Straddling the beautiful western coastline of Ayers Island is a seaside restaurant, its exterior illuminated in the night-time by the soft glow of red lanterns that drift lazily in the salty ocean breeze. Against the steady rhythm of the rolling waves, the buzz of commuters and shoppers trawling up and down the shore roads could be heard. The inside of the restaurant, though, maintained the tranquillity that its outside décor had set out to achieve, soundproof glass keeping the unwelcome sounds at bay while giving the patrons full view of the dim horizon.

Inside this establishment, the minute sounds of clinking silverware echoed around the open room like glass chimes, but they were mostly drowned out by casual conversation. One look around would show lovers enjoying a romantic evening, business associates unwinding after a long day at the office with a hearty meal, and upper-class men recounting tales of life experience over glasses of fine wine.

One such upper-class man slipped a sliver of sirloin steak into his mouth, relishing the taste as he scooped up some asparagus to join it. He barely had any time to swallow, though, before the phone in the pocket of his suit jacket began shaking about uncontrollably.

The man frowned. He didn't like being called in the middle of meals, especially not when he was eating in the company with whom he was currently present.

"Excuse me a moment, chaps," he said, pulling the phone out of his pocket and holding it to his ear. "Yes?" he asked, keeping an eye on his fellows as they continued their own conversations.

"I've got a problem, Iato."

"You're quite right, of course," Iato muttered, casting his gaze down. "You've interrupted me in the middle of dinner," he informed the caller coldly, having recognised the voice the moment it had come through the line.

"Forgive me for putting something urgent before your five-hundred-dollar meal ticket," Gin grunted bluntly.

Iato clenched his jaw at the man's comment; whatever Gin's supposed problem was, it sounded as though it must be serious, and his curiosity had now been piqued. "Very well, then. What's troubling you?" he inquired, dabbing at a damp spot at the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

As Gin explained himself, Iato's eyes widened, and the napkin fell onto the crimson carpet with the gentlest of thumps. He hurriedly bent down to retrieve it, and tossed it onto his lap, his eyes now returned to the men seated opposite him – the same men with whom he'd watched the opening ceremony earlier that day.

"You're sure?" he asked, and he received an affirmative grunt in reply. "Not to worry; I'll make sure that the two of them aren't touched. Keep an eye on the boy for me, and I'll handle the girl."

"Thanks, Iato," said Gin, relief in his voice.

"Ciao."

With that, Iato promptly ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Once he had, though, he found himself the centre of his associates' collective attention, all apparently curious as to his caller. "Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?" he asked, crossing his legs under the table.

"Plotting something, are you?" chuckled Simon, resting his chin on the back of his palms.

Iato pursed his lips, locking eyes with Simon and keeping silent for a moment or two, if only to play to his own sense of drama. "I am, actually," he confessed, throwing his hands up slightly into the air before smacking them down on his raised knee.

"Ooh, how exciting," said one of the other men, green eyes twinkling. "What is it this time, I wonder?"

"Knowing him, it probably involves whores and a neck brace," Reeve butted in, and the men guffawed at the thought.

Iato smiled at the suggestion, grabbing his cutlery and popping another piece of meat into his mouth. "Guess again," he told them silkily, and his companions looked at him in earnest surprise.

"A thousand dollars," said Simon loudly, pulling a thin wad of cash from his wallet and placing it next to the table's centrepiece, "says that he's kidnapping some corporate heiress for a ransom. Or something along those lines, anyways."

Several loud and dubious snorts escaped his cohorts.

"I suppose next thing we know, Iato's going to breaking legs with a five-iron and hustling derelicts at games of pool!" sneered the green-eyed man. "Come now, Simon. Ransoms may be your idea of a fun Saturday evening, but we're not all like you."

"Well then, you must have a much better idea than me, Fiorello!" Simon snapped. His outburst drew the attention of some of the other diners, but none of the men at the table paid them any mind, so they quickly returned to their own business with a few choice grumblings here and there.

"Now, now, boys," Iato interjected. "There's no need for you all to be fighting over little old me!" he said in a breathless tone, fanning his face with a limp-wristed hand. "And put your money away, Simon. We all know you wouldn't pay up if you'd lost," he added smartly, and Simon's upper lip twitched as he snatched his money back. "I'll be quite happy to tell you all about my little scheme. In fact, I'd love to know what you think of it."

