Professor Rowan believed himself to be a fairly well-organized individual. He kept hours spent in the field carefully logged in his notebook, took the minutes at every academic conference he attended (whether in an official capacity or not), and was very particular in distinguishing his personal and professional lives.
That he occasionally found himself tramping into the woods and eating perhaps one too many slices of cheesecake was besides the point.
(He recalled the essence of a particular bakery in Johto. Miltank milk and Cherubi jelly were truly a divine combination.)
One of his phones rang. Rather than the lab phone, to which calls would be rerouted from the lab's receptionist when appropriate, it was his personal phone.
He did give his contact information out occasionally, but he didn't recognize the number that popped up on the tiny screen. The area code was from the other side of the region.
Finding that he had time to himself after arriving at the lab early that morning, he decided to indulge the caller.
"Hello?" said a quiet, feminine voice.
Rowan heard a deep Galarian grumbling from the other end, and then a short and seamless exchange between the two voices and the two different languages.
"I'm afraid you may have dialed the wrong number, young lady," Rowan said, tweaking his mustache thoughtlessly.
"This is Professor Rowan, correct?"
Rowan exhaled through his nose and resisted the urge to spin around in his desk chair. Proper comportment was expected of respected academics.
"My name is Marley Kujaku; I'm here with Hilbert Kuroiwa. He asked me to call you in his stead.
Rowan planted his feet. "Is that so? I'm glad he took me up on my offer."
It was a confused mumbling that followed, Rowan was almost certain.
"He says that he is not aware of what you speak," she said.
A sharp retort of some kind. If Kuroiwa really was on the other end of the line, it had likely been obnoxious semantics on the wording.
Rowan stared at the lab's ceiling tiles. He remembered his youth well enough. Kuroiwa would have to learn how to rely on others at his own pace, so it seemed.
"He wants me to ask… if he were to hypothetically issue a challenge to a gym leader in order to strip them of their rank, in a hypothetical fit of panic and rage…"
There was a sound like scuffling, but the idea of Hilbert Kuroiwa trying to wrestle a phone away from the mysterious caller was too ridiculous to entertain.
What was that last part?
"Yes, as I was saying, if he were to hypothetically do this, would there be any hypothetical grounding in League regulations to do so?" She paused. "Hypothetically."
"Lab Trainer Kuroiwa did what, exactly?" Rowan asked.
A deeper grousing followed, though it had a wavering tone to it. That was somewhat odd, even Rowan could recognize. Kuroiwa spoke in unaccented, if commonly improper, Sinjohan-Japanese. Rowan wasn't sure if the boy was aware of that or not.
"He wasn't having a good day and he admits that his judgment was lacking. One of his Pokémon was grievously injured and he has had to take care of their recovery personally."
Ghost-types rarely responded well to medical treatment well, with a great number of the species being so "cloaked in death" (though the miasma theory had been abandoned long before his time) that most medicines had the opposite intended effect or none at all. If Kuroiwa was truly a spiritualist, then home treatment was likely the best course of action.
"I see," Rowan said. "And he has already issued this challenge?"
There was another somewhat heated exchange.
"Hypothetically, he may have issued such a challenge in front of a "large-ish," in his words, crowd while cursing at the gym leader in this entirely hypothetical scenario."
Rowan closed his eyes to alleviate the sudden strain he felt on his mind. Even when he was training to become a Frontier Brain, he'd never been so brash.
Though he had gotten fairly close.
"Very well," Rowan said. "Listen closely, young Kujaku, Kuroiwa. When one makes a declaration such as that and places him or herself against the world, there is nothing else to be done except see it through to the end."
The Lights in the Sky Are Thunderbolts - XXIV - I'm Not Okay
Marley clapped her phone shut and slid it into a side pocket of the basket on her back. "He said that we should continue on this path."
Hilbert was looking off to the side and slouching with his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, I'm gonna."
She gave him one of his own signature glares. "We are going to. We are partners in this venture, if not all things."
Shaymin eased a rose scent into the air in agreement.
"Don't say it like that, it's got implications," Hilbert said, kicking at the polished tile beneath his feet. The battered outsoles of his shoes squeaked oddly.
The two were in the entrance hall of the Hearthome contest hall waiting in line to register for the tag battle tournament. They'd gotten some weird looks already while she was on the phone, but while immersed in the nervous energy of the hall, no one could be bothered to pay too much attention.
"I didn't think you cared about things like implications," she said, raising an eyebrow. "There are plenty of implications about a young man and woman sharing a hotel room, and yet…" she trailed off before smirking victoriously.
Hilbert scoffed. "Whatever."
She frowned.
For the last few days, Hilbert had only grown more aggressive and paradoxically, more apathetic. He was more aloof than he usually pretended to be, and responded to prodding with either scathing dismissals or statements of apathy.
