I'm the strong one, I'm not nervous; I'm as tough as the crust of the earth is
Diamonds and platinum, I find them, I flatten them -
I take what I'm handed, I break what's demanded
"You're not getting past me, you know."
The way Lorelei says is it so casual and mundane. Lance has studied her battle history and personal background extensively. She's in her early twenties, has an affinity for plushies and cute things (probably as a tactic to disarm her opponents), and comes from the faraway Sevii Islands. Her rise to power as the first of the Elite Four had been swift and well-earned.
"If I had anything to say about all this," she continues, casually inspecting her manicured nails, "our last leader would've put me in his place after his retirement. But the Pokemon League came up with this idea of hosting tryouts, to bring in 'new blood,' and…" she gestures to Lance. "Here you are, it seems. Welcome to the Indigo Plateau."
Lorelei is wearing an extremely short skirt and jet black high heels that make her toned legs look… well, very nice. Her businesslike collared shirt is unbuttoned at the top. Which also looks very nice.
Lance clears his throat, his face burning just slightly. He is, before anything else, a sixteen year-old young man.
Maybe she's studied him, too.
"I admire your confidence," he replies truthfully. He keeps his face expressionless as he brandishes his first pokeball. "Shall we begin?"
"Straight to the point, huh?" Lorelei muses, smirking her painted lips. Her heels click on the stone floor as she takes her place opposite him. "I like that. Let's see if your little dragons can withstand the cold."
There are four Pokemon League representatives for his next battles, one in each corner. Scrutiny like no other. They have earpieces and mutter constantly with thin, watchful eyes.
Lance hears them announce the rules but he doesn't need to listen. His vision greys at the edges. Sounds gloss over; his fingers twitch. He holds his breath right before the final word – "Begin!"
From this moment on, he's the Chosen One.
His gyarados meets her dewgong. Her attacks are graceful and lithe like she is, but with the sharpest, surprising edges. Even an ordered dodge manages to make a small impact, chipping away. Noted. But can be dealt with.
"Dragon Dance," Lance commands. Gyarados snakes around itself, spiraling into the air, the top of its head brushing against the ceiling. Dewgong's Aurora Beam leaves one of the fins on gyarados' face frozen, throwing off its balance; it's grimacing and snarling as it tries to recover, glancing at Lance whose posture alone is communication enough. It cranes its long neck back, coiled and rippling, as Lance finally shouts "Thunder Fang!"
Lorelei's eyes widen in the crackling electricity; gyarados crashes down on the dewgong, sinking its teeth into the sleek white pokemon's shoulder, making it howl in frustrated pain.
"Take Down!" she counters; dewgong manages to wriggle free just enough to crash its mighty tail into gyarados' face, a brutal slap echoing off the walls. Lorelei smiles. Lance doesn't, but his eyes are ablaze. She undid her own handiwork; the frozen fin is shattered free and gyarados strikes with a feral speed at the next command of "Thunder Fang," this time crushing the dewgong's neck from below. Its whole body seizes; it lets out a howl before falling limp to the floor.
"Dewgong is unable to battle! The first round is awarded to Lance of Blackthorn City."
Lorelei's nose wrinkles a little as she recalls her pokemon. She meets Lance's gaze. Her expression wordlessly asks you're serious, aren't you?
Her mistake. She should've sensed that from the beginning.
Cloyster is next, a near-impenetrable shell lined in pointed pain. Too high of a defense. Lance switches gyarados for his dragonite.
One of three, actually.
Depending on how the dragons were raised, their attack could reign, or their special moves could be equally boosted. This one, while smaller and not as physically powerful as his other two, has an arsenal of unusual attacks he saves for opponents just like this.
"Spike Cannon!" Lorelei says, an edge to her voice now. Her pokemon launches a pair of projectiles; they're fast, but so is his dragonite at his command of "Barrier." The dragon's eyes glow. It holds out both paws and forms a wall of pure energy that the spikes crash into, splintering into useless shards.
"Dragonite can't learn that move," Lorelei growls, gesturing to the reps in the corner frenetically. "Can they? Come on!"
"The move is entirely legal," the rep returns evenly. "Continue."
"Encore," Lance commands. Dragonite grins, making happy ah-whoops, flapping its wings excitedly, applauding the perturbed shellfish as it dares to peek out from between its clamped shell. Its small black face is frowning. Without prompting it fires off more spikes that are either dodged entirely or bounce off of dragonite's still-present barrier.
