Guzma doesn't always come down right away for breakfast, but Plumeria does, like clockwork. You note that she is, perhaps, the most responsible member of Team Skull and also the most straightforward. So now that you're sitting with her yet again, with questions tugging at your insides, you know she's the person to ask. Something had been eating at you ever since he'd shown you the reading room; ever since more and more of a softer side was starting to come out of him.

"Plumes," you start, having grown accustomed to calling her the nickname as well, "Why are you all cursed?"

She seems a bit taken aback by the question and you realize you'll have to explain more.

"It's just that the stories I've heard make you guys, and especially Guzma, seem, well, pretty bad. Stealing Pokemon? Terrorizing all of Alola? ...but I'm having a hard time seeing how any of that could be true."

Plumeria laughs a bit. "Well girlie, things weren't always as they are now. Guzma can still be kinda rough sometimes, but believe me, he's come a long way. But I guess years and years of being trapped in a place will do that to anyone."

"So you're saying Team Skull did do those things."

She looks around for a moment, thinking. "People who are hurting sometimes do things they shouldn't. I'm not saying that makes it right or ok, and I'm not saying it excuses it; I'm just saying that it is what it is. When the boss started this whole thing, you better believe he was in a bad place. And all the people he took under his wing - all the people you see here - most of them come from sad stories too. So we banded together and became the family that we all had lost. We've done some things none of us are proud of."

"But, things are different now?" you ask, concerned and even fearful of how things might have been.

"Oh, they're way different," Plumeria laughs ruefully. "I guess the punishment worked, huh?"

You look around and see one grunt napping on a table, and another practically lapping at a bowl of soup like a dog. "I just can't imagine how it could have been that bad."

"Well, we were always a little bumbling, if that's what you mean," she says, gesturing at the grunts. "But there was also a lot of bitterness and a need to prove ourselves along with that."

"Prove to who?"

"All of Alola. So many of us failed the island challenge, or disappointed our parents in some way. A lot of us were kicked out of homes or ran away. Many had no where else to go. But Guzma gave us somewhere to go. Then he gave us a means for the revenge we thought we wanted."

You look at her a bit alarmed. Revenge?

"Hey," Plumeria says when she sees your face, "Like I said, it was a different time. We would have done anything; steal, cheat, destroy, and, yeah, terrorize to find that revenge. Thing about revenge is, you think you're gonna feel better once you get it, but that's not what happens. You might feel vindicated for a moment, but that moment's over when you realize all you sacrificed to get it. For us, that sacrifice was freedom."

"So, you don't feel that way anymore? You'd change it if you could?"

She smiles at you. "Well, yeah, would mean not being trapped here. After everything, I think the best revenge might just be forgetting who did you wrong. You don't have to forgive, but move on without them, you know? At least that way they aren't dictating what you do anymore. As long as you're still trying to get that vindication, they're still in control."

"I guess..." you say. "And Guzma?"

"I think he took this whole curse thing the hardest of all of us. But, uh, I guess that's also to be expected right? He got hit a little worse, didn't he? And being the leader of Team Skull and all, he definitely blames himself for what happened."

You take this all in for a moment, imagining just how bad they used to all be. "Do you - do you blame Guzma?"

"I did at first. But we're all stuck in this town together. Not one of us here has a clean slate." She looks you up and down. "Except maybe you, girlie."

You wonder if staying here, despite Alana, Garret, and all your responsibilities back in Tapu Village means that your slate is also no longer clean. "Still," you continue, "do you think Team Skull was bad enough to be cursed?"

She considers this a moment. "Hard to say. Some days I do feel bad for all that we did and I think we deserve this. Other days, it just feels incredibly unfair."

"Did Guzma deserve what he got?" Because that's the real crux of what you're trying to find out isn't it? How bad had Guzma been? How bad could he still be?

"Boss can be a complicated guy. There's things about his past you should probably know, but it's not my place to say. Stick around, and I think you'll find out everything you need to. Just know it's not all black and white."

You let the conversation end, trying to think of ways you could bring this kind of thing up with Guzma. You know your feelings on him have changed and continue to change the longer you stay here, but you can't trust him until you know everything. And, if your determined curiosity had anything to say about it, you'd find out everything one way or another.