"Hurry up, then!" said Fiorello excitedly, already leaning forward in his seat.

"Assassination," Iato replied, tapping a finger against the broad side of his nose, causing a few arched eyebrows from his colleagues. "You see, there's a young man entered in the tournament that I'm rather taken with. You may have heard of him during the day – Ash Ketchum."

"The rat boy?" exclaimed Reeve, sitting up a little in his seat. "He's the one who upset Antoine Bergen over at Forty-Six, isn't he?"

Iato nodded, and the men exchanged looks of unease. "Yes, as I was saying… I've taken quite a shine to the Ketchum-boy. I see great potential in him, particularly as the tournament goes on. However, one of my acquaintances here on Ayers Island just informed me—" he opened his jacket to signify the phone lodged inside, "that someone has been monitoring my little pigeon. Pictures of him were found in the possession of a young woman going by the name of Bronte Clemens."

"Clemens?" echoed the last man at the table, running a hand over his smooth, shaven head. "Why does that name sound familiar…?"

"You might know the name," Fiorello replied, knotting his fingers together, "because she's that gorgeous little thing who knocked out Simon's golden boy today. How much did that loss cost you, by the way?" he asked Simon, whose expression changed into something resembling the pain of a man just dealt a kick to the stomach.

"Seventy-five thousand…" he grumbled.

"A shocking loss for any other man, to be sure," Iato quipped, setting his fork down after another piece of asparagus. "But with your extraordinary wealth, I'm in no doubt that the squandered money will be more than returned by one of your other cronies in the tournament's attendance."

Simon pulled himself out of his small swell of anger and let out a boisterous chuckle. "That's right. Besides, that bitch is dead now, so I've got my pound of flesh."

"Oh, she's not dead," Iato countered nonchalantly, eyes glinting.

"What?" Simon exclaimed, his hands slamming down on the table and startling the others. "That's impossible."

"Quite the opposite, actually. The man you sent to kill her – Danton, I believe his name was? – made the mistake of cornering her within plain sight of another competitor. By their accounts, there was a scuffle, and Danton hasn't been sighted since. Probably ran off to avoid further humiliation," he added with a wry smile.

"That incompetent nincompoop!" snarled Simon, as Reeve muttered something into Fiorello's ear which made the latter chuckle. "I'll kill him if he sh—!" he suddenly broke off, eyes shooting wide open.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Iato asked, lowering his hand to rest on the table. "I can't hear you over that knife in your throat."

Terrified, Simon's eyes darted down. His mouth fell open, seeing the polished wooden handle of Iato's steak knife jutting five inches out of his neck, the razor steel blade already covered in crimson. He tried to speak, but only a gargle sounded; the knife had pierced straight through the artery, flooding his windpipe with blood. Reeve and the others leapt up in shock, and Simon gave a strangled cough, sprinkling the white tablecloth with strings and flecks of red.

"It's a pitiable circumstance, this," said Iato emotionlessly, as Simon's hands crept to the hideous wound, his body jerking about in his chair. "Your death would be a shocking loss for any other man, to be sure. But I'm not the kind of man who enjoys having another man involved in my private affairs, and your vendetta against this girl would leave me in an awkward position."

Simon could only choke on his blood at this point, any possibility of a coherent response long gone. In one gruesome motion, he ripped the knife out of his neck, spraying a fountain of blood all over his suit to drip down and begin pooling on the floor. His eyes twitching in pain and rage, Simon bared his bloodstained teeth, but Iato simply leaned back in his seat and looked around, his expression implying that the former was embarrassing him.

"I wish you hadn't stumbled across the unfortunate coincidence of trying to kill a girl with interests in Ketchum," he sighed. "However, people like those are the ones I don't like dying without knowing their motivations. Unintentional as it may be, your crony was doing me an act of mercy, which you know I find is a detestable thing to be given."

A loud scream across the restaurant told the businessmen that Simon's injury had been noticed. Eyes flying around the room, Reeve, Fiorello and their colleague all looked to Iato, who calmly stood to his feet and gave them a nod. Understanding the tension in the situation, the three men fled without a second thought, desperate to get away before the other patrons got further chance to implicate them.

"Ketchum's business is my business," Iato grunted.

