POV: Cynthia / LOCATION: Galactic Energy HQ
With nothing better to do than nap all day, I swing by the boss's office with the sole purpose of annoying him. That's when Jupiter comes stomping out of the elevator. Luckily, I dive behind the nearest conveniently-shaped lamp before she mows me over like untamed grass.
"If you intend to berate me like a hapless child," I hear Cyrus say, "then don't waste your breath. Notify me once you have any updates on your assignment."
"Oh, so you do know that what you're doing is completely crazy."
"Commander Jupiter, if you have nothing useful to report, then kindly return to your workstation."
"Why are you like this, Cyrus? We're a team. I'm here to help you."
"I can help myself just fine!" he snaps. Then he drops his voice. "You needn't concern yourself with me, Jupiter. I know what I'm doing."
"I sure hope you do," she says softly.
After Jupiter leaves, I peek into the office. Cyrus is hunched over his desk, his back to me.
"I know what I'm doing," he mumbles.
As I gawk, he rummages through his cabinets for something that I can't really make out. But I do hear the rattling of what sounds like a hundred marbles, followed by him cramming a handful of something down his throat which he washes down with a full cup of coffee.
"I know what I'm doing," he growls. "I don't need your help. I've survived this long on my own."
"Cyrus?" I whisper.
The coffee cup slips out of his fingers and shatters on the floor. When he whirls around, he strikes his hip against the edge of the desk, and a spasm unravels across his face: eyelids stretching, nostrils flaring, lips flinging open—
And he bites down on his sleeve so hard that his teeth tear through the insulated fabric.
"You okay?" I venture.
"I-I'm fine."
His voice is as weak as his complexion, which shines from all the sweat plastered on his skin. He tries to reach for his dust pan but keeps dropping it because his hands won't stop trembling.
"Do you need to go to the hospital?" I say. It should've been "You need to go" instead of offering it to him as a suggestion.
"No! I-I mean, please wait outside. I'll be right with you."
The door is already in my face before I can reply.
When Cyrus allows me back into his office, the spill has been cleaned up, and the boss himself is smirking at me as though he had woken up with the intention of committing war crimes.
A complete and utter transformation.
"I apologize for my indecent behavior." His voice is silky smooth, filled to the brim with cocky confidence. You would've never guessed that he was a shivering, feverish mess on the verge of passing out.
"What happened?" I say.
"How are your memories?"
"Cyrus, I really think you need to see a doctor."
Movement ripples up his neck and liquidizes half of his smirk, which he quickly corrects with a sharp, mirthless laugh.
"Your situation is much more dire than my constant demands for attention. Focus. Please let me know if you remember anything, regardless of how seemingly trivial it may be."
It is then I realize how persistent—to the point of obsessed—he had been regarding my memory loss. It's none of his business, so why has he been taking it so personally?
I voice my doubts out loud. "Why are you so interested?"
"The Champion of Sinnoh is strong and courageous," he says with a conspiratorial smile. "She represents the people and Pokemon of our region. Now tell me: how does someone of such incredible prowess lose her memory and Pokemon overnight?"
Ice taps my heart once I grasp the unspoken question. "Are you suspecting foul play?"
"Only you have the answer to that, Champion Cynthia."
Cyrus is right. On my journey to become Champion, I've had to scale giant mountains, cross monstrous lakes, and overcome my own towering fears. I've destroyed foes ten times my height and ego. Out of all the obstacles I've conquered, I was ultimately defeated by an invisible enemy? I doubt I would be as careless as to bump my head and forget the legacy that I've created…
But try as I might to salvage from the foggy annals of memory, the puzzle pieces only evaporate into mist.
When our gazes meet, he gives me a softer version of his characteristic smirk.
"Are you hungry?" he says.
The abrupt change of topic derails my train of thought. Nonetheless, I welcome that shift to familiar territory. "I guess."
"Are you free tomorrow in the afternoon?"
"I'll be free for you," I want to say, but given his last reaction to these types of teasing, I settle for a tamer, "Totally."
"I'd like to invite you to dinner at the Seven Seas Restaurant," he says without coming up for breath.
Like globs of hair traveling down a bathroom pipe, his words sink into my ears, one by one, slowly but surely.
"Why?" I say, more surprised than suspicious.
That earns me a theatric sigh. "All right. I'll confess: as you've correctly stated, it's not every day I am allowed to stand side-by-side with the Champion of Sinnoh. I wish to celebrate this honor before you and I part ways."
Part ways?
A pang of sadness hits my heart. While I do miss the neverending normalcy of the Sinnoh League, it's been… why, it's been fun hanging out in this astronaut base. You have employees who goof around and deputies who either actively slack off or tout visible explosives and those wonderful rocket beds that literally send you to the moon and—
And Cyrus. Who clearly has a schoolboy crush on me. It's kind of cute how he keeps on adamantly denying it.
I swallow the lump in my throat. Play it cool, Cynthia. You're a stone-cold fox. "As long as you pay, then I guess I can grace you with my presence."
"So you'll truly come?" he exclaims—and quickly recomposes himself into salesman mode. "Excellent. I shall make the reservations. Meet me in my office at four sharp."
The reply "It's a date" vibrates violently on the tip of my tongue. But of course, I have to be professional as my title.
"Don't be late," I say with a cheeky, "or else."