But how do you feel about Guzma? You'd gone from openly detesting him, to actually searching him out whenever you could. In fact, you know he's becoming one of (if not the) main reason you're sticking around. It's hard not to find him interesting, not to mention occasionally even sweet and kind; the reading room thing had definitely endeared him to you. He was so different from Garret. Did Garret even know how much you like to read? You realize you're developing a fondness for Guzma in a way you're not sure you ever felt for Garret.

But you're also guarded. You'd heard several different versions of the story of the Tapus cursing Po Town. None of them painted Guzma in a good light. What exactly was his deal? And when does it become ok to ask? You remember how he took you by the hand when he led you to the reading room. You remember the way it felt to have him recognize your passion and share something with you specifically catered to that. You remember how he looked at you when he saw how pleased you were with what he'd showed you. You're not entirely sure what to call the feelings you're developing for him, but before this goes any further, you have to know more.

You set out looking for him in the mansion. He hadn't been in the dining hall, and he wasn't in his room. When you find him, you're pleasantly surprised to find he's in the reading room. Guess he really was liking that book. "Reading's pretty alright, huh?" you say as you enter the room.

Guzma looks up from his book and grins. "Hey, I've read plenty, princess. Believe it or not, I had a pretty expensive education growing up."

"Good to know," you tell him, smiling and picking up your own book that you were in the middle of.

"Just haven't read much of what's in here," he mutters.

"Why's that?"

"Well, uh," he stops there.

You know he mentioned that this was his mother's reading room before and you wonder if it would be too much to press him. Should you wait longer to ask your questions? Curious as you were, the last thing you wanted to do was push him too hard, too soon on something sensitive.

Guzma sighs. "You wanna go check on Comfey with me?"

All you can do is stare for a moment. He's offering to take you back to the far east room? You hadn't been there since the day you'd run off. "Sure," you say cautiously, setting your book down.

They're walking down the hallway now. He's nervously leading her there as glass from the broken mirrors crunches under his shoes. He has so many questions, so many doubts, and so much confusion in regards to her. He knows this won't solve all of that, but it's a start. There's certain truths she should know. She has to know the whole story - the true story - and not just the rumors that have reached her village. She deserved to know at least that much.

And if all of that means that she leaves, then so be it.

He stops in front of the door, staring at the handle and rubbing his undercut. He's about to talk about things that he had pushed out of his mind for years. Was this the right time? Was he ready to do this? He might never really be. He opens the door, and walks into what's become a museum of his past.

Comfey sits on her cushion on the couch, as she always does. She doesn't often move much anymore, as she's too feeble, weak, and tired. He notes with some distress, that a couple more petals have fallen from her. "Hey there," he says to the pokemon. "How're you doing?" Comfey gives a small chime in response.

"Does she always stay here?" she asks quietly.

"Yeah, been too afraid to take her anywhere else. She just seems so... fragile now." He cautiously pets the enchanted creature on her tiny head. "It's better that no sees her like this anyway. They don't need to know that, well, you know."

She just nods. "I noticed that there aren't many pokemon around. Is there a reason?"

"We all had our own pokemon at the beginning," he says, moving to one of the few still intact family portraits in the room. He points to the Wimpod in the picture. "See this guy? He was my buddy for many years. Eventually evolved into a Golisopod." He runs his fingers lightly over the image of the pokemon and drops his hand. "But our pokemon weren't affected by the curse. They aged."

She moves closer to him. "So they..."

"Yeah, either grew old and died, or some of the grunts released theirs, not wanting them to be trapped here too. My buddy here's been gone some time now."

"I'm sorry," she says placing a hand on his arm.

He sighs. "Trust me, not as sorry as I am."

She ventures over to the bag of busted golf clubs, tracing the bent part of one of them with a hand. "Guzma... what is all this?"

"My parent's stuff mostly. Bad memories? Junk."

"Does it - does it have anything to do with why you're cursed?"

"Sorta, yeah. So you - you wanna know then?"

She shrugs. "If you want to tell me."

"It's not a happy story, doll, but one you were bound to find out sooner or later."

He had run off again. He's hiding out in the outskirts of Po Town dreading the inevitable moment he'll have to go back. He'd had another fight with his dad, which was becoming a more and more frequent occurrence. His dad had always been somewhat cold and stern, even when he was very young. His mother had admitted to him once that she tried her best so be as warm and kind as she could to make up for his father's harsh and angry ways. She just wanted to be an antidote to his poison.