She made a note to herself to help him talk through it sometime soon. It was a great opportunity to create Gratitude in his heart, as he didn't seem to have a whole lot of it at the moment. Her partially shared awareness with Shaymin was something she had explained to the boy, though not in great detail. He'd surprised her with how willing he was to take her word at face-value about her and Shaymin's abilities.
She was about to inquire further, as she was more likely to gain his Gratitude through sympathy than doing nothing, when someone approached and distracted her from her thoughts.
"Oi, Kuroiwa," the boy called as he came closer, "You're simpering like a wet Growlithe. Cut it out, it's pathetic."
Hilbert looked up, furrowed his brow, then glanced towards Marley and then finally acknowledged the heckler.
"Who are you, again?" Hilbert asked.
The boy scowled, though that didn't seem too different from the neutral expression he displayed previously. His purple hair shaded his eyes but didn't diminish the sternness in his gaze.
"Paul Ikari. We've met."
Hilbert slouched further, if such a thing were possible, before he opened his mouth and said, "Huh. I think I usually make a decent enough impression that I don't expect that sort of greeting. Sorry." He turned to focus on the domed ceiling in thought. "Ikari? I think I met your brother. Nice guy."
"You're talking about nothing," Paul said, his eyes narrowing. "In Oreburgh, multiple weeks ago, I was accosted by a boy who told me that a "Mr. Kuroiwa" told him to look for a lab trainer friend of his. Does this sound familiar?" he asked through a clenched jaw.
Hilbert cupped his chin, actually standing up straight for a moment. "Hm, let me think. Yeah, I probably did that. Oops?"
"I was delayed in obtaining a gym badge because that boy insisted that I train him or take him along with me," Paul said.
"I'm guessing that he chose training after seeing your personality," Hilbert said, tilting his head to the side.
"I had him and his Wooper train against my Pokémon," Paul said.
Hilbert just looked at him. Then he turned to Marley.
"Is this how it feels for everyone else when I Bouffa-shit my way through a conversation with someone?"
"Yes," Marley said simply. "At least, I would assume so, despite the small sample size of myself."
"Huh. Damn." He turned back to Paul. "Anyway, what?"
"My sponsor is an expert in bringing the strength out of both people and Pokémon. Dr. Colress Enerugi is one of the preeminent minds in his field."
Marley felt a twitch of gratitude in the boy, but it wasn't anything more than a fleck of pepper blown by in the wind.
Hilbert's hand flinched towards his heart and his face went blank. "Who?"
Paul's eyes narrowed further. "He researches the strength of Pokémon. His goals align with my own, so I entered into a sponsorship agreement with him."
HIlbert nodded. "So, if this Colress guy were to, like, experiment on Ghost-type Pokémon or something like that, would you know about it?"
"Unlikely."
"Good. That's good. For you, I mean," Hilbert said, before moving on like he hadn't just issued a threat. "You got his business card?"
Paul gave him a strange look before retrieving one of a small stack of colorless cards from his bag.
"Alright, you can go now," Hilbert said, making a shooing motion and stuffing the card in his bag.
Paul glared at him before saying, "I initially approached to make sure you understood something. I expect to see you in the final match, Kuroiwa, no matter who my partner ends up being. I won't tolerate you wasting your strength like you did during the Pokétch tournament in Jubilife."
"Yeah, whatever, I wouldn't miss it for the world. Get outta here, we're almost to the desk," Hilbert said, flicking his wrist at the other boy.
Paul sneered one last time before walking off.
Marley turned to Hilbert with half-lidded eyes.
"How do you feel about being written into a boys' love novel?" she asked. "I feel very inspired all of a sudden."
"For the sake of what's left of my sanity, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Hilbert said.
Two sets of trainers exited two separate tunnels to great applause. All of the lights of the contest hall were focused solely on the stage, illuminating the smooth granite platform as the teams approached. Hilbert hadn't seen such large crowds at any other competition like this one, but he supposed Hearthome had more people and better advertising than Oreburgh.
Of course they did, when their gym leader was more of a superstar than someone-
He clamped down on that line of thought as he and Marley stepped up to the stage, just outside of the engraved boundaries.
The pair opposite them seemed to shrivel under the light like plants. They were nondescript except for the boy's outfit being blue and the girl's being red.
The announcer shouted something in Sinjohan-Japanese, evidently being outside of Hilbert's translation range and/or drowned out by the sound system.
A screen lit up on the far wall beneath the technician's booth, flashing brightly and displaying the profiles of each trainer along with two darkened Pokéballs to represent each contestant's selected Pokémon.
Hilbert cringed as he noticed how forced his smile seemed to be. It was from when the Professor upgraded his trainer's card to one valid in Sinnoh a few months previously.