"Thunderbolt," Lance says now, tilting his chin a little higher. Dragonite slaps its paws together then holds them out wide, sparks crashing and snapping before arcing forward in a blinding line of energy. Cloyster don't make a lot of noise but Lance hears a struggled bubbling. It's still upright but listing to one side.
"Aurora beam, Cloyster!" Lorelei orders, futilely – encore is still in effect. Spikes, barrier, dodge, repeat. Dragonite's flamethrower attack, now, just to heat up the air and make it that much more uncomfortable for her next pokemon, because this one is definitely done for. It clacks to one side and opens its shell, releasing small trails of steam. The League rep announces Lance's second round win.
Lorelei recalls it, maintaining her composure well, all things considered. Her shoulders square. "Slowbro, teach them a lesson."
The large pink and grey pokemon appears, wearing its signature mysterious, permanent smile. High special defense. A good counter. It's also half psychic type, but Lance knows how to handle that. His first dragonite is switched out for aerodactyl, proudly screeching as it makes its entrance, hovering in midair.
"Yawn, Slowbro," Lorelei says. "Slow them down."
It opens its already-wide mouth and, well, yawns. Loudly. "Aerial Ace," Lance calls out – aerodactyl flips upside down in the air, dodging the invisible cloud. Lorelei is shouting "withdraw!" and before aerodactyl can land a hit, slowbro's covered in an expansion of that shell on its tail. Aerodactyl's fierce talons rake it, but end up glancing off with barely a scratch.
"Yawn, again!"
Lance's pokemon doesn't have time to dodge this time; the effect isn't instant, but aerodactyl's wings start to sag, its eyes growing heavy. He grits his teeth. "Crunch, now! Full power!"
The fossil pokemon twists in midair, sailing high before a steep dive to gain momentum. An air-rending shriek escapes its gaping mouth, fangs bared, coated in swirling black shadows – it bites the slowbro's thick neck, those shadows infecting the psychic type's pink skin and snaking into its eyes and round ears. It blinks slowly, flinching and unable to move for an extended moment – which is good timing, because aerodactyl has promptly fallen asleep with its fangs still wrapped around slowbro's throat.
An even trade. That was a supereffective attack and Lance can full-heal aerodactyl awake after the battle. He recalls it.
"Finally," Lorelei chuckles, crossing her arms. "Mystery man cracks a little–"
"Gyarados, Thunder Fang!"
It launches straight from its pokeball, not even touching the ground before its fangs now replace aerodactyl's. Lightning sizzles along slowbro's skin. It blinks again, otherwise bereft of reaction.
"Bind it, Gyarados!"
"Confusion, Slowbro!"
Those slow eyes now flash magenta-pink and gyarados stops moving instantly. Commanded by an unseen force, it releases slowbro before being slammed full-force into the gym's floor, once, twice-
"Break out of it!" Lance shouts. "Dragon Dance!"
"Withdraw, quickly!"
The water pokemon's enhanced speed wins out over the strength of slowbro's mind; one last Thunder Fang, shell-shield be damned, and slowbro ends up on its back with a tired sigh. It doesn't get up.
"Slowbro is unable to battle!"
Gyarados is still capable of continuing, but pushing it any farther gives Lance unpleasant flashbacks of battling Mewtwo. He recalls it, briefly touching his forehead to its pokeball with a small smile. "You were magnificent. Thank you, my friend."
"How dare you," Lorelei mutters, scowling. She pushes her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. "Treating my cute slowbro with such aggression. You've got a little darkness in you, don't you?"
"Just enough," Lance counters, setting his jaw. "Don't we all?"
Oh, but she's fun to make angry, he has to admit.
"Jynx," she seethes, "show them what we're made of."
Finally, an ice-type without a second water-type. "Dragonite, you're up!"
Lorelei scoffs. "Again?
"You don't see the difference?" Lance asks, one corner of his mouth twitching in a smile. "Hmm. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"Ice Beam, Jynx!" The small, humanoid pokemon hums melodiously, firing its attack as it does. For its short stature it moves surprisingly quickly; this dragonite has sacrificed some speed for physical prowess, and as a result the tip of its tail gets coated in ice as it flies into the air. Its amber eyes harden and it huffs an annoyed breath, steam pouring from its nostrils.