Simon's head lolled forwards as he slipped towards unconsciousness, so Iato stepped around the table and reached out to prop it up, making sure that the dying man's eyes were locked against his own. A spark still burned within them, and Iato smiled warmly; even at the end, Simon stubbornly refused to submit to defeat, true to the nature he'd come to expect in the time they'd known each other.

"I wish I could say I regret this decision," he murmured, watching that defiant spark begin to fade as the blood continued to pour out of his neck. Wordlessly, he stuck his other hand into his jacket, pulling out a sheet of plastic, which he pressed against Simon's fingers, making sure to apply pressure to all of them. Once he was satisfied, he swiftly pocketed the plastic and gave Simon one last, taunting smirk, keeping the latter's head tilted upwards with his hand, and adding with an ironic sigh, "But I do wonder if you regret yours…"

A few seconds later, he felt the man's facial muscles grow limp, and he moved his hand away. Simon's head fell forward, the momentum pulling his upper body with it, and he crashed onto the table. The china plate underneath his head shattered, the cloth became soaked in red within moments, and the knife held in his clammy hand fell to the floor with a muffled thud. Adjusting his suit with a roll of the shoulders, Iato placed a hand on Simon's still chest and turned to the horrified men and women around him, adopting an equally frightened expression to match theirs.

"This man is bleeding out!" he shouted, pointing to a dumbstruck waiter. "You there! Wrap that hand towel in your arm around his neck!" he ordered, and the terrified man hurried over. "Apply pressure and keep it tight. Whatever you do, don't loosen the grip. Trust me; I'm a doctor."

"Y-Yes, sir!" the waiter stammered.

Iato nodded, and hurried out the door, yelling over his shoulder, "I'm going to get the paramedics!"

When he made it outside, though, Iato rapidly changed his course, heading instead for an empty stretch of road just down from the restaurant. He slowed his pace to a leisurely stroll, and turned around once he was far enough away. Pulling a Poké Ball from his belt, he tossed it towards the restaurant.

"Burn it down. Kill any who escape," he ordered softly, as the Pokémon within burst out from its depths.

As the building was engulfed in flames, the night was suddenly filled with the anguished screams of the people trapped inside. Some choked to death on the billowing smoke, others simply perishing in the orange flames as they spread over the carpet inside. Iato watched the establishment burn without remorse for the lives being extinguished amongst the blaze, the firelight reflected in his eyes as a mischievous grin spread across his cheeks.

A hand reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out his cell phone; he had some calls to make. Dialling a few numbers, Iato held the receiver up to his ear, licking his lips as the call connected. "Yes, hello there," he said, eyes glimmering wickedly as he turned the departed Simon's wallet over in his hand. "I'm looking for Danton…"

Three minutes later, Iato had disappeared into the night. It took fire-fighters another ten minutes to arrive on the scene, and by then it was far too late.

A light smattering of rain was beginning to fall as Ash stood under the shelter of a street-side awning, watching a large analogue clock mounted on the wall of the building across the asphalt road. The minute hand clicked over, pointing straight up at the cloud-ridden skies above, and a deep, booming gong echoed through the streets. Another one soon followed, and then another, until the air had been filled with the sound of eleven chimes.

As the last ringing tone faded away, Pikachu, who had been enjoying the feel of the raindrops touching against his yellow fur, turned around and bounced back towards Ash. He stopped in front of his Trainer's feet, big black eyes staring up at Ash's face, and Ash returned the gaze. However, whereas Pikachu was shivering from the damp and the cold, Ash's body was sent aquiver with excitement, so much so that he could barely keep himself from hopping up and down on the spot like a toddler after their fifth sugar-coated biscuit.

"Pii pika?" yipped Pikachu curiously, one ear twitching like a rabbit.

"I know, right?" said Ash, his grin at total odds with the gloomy stretch of real estate he found himself surrounded by.

Even though Ayers Island was a place that got little sleep – many people continued their partying, sociable lifestyle alive well into the night, and eleven o'clock was nothing close to bedtime – few seemed to travel down this particular road. Looking around, Ash saw convenience stores, fruiterers, and all other manner of small shops that had shut their doors for the night, and only the occasional person or couple strolling hastily down the pavement, eager to keep from staying in the rain for too long.