The early rounds were to last until the first Pokémon fainted, at which point the team with two remaining on the field would advance.
Hilbert and Marley's opponents moved in unison as they threw out their Pokémon.
Tiny electric rodents, though bipedal and mostly cream-colored, except for red accents on the cheery one and the blue accents on the serious one.
"Their species are Plusle and Minun," Marley said, palming a Pokéball.
"Right," Hilbert said, reaching for one of his own.
He flinched as he realized that Sinistea's Pokéball was empty, its resident still recovering in their hotel room. His fingers drifted along the side of his belt uselessly.
Without another word, Marley's Scolipede appeared on the field. Fast, betraying their size, their scuttling was accompanied by a sound like charging Bouffalants. Every section of their shell shifted with each step, though the scraping of the scarab-like shield against itself was all but silent.
Hilbert jolted as if struck by lightning as he remembered their new strategy before he took hold of Machamp's Pokéball.
The blast of light spread out like a cloud of mist before reorganizing into the spirit's corporeal form. Rather than the haphazard sandbags that had been used in their match against Gardenia, the spirit now wore heavy metal manacles around each fist that weighed more than any iron sand. They were covered in an outer shell of armor and filled with incredibly dense stone.
It had taken a lot of focus and power, but with the anger and bitterness that had filled him after he had failed Sinistea, it was more meditative than exhausting.
To their credit, the Plusle and Minun didn't turn tail as Scolipede stood to its full height and Machamp punched the air away.
Not that it did them much good, but bravery is a virtue in many cultures.
The luxury box in the contest hall was a luxury for many, as the name would imply, but for one individual, it was a luxury that she could afford.
Being the manager of the hall, in a way, Fantina was practically a guest of honor. It was often her performing on that stage, and when it wasn't, it was likely that she had inspired whoever was.
Politely refusing an offer of Slowpoke tails and wine, she kept a gloved hand on the railing as she stared down at the ongoing tournaments. The flashing lights were dulled by the tinted screen and the sound slightly muffled, but there was no way to suppress the excitement that the audience exuded.
That was the sort of thing she lived for. Even so, she hadn't been able to get rid of the stress lines that had been appearing on her face lately. Perhaps she was getting old?
No, that was unthinkable. It must have been something else.
That encounter with the Boy, what was his name… No, this was ridiculous. She'd glimpsed something deeper than she'd ever been shown by the spirits before, and she couldn't remember his name? Was it something so abstract she couldn't even think of it?
She looked between the widescreens inside the box. Each one had a different view of the field along with the current roster, but none were as all-encompassing as the window she already stood at.
Kuroiwa, that was it. Odd. It had only been a flash and she could barely comprehend it, but the vision didn't have the essence of a Sinnohan in it, as odd of a thing as that was to think. The name was something softer, more familial despite Kuroiwa already being a family name.
She needed focus. Focus was her ally, wandering thoughts were her enemies.
Her hair raised every time she recalled the Boy's declaration in her mind. There was something… well, not wrong. People were themselves and couldn't be anybody else, but the Boy stuck out. She had gained a sense for such things over her many years- the exact number unspecified even in her mind- through casual exposure to so many Ghost-types. They were thankfully not malevolent, expecting some, but rather desired the attention they had been deprived of in life. Or something similar. All she needed or desired to know is whether they would aid her in her goal or not.
Looking at the Boy was like looking at a painting that hung just slightly off kilter, looking at a picture of your childhood home that was just a shade too bright, or dancing on a stage with the slightest incline that sent you spiraling to the floor.
But that made sense. Ghost-type specialists didn't tend to be normal people.
Otherwise they would be Normal-type specialists.
Chuckling at her private little joke, she recalled the controversies in her earlier years. First, she had been a poorly received performer, lacking spice though having good form. As she began creating her image, solidifying her theme, the rumors made necromancer that danced like the dead. It had not been very good for her ratings. She realized that just having Pokémon wasn't enough, but also that she needed to become the sort of person that would train those Pokémon.
Necromancy was a touch too far. What was the phrase the children used for it… attention whore? Yes, that was a perfect image for a performer. It was better to be intentionally braggadocious and publicly laughed at than socially inert and privately slandered, she thought. And it worked well enough, so what could there be wrong with it? She was a performer that showcased the tortured artists that had failed in life and made a living out of it.
It was something of an exaggeration, but hyperbole is the strong suit of the opinion piece writer.
There was that Morty boy over in Sinnoh whose family had a hereditary claim to the Ecruteak gym as shrine keepers, though he wasn't much one for the stage; you could tell these things by fashion sense alone. The superstitious bought into that sort of thing quite well.
And Phoebe in Hoenn could be called a friend, though Fantina never quite understood why she dressed as she did while not owning a single Water-type.