"Don't worry about that," Lance assures. "Fire Punch, let's go!"
"Ice Beam, again!"
Dragonite's fist is meteoric in both temperature and impact. It barges the punch directly into Jynx's ice attack, turning it into a useless cloud, before impacting Jynx in the side of its blonde-haired head. It skids to one side, managing to keep its feet on the ground somehow, strands of its hair now smoldering cinders.
"Get your bearings," Lorelei growls. "Stop it with Psychic!"
"Swords Dance!"
It's a risky counter; if Jynx's mind is powerful enough, dragonite could easily be overtaken. Lance is counting on this stat-raising move to give his pokemon enough offensive strength to overcome that power. Jynx holds out its hands, channeling its energy forward just as dragonite settles its feet onto the gym floor, flexing its curved claws, wings spread wide.
Jynx lifts dragonite up, eyes aglow. A few seconds pass; Lance watches his pokemon's expression change, the slight shifting and bulging of its muscles beneath that scaly skin. "Fire Punch, again!"
It doesn't work. A few inches of movement, at most. Dragonite is baring its teeth.
"Break free! Don't stop!" Lance orders. Jynx's hands are trembling. It starts to wince. Lance glances at the end of dragonite's tail, still coated in a chunk of ice, and – "Use your whole body! Spin, and hit it with your tail, go!"
Momentum! It's just enough; Jynx's concentration slips and dragonite's next step cracks fearsome lines in the floor. It twists, pulling arms in close, and that heavy laden tail crashes into the Jynx's side, sending it sailing across the room and into the wall just beside Lorelei. She attends to it as the rep announces its defeat. Dragonite slams its tail against the ground again, removing the last flecks of ice.
"You think you've won already, don't you?" Lorelei asks, recalling Jynx. "You haven't seen anything yet."
Her words are intended as a threat, but to Lance they're hollow. He watches silently as she releases her final pokemon - a proud, stunningly beautiful lapras that sings a soft melody as it appears on the battlefield. Its expression radiates peace and a quiet, serene confidence.
Lance doesn't even consider changing pokemon. His dragonite's attack is already sharply raised, and it's taken only moderate damage.
"Final match, begin!"
"Thunderpunch," Lance orders; simultaneously Lorelei is shouting "Blizzard!" and lapras opens its mouth wide, calling forth a gale of freezing wind. The edges of dragonite's wings frost over. It squints through the snow, cocking one fist back and soaring forward. Lapras tries to slide out of the way but it's heavy, and dragonite's punch lands on its shoulder, above its fin. It recoils, eyes thinning - "Ice Beam, now!" Lorelei shouts, and the close range blast rakes dragonite's side, completely freezing one wing, arm and leg.
"Swords Dance, again!" Lance calls out.
"What? You can't be serious–"
Dragonite still has one good arm. As far as Lance is concerned, that's all it needs.
It boosts its attack again, using its free leg to step back – "Thunderpunch, one last time!" – and sways its tail to one side, twisting, before lurching forward without coordination, but with scathing raw power instead. That clawed, electric fist decimates lapras' lower jaw in a vicious uppercut. There's a mewling cry that's almost hard to hear. Lapras' eyes go wide before fluttering closed. It collapses in a great heap before Lance's dragonite.
Lorelei is in utter disbelief. She looks from Lance to her pokemon and back again. And then to his dragonite, who despite its injuries has its fangs bared, air huffing in and out of its nostrils in steaming bursts.
"Dragons are mythical pokemon," Lance tells her evenly, in between the League rep announcing his victory. "They're difficult to catch and raise, but they're virtually indestructible." He recalls his pokemon, noting with a smirk how the pokeball crackles with frost. "Your ice attacks were commendable, Lorelei. Thank you for the battle."
It takes her a moment, but she eventually recalls her lapras, closing her eyes and sighing. "I underestimated you. It's my own fault." She smiles sarcastically to herself. "When I heard you were just a teenager from a backwoods town in Johto, I wrote you off. I won't make that mistake again. You're something else, Lance of Blackthorn."
Lance meets her mid-battlefield. Up close like this, he can smell her faint perfume, like fresh water and sunlight. It swims in his head pleasantly. They lock eyes as she extends one hand; Lance shakes it.
"This place needs you," Lorelei tells him softly. "Don't lose, Lance."
"I don't intend to."
