"When Kaióga first slumbered, he sent his child to us to watch over our daily lives. He came up from the foams of the early morning sea, coat shining like a blue pearl. The first ones to spot the child were not the nobles or the merchants, but the children of the fishermen…"

Wallace's mind wandered away from the pages of To Chon, but he quickly snapped himself back. No. He needed to keep reading.

Deep in the depths of magma and sea, Gourádon and Kaióga slumbered. High up in space, Rekkoúza flew between the world of dreams and the world of reality. But were Sootopolis ever to face danger, someone would need to reawaken them.

When Spenser, Lorekeeper of Kaióga, eventually died, Wallace would be one of three people who could.

So he read To Chon— the main body of stories and parables—front to back. He listened to Spenser sing the Songs of Summoning over and over again in his head—they couldn't be written down, only passed down from Lorekeeper to Lorekeeper by mouth. He had to cultivate himself into the perfect keeper of Sootopolis's legacy.

But he still forgot large sections of To Chon when he tried to read the whole thing out in his head. His voice still cracked whenever he sang high notes he had been able to sing before. He still wasn't the perfect Lorekeeper. He still—

"Wallace, mi chiquito, why do you look so worried?"

Juan was standing in the doorway of the bedroom—well, it was technically a guest bedroom in Juan's estate, but it had essentially been Wallace's bedroom since he started tutoring under Juan at the age of ten.

"I'm not worried," Wallace lied, "just reading."

"You don't normally look this worried when reading."

Wallace forced himself to smile. "Maybe what I'm reading is worrying."

That little joke didn't seem to convince Juan. He walked over to the bed and sat next to Wallace, a concerned look on his face.

"Wallace, Wallace, Wallace," the older man sighed, "why are you reading things that worry you?"

Juan gently pulled down the book so he could look at the page Wallace was reading. "This is… the story of Manafí, isn't it?"

"It is." Hinodego may have been Juan's fourth language, but he spoke it so fluently. He didn't speak with a thick accent like Wallace did. He didn't stutter like Wallace did. He didn't speak so slowly like Wallace did.

Juan looked perfect, spoke perfect, acted perfect, thought per—

"Well," Juan said, interrupting Wallace's spiral of thoughts, "that's a good story." He smiled. He smiled perfectly. "I think you'll enjoy it, Wallace."

Wallace nodded before looking back down at the book—mostly to avert his gaze from Juan's.

"Is something else bothering you?" Juan asked.

Sometimes Wallace wished Juan was like Spenser, in the sense that Spenser didn't dote as much as Juan. Spenser and Wallace's relationship was strictly professional, with no other complicated feelings.

But sometimes… sometimes it was nice that someone cared for Wallace. It felt nice to have someone like… like the vague memories of Dorian that Wallace could still cling onto.

"Just worried about a meeting with Megalos today," Wallace half-lied. He did worry about those meetings—a lot—but there was just too much to be worried about. Juan would never understand.

"In that case, maybe I should go meet with him instead."

Wallace chuckled and shook his head. "Master, I don't think that's—"

"I think it's necessary."

Wallace jumped at Juan's sudden change in tone. Juan got angry, but he never got angry at Wallace. Wallace couldn't make Juan mad Wa—

"Wallace, Wallace, Wallace." Juan's voice was much calmer now, and he was holding Wallace by the shoulders.

Somehow, that only made Wallace more anxious. More than anxious. Terrified.

"Off off off OFF!"

Wallace pushed Juan away, curling up on the bed. His heart pounded in his chest. All he could feel was fear. Fear like teeth from an invisible force. Fear fear fear fear fear.

"Wallace?" Juan shouted. "What's wrong?!"

I don't know. I don't know.

"No… no touch," Wallace gasped out. "No shout. No. No. No. No. No."

"Do you… Do you want me to stay with you?" Juan asked, much softer this time.

Juan… Juan wouldn't hurt Wallace. Whatever Wallace's body was scared of, his mind could trust Juan to keep him safe from it.

"Stay. Stay. Please," Wallace begged. He couldn't cry. Sootopolitans didn't cry. He didn't let himself cry.

"Okay… I'll be right here, chiquito. I'll be right here…"

Wallace didn't remember how long he lay there, but he did know that Juan was there for however long it was.

Wallace quietly shut the door to the bathroom; he didn't want anyone in the hall noticing him.

He hated public bathrooms. They forced him into the "male" box—a box that made Wallace anxious for some god forsaken reason. They made taking drugs (medicine, it was medicine) almost impossible and purging disgraceful.