They were the better off specialists. Everyone had a second or third hand story of a foolish classmate or friend that decided to train Ghost-types and shortly afterwards passed away or went off the deep end.
No, something had to be wrong with the Boy- whether he was aware of it or not.
That fact didn't cause her uneasiness to subside, however. Something he had said, something about responsibility. Had she failed somewhere, failed him specifically?
The most trouble that Sinnoh had with spirits were hauntings in graveyards and at the scenes of violent crimes. The occasional troublemaking Pokémon that preferred residing near the dead. That was all that Ghost-types were, after all.
Had she missed something? She was certain that there was something there, even if she couldn't see it.
She was more concerned about the Boy than the challenge he had issued. He must have been aware that the League wouldn't remove her from her position unless she made a very poor showing of things, and there was all sorts of paperwork that would need to be filled out and recommendations needed- if she recalled correctly, there were only two badges pinned to his jacket.
But as the saying went, she would cross that bridge when she came to it.
Multiple rounds had passed, some more difficult than others. Scolipede had a few bent horns and scuffs on its shells, Machamp's weights were chipped though not shattered, and their other Pokémon had spent some time on the field.
In the bland break room they found themselves in, beneath soft yellow, fluorescent lights, Marley brushed dirt out of Arcanine's fur with a heavy comb-like implement. Miraculously, she managed to keep any of it from getting on her clothes- as dark as the material was, the orange and beige fur would stand out easily. The Pokémon stood imperiously in the center of the room, tufts of windswept fur scraping the ceiling.
Hilbert leaned on a table's edge with his arms crossed while Shuppet chased itself in circles on the polished metal surface. He'd already taken care of Machamp and Fuego, Drifloon hadn't seen the field because he still didn't trust them to listen when things came down to the wire, and Yuki said something about the battlefield being no place for a lady before slipping the scarf from his shoulders, inspiriting it, and slinking off to snooze in one of the room's cushioned seats.
As strange as the idea was since she didn't actually "sleep," it made a sort of illogical sense. She had been taking a lot of late nights since Sinistea was injured.
"You're sure that we can keep going?" Hilbert asked suddenly.
Marley paused, before withdrawing the brush from Arcanine's mass of fur and tapping it against a trash bin. "I am as certain now as I was before last round, as well as the round before that. Is it really so important that you stress incessantly about it?"
"I'm not stressed," Hilbert said. "We just need to win."
"To prove that you're stronger than Gym Leader Fantina and redirect the Gratitude that you are owed from her to yourself," Marley agreed with a nod. From Shaymin's box wafted the smell of sunflower seeds and cocoa.
Hilbert's brow furrowed. "That's not what I said. You know I don't care about people being grateful."
Marley shook her head. "It's part of your reason. You're deceiving yourself," she added before he could deny it further, "I can sense it."
Hilbert glared at her and looked away. "Whatever."
She returned to Arcanine's grooming, walking to the Pokémon's other side. He watched but said nothing.
"If that is not the reason, and you are not acting for your own benefit, then what is the reason for your hatred?" she asked evenly. "Acting without pursuit of a goal is nonsensical."
"Hate's a strong word," Hilbert said, "And I am pursuing a goal, it's the principle of the thing."
"Right, the principles that have no grounding in reality," she said with a nod. "I understand."
"Zekrom gives me power when I follow my Ideals, that's real enough," Hilbert said scathingly.
"It is the same as my relationship with Shaymin," Marley said flatly. "The only thing you gain is power to affect the world, but that is all. What do you gain besides that? A sense of self-righteousness? A place among the heavens?"
"Hope," Hilbert suggested.
"I do not believe that you, of all people, should be speaking of hope," Marley said.
Hilbert shoved himself off the table's edge. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She shook her head and said nothing.
Hilbert sagged and looked away, lowering his voice. "I had to give up a lot to come to Sinnoh. I've had to fight against spirits that could have killed me if I made one wrong move. She didn't have to sacrifice anything like I did, and she treats being a spiritualist like a gimmick and not a responsibility. She shouldn't be a gym leader if she isn't going to protect people. She doesn't even know about some of the things I've seen."
"How can you be certain?" Marley asked.
"I've seen what's inside her soul. You can't get more certain than that."
"You're jealous," she stated.
He shrugged but betrayed the tension that hid beneath the action. "Sure, let's go with that."
"Everybody wants something," Marley said. "They feel Gratitude when they receive what they want. Not everybody can afford to always focus on their Ideals like you can. They have to settle for the concrete things that give them fulfillment."
Hilbert's eyes flickered with electricity, but as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.
"I can't always afford it," he said quietly. "To follow my Ideals, I mean."
She looked towards him.
"But I can't let things go on like this. It's not right," he said. "That's why we have to win."
