you come back in, I'll give everyone extra credit on this week's quiz!"

And that got them in a hurry. The kids quickly packed their things and zoomed out of the classroom, babbling over each other as they began their debates on the proper use of Graham's Equation. Sycamore looked past them as they left with a thousand-yard stare, his face breaking into horror as he realized what this meant. Who else knew? Had it made it to the press? Stupid—he was so stupid to think that in this day and age it hadn't slipped to some tabloid at least. With an uncharacteristic surge of anger, he briefly wondered if that scheming harpy Malva had anything to do with this: one final hurrah for Team Flare. Their final revenge for his passive rejection of Lysandre.

"Gus?"

He jumped, startled as he remembered suddenly where he was and who he was with. Kukui and Burnet were watching him with concern. He offered them a shaky smile.

"Ah," he said, "I'm sure the boy misunderstood. Everything is fine."

"You said they put you on a welness leave," Kukui said slowly, and Sycamore nodded.

"Yes," he said vaguely, "yes, that's what I said. Sina is overseeing things while I'm gone. I'm sure that's what Grant heard about." Kukui and Burnet exchanged an uneasy glance.

Sycamore motioned towards the lunch bag. "Come. It's time for lunch, yes? We should eat."