But it was getting harder and harder to focus in his classes. And his classes were important—he needed to learn the history of his region, he needed to learn how to speak in other languages, he needed to learn and get a degree and make his family and Megalos proud. And outside of school, he had to memorize all of the songs and stories of his ancestors, how to perform blessings for everything from child naming to death. His ancestors were probably ashamed of how little he could remember. And if he couldn't remember, how could he awaken the gods in Sootopolis's time of need? How could he save his people?

He pulled the bottle of caffeine pills out of his handbag and twisted the cap. He needed these pills in order to get through the day, but he needed more and more as time went on. Maybe he needed something different. Steven had amphetamines for ADHD, didn't he? Maybe Wallace could ask for some. Or maybe he could steal—

What kind of twisted freak are you? Steven needs that medication, and you want to take it from him? Do you want him to die? What's wrong with you? What—

The door opened.

Wallace didn't want to look up. It was some guy coming to tell him to stop peeping at boys from under the stalls. It was some guy coming to accuse him of trying to make a glory hole. It was some guy coming to beat him up for fucking in the bathroom—

"Wallace? From Water Type Studies?"

It was… Gavin, from the Coordinating scene… Gosh, how long had it been since Wallace had done a Contest? Life had just gotten too busy, and Megalos would approve of Wallace giving up Contests to focus on more important matters.

Gavin was a good man, and a good looking man. Clear, tawny skin with no blemishes or scars like Wallace, dark brown hair that wasn't messy like Wallace's. A perfect, muscular body that was nothing like—

Fuck. Wallace remembered the bottle in his hands. Fuck. Caught in the act. Gavin also seemed to notice the bottle. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"You know, taking a bunch of pills for weight loss does a lot more bad than good," Gavin said. He didn't… seem disgusted. He seemed… concerned?

But it wasn't for weight loss. It was for control. It was for being able to function in society as the perfect form of Wallace. But in fairness to Gavin, Coordinators were notorious for extreme means of losing weight. Gavin had every right to be worried that Wallace would starve himself to death, because such a thing was pretty common.

But Wallace wouldn't starve himself to death. He was trying to control his food intake and energy levels, not his weight. He was controlling himself, not his weight.

"I'm not taking them for weight loss," Wallace insisted. "I have classes I need to get through."

Gavin raised an eyebrow, but he walked past Wallace anyway. "Be careful with those things. They're easier to abuse than coffee."

As soon as Gavin went into one of the stalls, Wallace shoved the bottle in his bag and ran out of the bathroom.

Wallace paced around the locker room, staring at his reflection in the locker room mirror as he did so. The light overhead was too much, the buzz of the radiator was too much…

He felt like he was dying.

It was his first swim meet in... well, a while. Panic attacks and migraines kept him from his duties on the swim team, and now that he was back, now that he was goodness knows much thinner, what was once an enjoyable hobby had become a terrifying nightmare.

Most of the people on the Rustboro University swim team had far more muscular physiques than Wallace. Meanwhile, he was like a long twig. While he wasn't into hyper-masculinity and was glad he leaned away from it, he hated how awkward he looked. He was a man. He wasn't supposed to have bony looking arms and ribs sticking out. He tried hiding his body under long sleeved turtlenecks and dress pants. He knew he would have to change into his swim trunks soon (why did the swim uniform have to be swim trunks?), but he dreaded having to change. He dreaded having to show everyone his body: the fucked up shell of illness, injury, and failed expectations.

He was already five minutes late to the meet. No one on the swim team liked him for one reason or another: because he spoke with a thick Sootopolitan accent, because he didn't stand a chance against any of them in a fist fight, because they suspected he liked men, because he was one of those rebellious hippies, because of whatever else they could use against him. He couldn't remember all the names he had been called, and he certainly didn't want to repeat them. He couldn't remember how many times he had gotten beaten up. He didn't even get adrenaline rushes anymore; he was just exhausted.

He leaned against the lockers. Well, at least he knew to go into the locker room once everyone was gone. It was empty, but it was still too much. He was going to keel over any second. Part of him wanted to purge again, but the other part of him knew there wasn't anything left to purge. He thought about cutting his legs again. He thought about slamming his head against the lockers. He thought about—

Bzzz! Bzzz!

His Pokénav was buzzing with two notifications:

Winona and I haven't seen you yet
You okay?
- Steven

Wallace took a deep breath, a small smile forming on his face.