The stage lit up again as it had many times before. The frenetic energy in the audience had reached a fever pitch as the teams of the final rounds were announced.
That was what it sounded like to Hilbert, at least. He was fairly certain that he heard his name announced, if very accented. The "L" sound didn't exist in Sinjohan-Japanese like it did in Unovan-Galarian.
The names of his and Marley's opponents were less clear, but as they entered his vision, he saw that he recognized both of them.
"It looks like you've learned to take things seriously," Conway called, spreading out his arms in a grand, sweeping gesture. "I don't think anyone could make it so far with weak strategies and untrained Pokémon."
His voice boomed through the hall's sound systems, creating an uproar in the crowd.
"As expected," Paul said, seemingly ignoring his teammate and staring straight at Hilbert. "Don't think for a second that your victory is likely. Only one of us can come out on top."
"There's no other way," Hilbert said with a stiff nod.
"I should have brought my notebook," Marley noted, just quiet enough for Hilbert to pick up on but not the mic wired to her collar.
His eyebrow twitched, even if he was maintaining his stern gaze.
"We're starting now," she whispered as the shrill announcer's shouting rang out across the hall.
Hilbert reached for Machamp's Pokéball. "Let's go, Machamp!"
Four Pokémon appeared on the field with an echoing thud like a gong being struck.
Machamp brought their four fists to bear, slamming them together and cracking the manacles against each other.
Scolipede tapped down like a rushing cavalcade before slowing and rearing up to their full height.
On the opposite side of the field, two Pokémon took form from the raw information they had been stored as. White-hot and burning, each burst from the light and revealed themselves.
The first, in front of Conway, was a Heracross. As tall as a man, packed with muscle, and with an exoskeleton that was as tough as rock. Its horn, made of specialized cuticles, reflected the spotlights as if it were slick with oil. Its bugged-out eyes and yellow sclera took in the arena around them before they honed in on Scolipede. Their wings beat between seconds with enough force to throw a grown man from his feet.
Next to it was a Pokémon that Hilbert had seen before, but almost had become desensitized to. Most of its species paled in comparison to the specimen owned by Cynthia.
The Garchomp appeared and dispersed the landing force across all of its limbs, hooking its blades into the floor before pushing off and standing on its hind legs. Its tail, thick like the back end of a Sharpedo and just as scaly, slammed into the ground and kicked up dust around it.
Hilbert made eye contact with the Pokémon by accident.
Garchomp took half of a step back, shrinking inwards.
Hilbert blinked and shook his head, before taking a few shallow breaths. "Ready?"
The wind shifted. Machamp nodded.
As the announcer started the countdown, Marley translated in real time. "Three… two… one…"
It was like lightning had struck as the spotlights flashed and the world exploded into motion.
Heracross shot towards Scolipede like a gladiator eager for another conquest, only to be stopped in its tracks by Machamp, who grabbed its horn with two of their fists and gripped their clawed forearms with the rest.
Scolipede scuttled back, its spirit feeding into itself as Speed Boost started kicking in, allowing it to continuously gain speed as long as it was in motion. A yellow-greenish energy radiated off of each of its pincer-like legs, though Hilbert wasn't certain if that was visible to anyone but him.
Garchomp seemed to gather what wits it had and launched into motion, kicking off of the starting position and practically gliding over to where Heracross and Machamp were clashing. They attempted to slash through the spirit's back, only for it to become incorporeal just before, leaving behind only their fists.
Machamp lifted the winged beetle Pokémon from their wide-legged stance and threw them into Garchomp. The Dragon-type's guard, which was much like that of a practitioner of krav maga, was blown wide open as Heracross rolled to instead kick off of their chest and launch into the air.
"Keep them off of Scolipede, they're fixated!" Hilbert called. Even as he spoke, the giant megapede Pokémon was scuttling around the edge of the arena, keeping their distance as their legs blurred like the wheels on a steam engine.
Heracross dove towards the other Bug-type with a sound like a jet turbine, but was stopped just before impact and redirected by Machamp, swung around and thrown back towards the center of the arena.
Before they even touched the ground, Garchomp dashed forwards, swinging with wild, telegraphed slashes towards Machamp.
The spirit took the punches using its fists, forming a palisade with all four of them and moving it around rapidly so that the Dragon-type could never gain enough momentum to break through. The chains hanging loosely from Machamp's manacles clanged together and sparked with each swing.
The other trainers seemed to be commanding their Pokémon, but their voices were drowned out by the heat and adrenaline pouring through his veins. Was this the purpose of battle? The high? The overwhelming belief he held in his own victory? There was more on the line here than ever before, even considering the purpose of his match against Gardenia.
Hilbert punched towards the ceiling. "Come on, Machamp!"