Feeling the niggling pinch of confusion in the back of his head, Ash reached into the pocket of his jeans, fingers curling around a piece of paper. Smoothing out the creases, Ash's nostrils were tickled by the faintest aroma that wafted from the paper, and he held it up against his eyes, squinting to read the inked words upon it in the bad light.

"Dear Ash—"

"I'm sorry to be getting in touch with you this way, but you'd already left for the Championships by the time I called your mother back in Pallet Town. I didn't know how else to contact you, so I thought I'd play things safe and leave this letter with the nurses on duty at the Pokémon Center, since you were bound to end up there soon enough. If you're reading this, then my gambit must have paid off!"

"Well, with that out of the way… I hope you've been doing well, on and off the battlefield! It's been a while since the last time we saw each other, and I was hoping that we could meet sometime during the tournament, so I can get caught up on everything I've missed in the world of Ash. I'm going to be here for the whole two weeks, but I'd really like to see you earlier, rather than later… just the two of us, you know? Today, if it's possible…"

"How does the corner of Oak Street and Elm Lane sound? It's not too hard to find, but I remember that your sense of navigation leaves a bit to be desired from time to time, so… I'll be there at eleven o'clock tonight. Sorry about the time, but I've got this long line of things that I have to do, and I didn't know when your first battle was going to be."

"I can't wait to see you, so I hope you can make it."

"Yours truly,"

"—M"

After reading the letter for what must have been the twentieth time since receiving it, Ash furrowed his brow and looked to his right. There, on the other end of the antiques shop which he was standing in front of, was a large signpost, two signs pointing at the two arms of intersection.

"Oak… and Elm," he muttered, a faint smirk forming. Whoever the woman known as M was, she certainly had a sense of humour about her when choosing their meeting place. "So this is the place… but I wonder where she is?" he wondered aloud, peering down to Pikachu, who could only shrug his tiny shoulders in response, ears flopping down around his face.

"Pika…?"

Ash gave a noncommittal twitch of the mouth, eyes weeping to and fro for a sign of this mysterious M, whoever she might be. He continued to search, heart skipping a beat when a female figure came idling down the road, but they were all in a hurry, covering their heads with umbrellas or handbags. The women that weren't rushing through the rain by their lonesome were accompanied by someone else, whether it be one friend or several, and none paid a second glance to the boy and his Pikachu standing on the corner.

The minutes slowly ticked by, and Ash's keen curiosity was eventually replaced with a bitter disappointment. Looking across the street at the mounted clock, Ash clenched his jaw when he saw that half an hour had already passed. At that moment, he decided that he'd been strung along long enough, and he scooped Pikachu up in his arms, the latter more than happy to rest his head against his Trainer's shoulder.

"Come on, Pikachu," he sighed, eyes downcast. "Whoever she is, she's not showing up…" he added, and together they trudged home through the wet and dark night.

Well, I'm pretty satisfied with how that went. Start out with some abominable acts, then segue nicely into a downer ending. I could have probably made it a bit smoother, though... maybe if Billy got that penguin from Happy Feet and shook it about like a ragdoll until its face came off. Yep, I am such a class act.

If class is what you were looking for, or even what you weren't, drop a line in one of our limited-edition reviews, now with free Wi-Fi, guaranteed#! Oh, and put in a vote for my profile poll! I value your opinions like FOOTBAAAAAAALL!

Thanks to the readers who reviewed the previous chapter, or any of the ones before that! Hopefully there are plenty of reviews to come from here on, too; it's always a good feeling when I open my inbox and see it full of alerts. And, of course, Billy staves off eating more people, so that's a plus, too.

Now, onto the questions! Rather, just a single question this time around; for "cpdx", I won't be revealing that particular detail just yet... after all, it would ruin the surprise!

Chapter 10, "ジェイルブレイクイックシルバー", in addition to being the last Japanese title for a while, features something that I'm sure a few people have been waiting for - I'll give you a hint; it happened in the old version.

As for update time, it'll be releasedーoh, let's say November 29th, this time next week. Tuesdays are a good day to update, I think. From here on, though, if circumstances change and force another switch, I'll send PMs to everyone who reviewed the most recent chapter and inform them of the new release date.

Well, I think that's about all from me for now! So, until next time... Be sure to review and, as always,

Insert sign-off line here!

#Not a guarantee.