I'll be out in a few minutes.
- Wallace

For a moment, he could let himself relax. Steven and Winona would be out there to watch him and support him. With them nearby, he would be safe from harassment and abuse. He would be safe. He would be—

"Hey Wallace, can I get something out of my locker?"

Startled by the sudden presence of another person, Wallace jumped away from the lockers and whispered several quick "sorry"'s.

His heart started racing. Fuck, he had messed up. He has gotten in the way. He had fucked up he had fucked up he had fucked up.

The other guy gave Wallace a raised eyebrow, but said nothing before he left.

Wallace grasped for his bag. He needed to change. He needed to get out to the pool. He needed to win the swim meet. He needed to be perfect.

He fumbled with his pill bottles. He was too exhausted and unfocused and needed his caffeine pills, but he was also too anxious and jumpy and needed his alprazolam. Would they cancel each other out if he took them both, or would they both get him to a stable, functioning state?

It was a 50/50 chance. Wallace had nothing to lose.

"You had better win this Gym battle. The whole world is watching you."

"Don't wear that. You look like a stripper. People are going to think this city is a pornocracy."

"You have a swim race today. People will be watching you. There might even be reporters. Don't fail."

Wallace was already failing Megalos's order to not fail and not defy standards by wearing a full piece, long sleeved suit instead of the uniform. It hid his body, but it also made him stand out more.

Wallace ran into the natatorium. The rest of URC's swim team was already there, along with Rootclaw Academy's team.

Coach Alagona briskly stormed over to Wallace. He was somewhat shorter than Wallace despite being fifteen years older than him, and his messy, purple hair was held back with sunglasses. He had a slight tan from being in the sun often, and his face was red from anger.

"Where were you, Wallace? You missed warm ups, and you only have five minutes until the Individual Medley! And why aren't you wearing your uniform?!"

"My apologies, Coach Alagona," Wallace panted. "I did my laundry the other day, and I couldn't find them."

Alagona scowled, but he said, "Fine. Just get ready."

Winona and Steven were sitting in the second row of bleachers just a few steps away from where Wallace was. He walked over to the two and waved.

Wallace sat down—or rather, collapsed—in between the two. "You two have anything interesting to talk about?"

"Are you doing okay?" Steven asked. "You look and sound exhausted."

Wallace brushed off Steven's concern with a forced laugh. "I ran all the way from here to my dorm and then back here. Of course I'm exhausted."

"What are those bruises on your face?" Winona asked. She gasped as she saw the parts of Wallace's arms uncovered by his suit. "And your arms?"

"I tripped."

The sounds of people splashing in the people, talking, yelling... all of it felt empty in the seconds during which neither Wallace nor his companions spoke.

"Wallace," Steven said gravely, "you're not hurting yourself, are you?"

Shit.

"Of course not! What would possibly make you think that?!"

"Wallace, deep breaths." Steven held Wallace's hand. "We're just worried about you. You've been pushing yourself a lot since becoming a Gym Leader and starting college. You've been drinking a lot, you haven't really been taking care of yourself, you've been getting horrible migraines, you've been spending more and more time alone—"

"I'm fine."

Wallace stood up—a bad idea, since a wave of dizziness almost immediately crashed over him and threatened to drag him to the floor—and walked over to the other swimmers. The 200 Metres Individual Medley was up next, anyway.

Wallace looked up at Winona and Steven. Before stepping onto the diving block, he forced himself to smile before giving them a thumbs up. He wished he could have given them a better apology.

In his head, Wallace went over the stroke order of the Individual Medley: Beautifly, backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle. Beautifly, backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle. Beautifly… backstroke… god, why did his head hurt so much? Why did he feel like he was going to puke?

"3… 2… 1… GO!"

The freezing cold waters shocked Wallace out of his half conscious state. He was too busy to dwell on how cold the water was. He had to win this race.

Before he knew it, Wallace reached the other end of the pool. The sudden switch from Beautifly to backstroke threw him off more than usual, and the backstroke itself felt more off than usual. Wallace felt himself losing focus…

...only for his head to hit the other end of the pool.

Even when the impact shocked him awake, Wallace was too dizzy to process his surroundings, save for the shouting of spectators, the splashing of water, and the fact that he seemed to be leaning against the edge of the pool. He soon realized how far behind the other racers he was. He couldn't stop now, no matter how exhausted he was.