The air rippled as one of Machamp's fists broke off from the formation and slammed into Garchomp's gut, sending them stumbling back and struggling for balance. They righted themselves using their tale, but by that time, Machamp had gotten into their guard.
Machamp delivered a flurry of blows to Garchomp's torso with a rumble like an avalanche, each hit landed sounding like a falling boulder.
The Dragon-type roared and began foaming at the mouth with spiritual energy. Orange and purple flames poured out of their mouth like exploding fireworks, dousing Machamp's spirit and forcing them back. The fires blazed and continued burning where they landed, even sticking to Machamp's weights where they had been struck. It seemed to weigh the spirit down further, if only slightly.
He saw Heracross go for Scolipede again. He was about to call out for Machamp to switch targets, but Marley cut in, calling, "Use Swords Dance to block."
Despite her generally quiet nature, her voice carried across the arena in time for Scolipede to pivot, their entire body shaking with energy, and begin channeling their spirit in a fanning pattern of blades.
As Heracross dived towards Scolipede, they were stopped by a swirling set of simple swords which were transparent like water but shiny like polished steel. The swords clanged together in rhythm before catching Heracross in their path, bouncing off their shell again and again. Temporarily stunned, Heracross was knocked from the air while Scolipede reabsorbed the energy, their body temporarily glowing with an angry orange hue.
Hilbert looked away in time to see Garchomp stop spitting fire and raise their claws again. Paul shouted something that was unintelligible to him, and Garchomp immersed their arms in Steel-type energy, readying themselves for another barrage.
Machamp broke right through, fists raised and blazing in a blitz of punches. Sparks flew with each strike and bits of metallic dust drifted to the floor.
"Careful!" Hilbert called. "Don't lose your weights!"
Machamp heeded his words and stopped punching. Their fists split off from the previous formation and surrounded Garchomp on all sides.
Scolipede darted across his vision, pursued by a Heracross that, even with air superiority, couldn't keep up with the accumulated speed. A Focus Blast, a pressurized burst of Fighting TE, flashed in front of him but struck just short of Scolipede's back.
"Scolipede can't accumulate any more energy," Marley said. "Adjust for the switch."
"Machamp will take care of it." Hilbert turned and pounded his chest. "Machamp!"
The Fighting-type fully materialized, pulling their spirit in close as they stared down Garchomp.
"It's time to clean house!" Hilbert called. "Take 'em down and don't hold back!"
Machamp hesitated.
His heart pulsed.
Machamp's torso disappeared. Their fists blurred and appeared to do the same, leaving Garchomp standing alone and looking around for their opponent. Four fists clamped down on the Dragon-type's tail. From the look on Garchomp's face, Hilbert had the strangest feeling that the Pokémon just couldn't catch a break.
The Pokémon shook, but otherwise couldn't do a thing as Machamp appeared in full behind them and hefted them into the air, before beginning to spin.
"Flare Blitz!" Paul shouted. "Shake it off!"
As Machamp began swinging them around, a flame sputtered and engulfed the dragon, flaring up even brighter as Garchomp and the wind roared. When Machamp had gotten them up to speed and Garchomp looked like a circular blur, they let go and sent them flying towards Heracross. Garchomp clipped the flying Bug-type, sending them off in a spiral as they flew out of the arena and then into the psychic barrier protecting the audience back first, head pointed towards the ground.
Garchomp fell and landed with a thud, cracking their eyes open before shutting them again and slumping into unconsciousness.
Hilbert grinned, but the expression slipped away as Machamp approached, their fists covered in slag and half-melted stone.
"You did good," Hilbert said, before turning towards Marley. "Let's get this started."
Marley nodded, turning towards Scolipede, who got a moment away from Heracross's pursuit as the other Bug-type rolled around and tried to put out the fire that had caught their wing. "Baton Pass!"
Scolipede clicked their horns against the floor and rolled into themselves, gathering all of their energy into a single point at the crown of their head before exploding outwards, splaying their limbs and sending all of their accumulated energy into the air in the shape of a baton.
Hilbert and Marley recalled their Pokémon as one and sent out their next as the Baton Pass began to slow in its rise.
"Flame on, Fuego!" Hilbert shouted as the Fire-type solidified. In their Ceruledge-like form, Fuego flicked out their blades, each of which glowed with purple flames. Heat rolled off of them like a freshly-landed meteorite and Hilbert was buffeted with water vapor turned to steam.
Arcanine appeared on the stage, their fur flaring up as the ambient heat generated by Fuego triggered Flash Fire. The lightness of their landing betrayed that despite their size and weight, the species was legendary for its agility. With a bark, they caught Scolipede's Baton Pass in their jaws and snapped it like a fetched twig. The energy flowed out of the broken capsule, making Arcanine's mouth glow as the stored energy diffused throughout their body. Their limbs began shaking before the excess energy was turned into more flames that condensed around their neck like a lion's mane.