But now, a different kind of poison - a real and tangible poison - was getting the best of her. For fifteen years, she'd been the kindest light in Guzma's life, but her light was growing dimmer and dimmer with each day. She's very sick and there would be no recovery. She'd been brought back from the hospital, saying that she'd rather spend what time she had left in Po Town. She grew weaker and weaker and his father grew even colder and more distant. His parents relationship had been rocky for as long as he could remember. Now his mother had no interest in staying in their room. She was always in her reading room now, which she said was alright, because it was her favorite room in the whole mansion.

The fight with his father had, of course, been over something stupid. Guzma tried to avoid letting his mom see it, but her illness was such a source of distress for those in the house. How could it not be? It wasn't her fault, but watching her slowly die had changed both him and his father. There was even more tension between them, and anything and everything was cause for a shouting match. And now, with his mother stuck in the reading room and no longer there to witness and stop him, Guzma's father was growing more violent with him. He rubs at a spot on his chest that will surely bruise.

He'd been sitting at a table doing homework when his father came in. Guzma had mouthed off to him and his dad had suddenly shoved the table into him, roughly pinning him between the table and the wall and knocking the air out of his lungs. He held him there for a few agonizing moments before venomously calling him a "fucking little brat" and releasing the table.

Guzma slid out from between the table and the wall, coughing and holding his chest. Then, before anything more could happen, he dashed off and out the door.

He hid in tall patches of grass now, determined to stay away from the mansion for as long as possible. At one point, his father had come outside the gate and started screaming for him, telling him to "come back now, dammit!" but still he stayed hidden. Even as it grew dark and cold, he remained on the hard ground, hugging his knees to his chest, and watching the grass above him sway in the night breeze.

But then there's sirens and lights going towards Po Town. He stands up to see an ambulance entering the gated community. Panic spreads through every part of him and he fears the worst. He takes off back towards the mansion. As he runs, it begins to rain.

When he gets there, she's already gone. When all the commotion is over, and they've taken her away, the first thing his father says to him are words he'd remember for the rest of his life: "She asked for you, you know."

He stumbles a bit, and grips the edge of a table. The implications of those words drag everything in him further down when he thought he couldn't possibly get any lower. He gasps, choking back tears. He feels nothing but sorrow and regret in that moment, wishing with all he's got that somehow time would reverse and he'd come back sooner. He just wanted to be able to see her one last time. It's loss like he's never known. It feels like some essential part of him has been ripped away and now he's left vulnerable and bleeding. It's a wound that feels like it could never possibly heal because he didn't even get to say goodbye. And neither did she.

And why? Who's fault was that? A white hot rage shoots through him. This was his father's fault. It was all his father's fault and he would never forgive him. Guzma shoves himself away from the table and storms off, wiping tears from his face. If his father wanted to be an asshole, then he'd be an asshole right back.

After that night, the rift between him and his father grew only wider and more chaotic.

Guzma knew that his mother's presence was what held back so much of his father's temper and violence. What he hadn't realized, was what was staved off within him while she was around. Life without her was darker in a way he hadn't known before. All there was, was him, his father, and those who worked in the mansion. It rained so often now, as if the sky itself knew the light was gone from Po Town. And without the light, monsters emerged.

Arguments grew to feel near daily. There was an anger in Guzma now that he couldn't seem to control; a constant aching pain that would be subdued by nothing. It egged him on so that when his father pushed, Guzma pushed back both metaphorically and physically. Years would pass this way.

With the mansion and Po Town holding no peace for Guzma, he began to spend more and more time outside of it. There, in the "unsavory" parts of Alola his parents had always avoided, he found new family. This was when he had met Plumeria and Liam, both of whom had been tossed out of their homes and left to fend for themselves. Others in their ever-growing collective had similar stories. They banded together, with Guzma taking a natural spot as ringleader. And what does a group of bored and angry teenagers and young adults do when left to their own devices? Nothing good. They named themselves Team Skull and became a well known group of delinquents. They shoplifted, stole, trespassed, and damaged property.