"This way, challenger," one of the League officiants is telling him, gesturing to a door on the far wall. "You will be allowed ten minutes to heal and restore your pokemon with any of your allotted items. There is a timer which will begin counting down as soon as you enter. Afterwards, your next battle will begin immediately."
Lance breathes deeply as he enters the vacant room. The door closes behind him. Those bright red digital numbers on the wall start their descent. Immediately, he releases all of his pokemon.
Aerodactyl is a limp heap of wings and talons on the floor, sound asleep. Gyarados is functional but clearly tired. Lance's smaller, special attack dragonite is fine; of the three he has, she generally is the least maintenance and maintains a perky personality with little effort. She is currently sitting by Aerodactyl, poking the side of its head curiously.
The second dragonite, a proud young male nearly twice the size of the female, is frowning deeply. Probably because one half of its body is still frozen.
And the third is his original partner, his lifesaver from childhood. A well-rounded balance of offense and defense, with a ton of stamina. He's more concerned about Lance than anything, hovering over his trainer's shoulder attentively.
Behind Lance's back, hanging from his belt and hidden by his cape, is a small satchel of items. In less than five minutes, all of his pokemon are back to full strength and staring at him.
Click. Click. That digital clock is making a soft noise with each passing second. Other than that, and the steady breathing of his dragons, there's no noise.
Historically, silence has not been kind to Lance. It's much easier to function when life has a clear purpose, when he needs to be something. Silence is when his head gets loud.
The Dragon God's tooth is around his neck. He hasn't forgotten about it. A few fingertips brush against its ancient, cratered surface. He closes his eyes.
What are his parents doing right now, after his choice to essentially tell them to screw off?
Was that the right thing to do?
Did he break his kind mother's heart?
Will his father seek to punish him somehow at their next meeting, regardless of his impending victory?
Loud, deafening questions in the silence.
After that first battle, nowhere in Lance's head is the question of 'can I do this?' The answer to that has become abundantly clear. Lorelei was actually his biggest worry of the three.
Bruno, while mighty and focused, will succumb easily to a flying-type and speed-based strategy led by Aerodactyl. Agatha's ghost-types will be tactful and tricky, but they lack strong defense, and both Gyarados' and Dragonite's (the biggest one) attack power will be enough to blast through any web she deigns to weave. He likely won't even need the backup of his childhood dragonite, who is currently nudging his shoulder with its nose, sensing his obvious tension.
He takes a breath, long and slow. That tense fear eases. He remembers a friend's voice over the phone. Just a little, he smiles.
"Thank you," Lance decides to say. He opens his eyes and meets those of his partners. "This is going to happen. I know you can all sense it."
A murmur of quiet agreement arises from each of them.
"We are going to make history today," he continues, half to his pokemon and half to himself. "I couldn't be here without you. Stay sharp. We're almost there. Thank you."
The female dragonite is the first to lean in, nudging her forehead right underneath his jaw, just as she used to do as a dratini. The floor shakes a bit as the large male joins, stepping forward, circling its beefy arms around the two of them. Next are Aerodactyl's wings with a shrill shriek Lance has learned actually indicates affection; Gyarados curls around the group with its long, scaly body and utters a purring growl.
His oldest friend is standing by the door, waiting for it to open.
—
It's hot. There are lots of bugs everywhere, probably – at least it sounds like it, from all the buzzing. The grass is making her ankles itch, and she feels utterly out of place among all the other kids joining her in Pallet Town.
Serena is not having a good day.
Pokemon summer camp? Was there anything more annoying or silly for her to do? Of course her mom would want to send her here, though – her mom was good at everything, especially Rhyhorn Racing, so that meant Serena could obviously also be good at everything. Even if the things Serena enjoyed were super different than her own mother. Who cared about that, though?
Turns out, Serena isn't even good at summer camp. In pausing to tie her shoe (and then scratch her stupid, itchy ankles), she'd lost sight of the rest of her hiking group. Then, in a futile attempt to find them, she'd wandered off into the probably-wrong direction and ended up stumbling through a prickly bush – ripping a few holes in her favorite pink dress, of course – and bashing her knee on a tree root.
So here she is, a complete mess. Sitting in a lump on the itchy grass, wiping away tears, asking herself, "Where is everyone?"
To make literally everything worse, the bushes beside her rustle and out jumps a pokemon right next to her – Serena shrieks, recoiling in fear and surprise. The pokemon is round and blue and looks pretty slimy. It has huge black and white eyes that stare right into hers for a moment before it thankfully heads off into the distance.