In their strategizing, the two had realized that Fuego's pyrokinetic incontinence wasn't a bug; it was a feature. Just by raising the room temperature, Arcanine would become a little bit more powerful.
Heracross rolled to their feet as the announcer presumably called out that Garchomp had fainted and that Hilbert and Marley had both retired their first Pokémon. They were off-balance, and it seemed like one of their forewings wasn't able to collapse all the way. They looked at the two Fire-types in front of them, one of which was a giant dog, the other of which oozed bitterness and carried two swords, and promptly trudged over towards their trainer.
"You can still battle," Conway said. "You're a Fighting-type, not a Flying-type."
Hilbert watched Heracross turn towards Fuego and Arcanine again, stare for a moment, and then turn back to Conway and tap a claw on their chitin chest.
Conway made a face but recalled the Pokémon anyway.
The first round was over, so it seemed, and Conway and Paul had to bring out their second Pokémon.
Hilbert was much more familiar with Conway's Pokémon, having already seen it in the weeks before. His fist clenched as Aggron slammed onto the field, making pebbles and rubble bounce. Their maw hung open as they growled, ready for battle from the moment they had been called.
Paul sent out a squat, yellow-furred humanoid that had markings on its body like the electrical warnings that were plastered on breaker boxes and transformers. It was as short as a child, though had the build of a beer-bellied boxer. Sparks ran across its body as it stepped through a few punching drills, seemingly generating static electricity just by moving.
"Fuego," Hilbert called.
The Fire-type's spirit shifted towards him like a balloon that was weighted on one end.
Hilbert pointed at Aggron. "Burn your name into the records of Heaven and Earth."
"Hilbert," Marley snapped.
He inclined his head to look over at her.
"We came up with a strategy. I have no investment in this tournament," she said. "This is for your sake. Do not throw it away because of a grudge. Or is following your impulses one of your Ideals?"
Hilbert scowled and looked away. "Fine. Fuego, back to the original plan."
The spirit nodded, flames flickering as they danced along the crest of Fuego's helmet.
"Let's see you fall for the same trick twice! Aggron, use Taunt!" Conway called.
"Or not," Hilbert muttered.
Fuego paused in their movement as Aggron mimicked a laugh and roared, Dark TE pouring out of their body and shooting towards Fuego like a line of knife-shaped black holes leading back towards their source.
The world was washed with magenta as Light of the Mind activated, shutting out the world from Fuego's spirit. It was a wall so vast that the Pokémon changed typing.
Hilbert got the distinct impression that Fuego smirked as they shrugged off the barrage against their psyche, pooled their fire in the shape of a drill as long as their body, and rather than charging their opponents, shot it at Arcanine's side.
Arcanine absorbed the heat cone and all with Flash Fire, burst into flame, and barked. And then, as is the nature of fire, there was movement.
In the blink of an eye, Arcanine had already covered half of the arena. Burning brighter and compounding Fuego's energy with their own, they slammed into Aggron head-first in an immense flare blitz, solidifying the fire around their skull as if it were magma. The towering Steel-type was pushed back by the mass of flames, their claws scraping along the ground as they tried to take hold of Arcanine through the blaze.
Electabuzz darted over and crackled with electricity before winding up for a punch, only to be met by Fuego, who struck them with their cannon-like fists. Every time they tried to charge Electric TE and gather momentum, Fuego would bat their arm aside and burn some of their fur away. They seemed to dislike being made out as an incarnation of Sisyphus and changed strategies, diving towards the ground, planting a palm, and twisting around to sweep Fuego's legs.
Fuego hopped and shot a blast of fire downwards before jumping back, skidding along the surface of the arena like sparks left behind by a mishandled firework. Electabuzz rolled to their feet and chased after them, turning themselves into a missile of sheer electricity as they approached.
Both had to fight to stay on their feet as Aggron roared, lifted Arcanine clear off the ground, and threw the dog-like Pokémon across the arena. Arcanine bounced off the floor, yipping in pain as their joints creaked and they rolled to a stop.
"Fuego!" Hilbert shouted. "You have to believe in the both of us. Arcanine too, you got that?"
Fuego looked back at him, paused for a second, before their flames flickered and they began burning purple again.
Hilbert let out a breath as he felt Fuego's spirit reach out for his, and if he wasn't wrong, Arcanine's as well. "Get going!"
"What kind of strategy is that supposed to be?" Conway shouted as Aggron stumbled around and groaned. Much of their steel plating was partially melted, and the grayer parts of their body looked significantly more burned than before. "Get going, believe in us- you're talking like a child!"
"Yeah?" Hilbert said, electricity jumping inside of his pupils. His heart pulsed as Fuego leapt into the air. "So what if I am?"