Having Team Skull does not heal the wound Guzma seemed to always be nursing, but it holds it together enough to at least stop the bleeding. Here, he finally had an identity other than being the son of who his parents were in Alolan high society. He had a role that he had forged for himself. And he wasn't alone. But he wanted to break the ties between himself and his father even further. He wanted to leave Po Town behind for good. By this time he had already legally been an adult for a while, but still the mansion was home. But no longer. It was time to leave the posh nest he had long outgrown.

He walks up the long path through the center of town toward the mansion in the pouring rain that night, watching the building grow ever closer for what he plans on being the last time. He gathers what he deems most valuable and useful, and looks around his room in finality. Then he leaves and closes the door behind him. When he turns, his father is standing there.

"Where are you going now?" he asks Guzma.

Guzma pulls his bag tighter over his shoulder. "What's it to you?"

"You running off?"

"I ain't coming back neither."

"You're going nowhere, boy. We need to talk."

Guzma shoots his father a nasty look. Boy? By this point he's taller than his father and far from any age where he should be called a boy. "Don't have time, old man. Got places to be."

"And where exactly will you go, huh? I haven't kicked you out. There's no reason to leave."

Truthfully, Guzma was surprised he hadn't been kicked out. For all the awfulness his father had done, it is true that he had at least not done that. But that didn't mean he felt welcomed here. "I'll figure things out on my own."

"Guzma, you're staying."

Guzma scoffs at him. He's had enough. He tries to walk past him, but then his father shoves him back.

Anger bubbles in him. "Keep your hands off of me!" he shouts, returning the shove. He tries again to leave, and again he's shoved backwards.

It's then that the violence between them escalates to a new level; one that hadn't been reached before. Guzma's bag drops to the ground, as the two of them engage in what quickly becomes a brawl in the hallway. Blows are exchanged back and forth and a rage that had been barely contained for years is let loose between them. Guzma is slammed into the wall as they struggle. He might have height, but his father still had weight. Another hard knock against a door, and it opens, both of them falling inside.

His father gets up before he can and viciously yanks a golf club out of a bag that had been sitting in the room. He comes towards Guzma, red-faced and wild-eyed. Guzma scrambles to his feet and goes for cover. His father's now armed, angry, and out for blood in a way he's yet to see from him. The club comes down, and a ceramic lamp shatters, pieces of it flying everywhere. His dad raises the club again and this time a vase is the unlucky victim. All the while he's yelling and panting, spit flying from his mouth. "You ungrateful little bastard! You fucking criminal!"

The club comes down on a painting near Guzma and he winces away looking around for a way out. His father swings the club erratically, blocking the door, so there's only one escape Guzma can make. He makes a dash for the glass door behind him leading out to the balcony.

The rain outside is harsh and unrelenting, pummeling down in thick sheets. Guzma slips, and slides into the rail guarding the edge.

There's the sound of glass shattering as his father throws the door open, causing it to fly backwards and break. Then he's above Guzma, golf club glinting in the moonlight. Guzma raises his arms, preparing for the blow. It comes down, and pieces of the railing explode under the hit beside his head. His father had barely missed him.

"You know why I haven't tossed your ass out?!" his father screams, "Because you're all I have left of her! But there's nothing of her in you, is there?!" He raises the club again.

He takes a step forward, about to bring it down again, but he falls forward, his feet coming out from underneath him in the slickness the rain has caused. He flails, trying to stop the fall, but he tumbles, over Guzma, and over the railing, to the ground below.

That night would not be the last Guzma would see of the mansion. He had suddenly lost his father and gained Po Town in the same moment.

His father's death is so different from his mothers. It's a mix of emotions he was never able to properly sort. Despite everything, some part of him still mourns this loss. But it's hard to focus on it too much when suddenly he's signing paperwork and being given long instructions and speeches that he barely understands. As his parents only son, he's inherited all they had, including their wealth, property, and influence. They had more or less been the leaders of Po Town, having sponsored much of the construction of the gated community. They decided who was worthy of living there, and who wasn't. They decided what was allowed and what wasn't. They ran everything within the gates. And all of this responsibility had just fallen to Guzma.

But Guzma had other plans. This town, in which he'd felt like such an oddball growing up, was now under his thumb, and things were going to change. He began with giving Team Skull a new home. His tenants complained. He told them to leave. In fact, the last few of the wealthy occupants to remain in the town were practically forced from their homes. This was his team's headquarters now, and no longer a safe haven for Alola's elite.