After giving his face a quick but hard slap, Wallace shot off the edge and swam faster than ever before.

What little focus remained was directed entirely towards catching up. Even when he reached the other end and spiraled into freestyle, he didn't notice that he had caught up to the other swimmers, that he had surpassed them, that he had reached the other end, that he had won. It was only when the judge grabbed his arm and lifted it into the air did he realize people were cheering for him.

Everything was a blur, a blur of lights, flashes, cheers, and then screams.

He woke up on the pool deck. There were people staring down at him, including a medic. There were people talking or shouting. It was too much, especially when coupled with the haze still lingering in his mind. He thought he could see Steven and Winona, and he tried to reach for one of their hands. The flashes of light weren't helping his vision or state of consciousness.

"Is everything okay?" the medic asked.

"Sure I am... Sure I am..."

He was taken to the health office. Winona and Steven wanted to follow him in, but the medic kept them out, leaving Coach Alagona and Wallace alone in the room.

The fluorescent light made the baby blue walls and white, tiled floor even brighter. It was overwhelming, but at the same time, the room felt empty. Perhaps it was the silence. Perhaps it was Alagona's stare: serious yet emotionless.

"Wallace," he finally said, "at times, you are the greatest member of the swim team. You take first place. Your form is phenomenal. At your best, you guarantee that URC brings home gold."

Alagona smiled, probably expecting Wallace to smile back. Wallace didn't; he looked down at his feet. Making eye contact was only making him feel worse.

"At your worst," Alagona sighed, "you're late to or even absent from meets and tournaments. You're too tired to compete. You're a gamble: Either the top of the charts or the bottom. As good as your best is…" Alagona sighed. "…I'm sorry Wallace, but I can't risk it. Your skills are valuable, but not as valuable as your health. I'm going to need to ask that you take a break from the team and focus on yourself."

Those words reached Wallace as "You're a failure. You're a disappointment. You don't deserve to be here." And then he heard Mayor Megalos's voice: "You've failed your parents. You've failed Sootopolis City. You've failed me. I thought you were Sootopolis City's pearl. You're just a failure. You don't deserve to be alive."

"Wallace?"

"I'm sorry, Coach Alagona."

Wallace stood up. Without making eye contact with Alagona, he opened the door and left.

Winona and Steven were waiting for him right outside. He had to resist the urge to yell at them to leave.

"Everything okay?" Steven asked.

"I need some time alone," Wallace said softly.

"That doesn't make it sound like—"

"I don't ask you two such incessant questions about your goddamned scars," Wallace snapped. "I don't assume your injuries from wandering around caves are because you're a cutter. If I was Winona, I wouldn't assume I was an addict because I got drunk once. I'm not a cutter. I'm not an addict. I'm not a freak. I'm. Fine. Leave me alone."

Silence. Shock. And then… and then regret.

Steven wasn't the easiest person to read, but the way his eyes were so wide and his hands were shaking…

Wallace turned to Winona, who seemed just as shocked. No. No. No no no no no no this wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to snap at his two lovers.

"Winona?" Steven gasped. "What does he mean about…"

Winona's gaze fell to her feet, and she was nervously squeezing her hands. "I found him one night in his room. He was drunk and kept saying how he—"

No. No, why was Steven asking anything? Why was Winona talking about how fucked up Wallace was? Why were they betraying him like this?

Wallace stormed away from the two. He'd had enough.

"If you two want to speculate on my private life like the tabloids, go ahead. Just do it without me in the room."

"Wallace!"

He ignored Winona's plea and kept walking.

He only felt regret when he got back to his dorm, but it was… angry regret. He angry-regretted getting mad at Steven and Winona. A quiet, dull anger at himself.

He sat on the bed, hitting his head against the wall. He was stupid. He was fucking stupid.

Bzzz! Bzzz!

His Pokénav was buzzing on the other side of the bed.

They want to break up with you.

Reluctantly, Wallace picked up the Pokénav and checked his texts.

15 minutes ago - 20 new messages from: Steven

They want to break up with you.

Hi Wallace
Hope you're doing okay
Winona told me about that night
We're worried about you
I don't want you to do anything to yourself
Wallace please say something
I'm so sorry
I love you Wallace
Winona loves you
You have a family
Your Pokémon love you
Wallace they wouldn't be the same without you
None of us would
Shit don't feel pressured to respond right away btw
O understand
*I
I understand
Just respond soon
Are you still there
Wallace?
- Steven

Wallace couldn't muster the energy to respond.