"Arcanine!" Marley called. The Fire-type pushed itself back up and onto four legs.
"Fuego!" Hilbert shouted.
Fuego landed on Arcanine's back like death on a pale horse. Flames rolled from around their armor like vents and traveled along Arcanine's coat, quickly being absorbed. The two spirits connected almost as if in Communion. Arcanine burst into indigo flames, their shape and Fuego's shape become only distinguishable by vague forms.
Electabuzz stood as the rumbling subsided, only to see the pyre of fire towering over them.
Fuego reached to the side, burning the spiritual energy of the both of them as they created a new flame.
"Finishing move!" Hilbert shouted gutturally, crossing his arms and unable to hold back the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. For a faint moment, he forgot everything else. It was only him, this battle, and the Ideal world that waited for him just ahead.
"Bitter…"
Fuego raised the drill and held it like a lance atop Arcanine's back. It wasn't just their spirit that Fuego was channeling. It was his, and Marley's, and even their opponents.
"Blade…"
It was the legacy of warriors and fighters that was Fuego's domain. All else was secondary.
Electabuzz was wise to throw themselves out of the way, even if it meant they were knocked out via trampling as Arcanine charged forwards and the flame Fuego held began to spin.
Aggron stood tall, ready to embrace the oncoming assault. Their trainer had been confident that it was just a trick, no more than child's play. What damage could a juvenile truly do to a beast such as-
"BREAAAAAAAK!"
Hilbert and Marley stood at the top of the podium. To their right was a scowling Paul and a seething Conway, and to their left were the unremarkable team that conquered the losers' bracket. It was the Plusle and Minun duo's trainers that he and Marley had faced in the first round, funnily enough.
Cheering sounded similar enough no matter what language it was in. He wouldn't need Golett to translate it even if he was interested in hearing it. As it was, it sounded faint compared to the blood pulsing past his ears.
A sports reporter, the kind you can find in any country, was darting between the teams and asking questions. Must have been a slow news day, Hilbert thought.
Hilbert looked around awkwardly. "Hey, uh… can you talk for us? Normal electronics can't conduct spiritual energy."
Marley turned to look at him, pausing to process his request before nodding.
After the official photos were taken and they were allowed off the podium, the reporter and her camera man approached.
"Reporter Kinsey, Jubilife TV," she said, before sticking a microphone between them. How do you feel about your victory, Mr. Kuroiwa, Ms. Kujaku?"
"Hilbert does not speak Sinjohan-Japanese very well," Marley said, placing herself ahead of him. "It feels good to win. We are grateful for the opportunity to battle so many strong opponents. We hope they feel the same."
"We, we," the reporter said in a Kalosian accent. "It sounds like you're close," she teased.
Hilbert blinked. Definitely a slow news day.
Marley shook her head. "We are partners. We understand each other well, though we each have our failings and miscommunications. Nevertheless, I am grateful for his presence."
The reporter sighed wistfully, glancing at the cameraman and back. "Well, moving on from that, should Sinnoh expect to see either of you at the conference coming up this Winter?"
Hilbert muttered something unintelligible to anyone except Marley.
She nodded. "Neither of us are heavily invested in becoming Champion or anything similar. However, Hilbert would like to issue a challenge for gym leadership of Hearthome City."
Kinsey blinked rapidly, actually leaning back a bit. "Pardon?"
"Allow me to clarify- he is not interested in a normal gym challenge. He believes that Gym Leader Fantina is undeserving of her position and intends to remove her from it, with all that entails."
Kinsey turned towards him, and though she spoke slower than normal, she asked, "Is this true?"
Hilbert was somewhat annoyed at Marley's correct but misleading answer. He still nodded.
AN:
Yeah, and you thought that without Shaymin, Marley was a normal person. Lol. She has a Scolipede because Hilbert had one in the original version of this story and Speed Boost - Swords Dance - Baton Pass on Scolipede is actually cracked in Pokémon Blazed Glazed. Also, one of my long-time readers really likes the evolutionary line, lol.
Colress is involved! Not really a surprise, he's the Unovan mad scientist. Golett can feel that the respectful intent Paul has for Colress is similar to the respect held by the scientists that experimented on them, which is what tipped them off. Also, Enerugi is a transliteration of colorless energy from the trading card game. Could be a fake name, it doesn't have to be canon.
Skipped over the lesser fights because there's no stakes in those. I think my style of writing battles is improving, but I tried something different this time around. Let me know if it flows better or seems janky, thanks.
Hilbert's going through what we in the business call a character arc. I'm aware that he's being a brooding whiny shit at the moment. Coincidentally, this chapter's title is a My Chemical Romance track.
As always, please review but more importantly, thanks for reading!