Team Skull grew in both members and power, and Guzma grew colder and crueler. It felt like there was something he was trying to fix within him and the only answers he could come up with were to become more powerful and notorious. So he sent his team out to steal all they could and raise as much hell as possible. They traded their small-time delinquency for bigger things like stealing pokemon and destroying property.

But it just never felt like enough. He was so deeply unhappy and it showed in his interactions with just about everyone. He never hit, but he could yell, he could scream and he could demand ever more from those around him. At this point, even Plumeria and Liam, both his best friends, and one his admin, started to avoid him. He was Big Bad Guzma through and through.

And so this went on, until the night four kids showed up at his door.

The grunts brought them up to his throne room. They didn't look like much. Just some trainers on their island challenge looking for a place to get out of the storm for the night. There were two girls, and two boys. "This ain't no charity," he told them. "You wanna stay, you gotta pay."

"We don't have money," one of the girls answered.

Guzma laughed. "Don't need money, kid. I want a pokemon. Strongest one you've got."

The four of them look at one another. Then a boy comes forward and hands Guzma a pokeball.

When Guzma releases it, a bright and colorful Comfey pops out. He scoffs at them. "Kids, kids, now you're gonna have to do better than this. This? This is garbage."

"But that's the best we've got!" says the other boy. "Please let us stay! We have no where else to go."

Guzma shakes his head. "No can do. You can't pay, you can't stay."

The other girl steps forward. "Look again! You might find there's more to it than you think."

"Kid, it's a Comfey. Ain't nothing to it but flowers."

"If you're sure..." says the first boy.

Guzma crosses his arms. "Never been more sure of anything in my life."

And those were the last words Guzma said free of curse. In a flash of light, what were once four kids standing before him are now the four island deities. He and everyone else in the room is completely stunned. No one reacts. And then, they recite that poem. That awful, rancid poem that haunts his dream to this day. By the end of it, he was a monster, his grunts were Lycanrocs, and the Tapus were gone, leaving just the Comfey in their place and rain that refused to stop. No longer could they leave Po Town and everyone outside had forgotten them. They were left to rot as beasts in this damn town he always seemed to find himself trapped in.

When morning comes and he transforms back, he thinks it's all been a bad dream. He defies the Tapus and tries to leave, only to come back with fresh cuts and wounds. No one comes near the town anymore. Everyone outside truly had let it slip from memory, and it began to fade into rumor. It takes days for him to understand all that's happened and finally believe it. Even longer for him to come to terms with it.

At first he locks himself away, refusing to see anyone, and seething with rage at what he deems an unfair punishment. But when he finally leaves the seclusion of his room, he finds himself faced with recognizing that he's trapped more than just himself within the town. Because of him, all of Team Skull is stuck here too.

And that, is what finally begins to unravel the veneer of toughness and bravado he's built up.

Years drag on, though they don't age. Each year takes him down a peg, and increases his regrets. Pokemon die, hopes die, pretense dies, even some of the grunts die making desperate attempts to leave the town.

Guzma grows kinder towards the grunts, and they in turn grow to care for him. The time and shared predicament make them far more of a family then their delinquency on the streets ever did. But change as Guzma might, he knows it's not enough. As he falls into despair, he refuses to leave the mansion, secluding himself to the building they now call Shady House.

And that's how it had been. Until she showed up. Was there finally hope now? Could he come back from all he's done? Or would his childhood home be his prison forever? He looks at her now, standing with her in the far east room where he's long locked up these stories along with any object that remind him of them. Along with Comfey. Is the truth that yes, he really had been as bad as all that she heard too much?

He looks into her eyes, not quite able to read the expression on her face. Should he have told her all this?

Yes, he had to. Whether it chases her off or not, she had to know. He looks at the ground. "If I could go back, there's so much I would change. But I can't. All I can say is, I'm not - I'm not the same person anymore. At least I hope I'm not. I just thought you should know everything. And if it's too much; if all of it makes you want to leave, that's ok. I understand. I-"

Guzma once again finds himself surprised by her embrace. She says nothing, just holds him to her. He sighs in relief, tension leaving him, as his arms find their way around her and his head rests on top of hers. She pulls him closer, hugging him tight till they're completely flush together. They stay there like that, standing in the light coming from the circular window. He closes his eyes, shutting out the room so that there's nothing but the comforting feeling of the two of them together.