"I didn't even want to come here," Serena wails to herself, those combatted tears now openly spilling onto her face. "I just wanna go home!"
Those same bushes start rustling again. Serena's knee is throbbing and turning red; she scrambles to back up, expecting another pokemon, genuine fear making her pulse race – but instead it's… a head. A human boy's head, with black hair and brown eyes.
"Poliwag?" the boy says, looking around curiously. He's not very tall, and he's wearing a tank top and shorts – probably another kid from the camp? He then spots Serena, who is gazing up at him absolutely mortified.
"Hey, what are you doing out here?" he asks, smiling a little despite said obvious mortification. She can't really say anything right now so he just keeps talking, noticing her angry knee. "My name's Ash. Are you hurt?"
Oh great, now he's going to think she's some lame girl who can't even walk through the woods right–
"Here," he continues, still smiling. He pulls a handkerchief out from one pocket. Serena watches, baffled, as he ties it with surprising efficiency around her knee. Then his hands are waving around it in circles, his eyes lighting up. "It's magic. Now all the pain will go away!"
She tries to smile back but it comes off as a tilted grimace. "It… still hurts a lot."
"That's okay," he responds, holding out one hand. "I'll help you. Don't give up until the very end!"
Serena blinks. Then slowly reaches out to take his offered hand. He yanks her to her feet with enthusiasm. Her face erupts in a furious blush because for a second, the momentum makes them practically hug. Even though she's standing now, he's still holding her hand.
"Let's go back to the campsite," he suggests, pointing in a direction Serena totally wouldn't have even considered. "I know the way. Don't worry."
He walks her there, a bright smile still on his sun-darkened face. Weird, her knee doesn't seem to hurt as much, after all.
Maybe he is magic.
—
The trip from the Indigo Plateau to Blackthorn City, on the back of a dragon, takes about three hours. There are modern planes that can make the trip in a fraction of that time, but no self-respecting Dragon Tamer would dream of such a cheat.
Those hours aloft on her dragonair have given Hana quite awhile to think about her son. She has always tried to mother him without expectations, despite his inevitable inheritance of the Blackthorn Clan – it felt fairer that way. Lance was an individual, first, with his own will and desires. This same view wasn't often shared by Lance's father, but part of being a family meant dealing with clashing wills, and loving someone despite all differences.
At certain times, this felt a more difficult task than others. This latest surprise - and what her husband perceived as blatant disrespect against him - had left a deep cleft among the clan's ranks. Quiet and peaceful by nature, Hana tended to let the men of her clan handle the more intense disputes.
This one, though – she felt the need to raise her voice.
"You do not get to choose when and where your son relies on his faith instead of his clan," Hana speaks sharply into the rushing air.
Her husband slows his dragonite, his dark grey eyes widening in genuine surprise. "My own wife, accepting our son's mistreatment of his father?"
"You are not the one competing on a world stage for our City's sake," Hana continues, swiping strands of burgundy hair from her eyes. "If you choose to view his belief in the power of our God as an offense, perhaps it is you that needs a readjustment of your values, husband."
The faces of all listening in – though they try to hide it – all wordlessly show thoughtful consideration at least, and passionate agreement at most.
Silence reigns for several moments. The Elder, leading them all on his scarred, battle-worn gyarados, now pauses in midair and turns to face them.
"This is a time of contemplation and celebration," he says evenly in his low voice. "Regardless of the outcome, today is a day of joy for all of us. Hana is right. Put aside your personal feelings and take pride in your son."
Hana straightens her back, fighting off a victorious smile. They're nearly home. And hopefully, not long after landing, they will receive the phone call that will forever change the future of their clan.
For now, Hana can finish her flight in gratitude for her courage to speak up. It's a cherished rarity she could definitely get used to.
—
Though she is roughtly a third of Bruno's size, Agatha is easily twice as intimidating. The older woman positively radiates self-assurance, even as her sly gengar is declared unable to battle, and Lance is awarded his third and final victory. His longtime partner Dragonite delivered the final blow, and is now standing tall by his side.
"Child," Agatha is saying, as the four League reps meet in one corner to converse with one another. Her cane clicks as she walks up to him with studying eyes. "A word of advice, if it means anything from someone you just defeated."
"Always," Lance says earnestly. "No opinion is too invaluable to be considered."
Agatha cackles a little. "That's a bunch of hooey, if you ask me, but anyway. You must know your life is about to change, yes?"
Lance nods.
"Be careful who your friends are," she continues, her creaky voice a little softer now. "The whole world is going to want a piece of you after this. Not everyone deserves a piece, though. You'll see what I mean at the afterparty tonight."
Lance's stomach tightens. "A-afterparty?"
"You didn't know?" She cackles again. "Why, you're the official face of the Pokemon League from now on, child. Everyone who's anyone in Kanto and Johto has been awaiting this night since our last Leader stepped down. Pending your victory, of course." Agatha nudges his arm with her bony elbow. "I hope you're ready to schmooze your cute little heart out, young one."
"That's, uh," Lance mutters, "never been a particular talent of mine, unfortunately."
"Oh, I'll be there too, don't you worry. If anyone starts to give you hell, just find old Agatha. Gengar and I are pretty keen at scaring away the leeches."
That is, oddly enough, an extremely comforting thought. Lance sighs. "Thank you, Agatha. And for the battle as well."
She waves at him dismissively. "I became too old for formalities ages ago. You kicked my arse, and you deserve to celebrate." The League reps are waving him forward now. "Oh, one last thing – don't sign any papers before reading the fine print, either!"
"Signing…papers? For what?"
"You'll see! Keep those pretty eyes peeled!"
That is decidedly less comforting. Lance can still hear her laugh as he walks towards the far door, Dragonite floating beside him.
Once the last door opens, he is greeted by a sea of reporters.
The reps are now acting as a human shield, forming a barrier around Lance and his pokemon as they are swarmed by what appears to be a journalist from quite literally every news station in both Kanto and Johto. At least fifty people, all in suits with giant cameras, bright lights and microphones on sticks. Their voices blend together, as do the incessant snapping of their cameras, and it suddenly occurs to Lance that he should probably be looking like a professional, serious trainer for the now-dozens of photos he's apparently going to show up in.
He puts on his signature hard, emotionless expression. The same one he's put on for his father for his entire life. It's a little jarring how easy it is.
"You don't have to say anything," one of the reps is telling him, over the cacophony. "Don't feel obligated. This is just a teaser."
Not that Lance can really hear any questions clear enough to answer. Dragonite is squinting beside him, frowning. Someone is close enough to his ear now, and a phrase catches Lance's interest: "...to represent Blackthorn City?"
Lance turns in the voice's general direction. "Who just asked a question about Blackthorn?"
"Tony Hamada, Celadon News Hour," the man says, amid those constantly flashing lights. "Thank you for your time, Mister Lance. I wanted to ask how it feels to become the new leader of the Elite Four as a representative of your hometown of Blackthorn City?"
Finally, some silence. Clearly everyone in the room wants to hear this answer too. Sweat beads on the back of Lance's neck but he squares his shoulders.
"I would not be who I am without my clan," he says clearly. "I owe this victory to their guidance and knowledge, and to our Dragon God."
One of the reps winces a little. Lance wonders why until the immediate followup question: "So it's true that the Blackthorn Dragon Clan believes in a singular Dragon God? How do you feel this difference of religious belief will affect your relations with the general populace of Kanto and Johto, who hold very different views than yours?"
Oh, damn.
Lance balks. He hears Agatha's voice in his head: not everyone deserves a piece of you.
"I…" He swallows hard, that panic building in his chest. He breathes, slow and deep. "I need… to move on now. Excuse me."
The ocean of voices returns, but he ignores them. The reps are guiding him somewhere and he hopes to all the gods it's someplace away from this.
It is. And much more.
"The afterparty starts at eight sharp," Lance is told, as he enters a luxury suite, with an utterly gigantic banquet of food for both himself and his pokemon. "Should you need anything, we're right outside."
No reporters, and the reps even give him privacy. Lance releases his pokemon, encouraging them to eat the meal they've more than earned.
Off in one corner is a giant, plush armchair that looks soft enough to fall asleep in. Lance unbuttons his cape, takes it off, drapes it across the back of the chair. And promptly plops down in the cushions with a deep sigh.
Earning his spot as the leader of the Elite Four was, honestly, the easy part.
Now for the hard part: changing his entire life.
Lyrics: "Surface Pressure (Encanto Cover)" by Our Last Night