I wake up, I wash, I work, I eat, and for a lingering moment I wish I could a face a firing squad. The moment passes as work consumes me and I am reminded that there is a safety in being mundane. This is my daily routine and the repetitive pattern of my life.

I work in an office in a towering block of grey that is a stoic repetition of the other blocks in town. The similarity is sedating though the pile up of paperwork within these grey walls can give rise to stress. I have no time to spare on stress because when the office work ends I must attend to the Gym and my duties there. It's one gruelling battle after another and even they have a share of normality in their repeating nature. The trainers start to blend, suffering a sameness when the treasure hunts begin and they come in clusters from the same school. It's fine. It keeps me busy and it pays the bills.

When I have a moment I eat. Food is a warm and welcoming distraction, I can think of favoured recipes and snacks to savour in my brief breaks. I'll even dream up meals for my friends, my Pokémon, nothing fancy, I've no interest in these special servings to improve skills. I just want to see them happy and fed. They're like me- plain, average and completely unremarkable, which is why I am so fond of them. There is no risk they will be coveted, no one will take them from me if they're not special.

I glance up from my rice balls as I hear the rain droplets striking off the windowpanes. It's a miserable day and I don't have a coat. The Treasure Eatery is quiet at the moment, I'm on my morning break and I've avoided the early rush. It's just past ten and I've been at work for over four hours. I wouldn't have stopped here for a break but a trainer came calling for a badge. They weren't successful. They've been gone twenty minutes and I suspect they've probably forgotten my name already. I've forgotten theirs.

Feeling the coiling tendrils of hot air float up against my cheeks brings me back to the rice balls. They are not how I prefer them- steamed and salted, plain rice with a modest portion of fish within. Their crispy, golden-brown texture revolts me, it looks like an infection oozing with a sticky sheen of teriyaki sauce. I'm going to eat them even if I won't savour them. Hearing the heavy cleansing of the rain reminds me why I ordered them.

Everyone keeps murmuring about the weather today. It's normally an easy topic to fall upon when one wants to showcase politeness without having social skills. I'll usually nod along with little comment because I'm rushing from one job to another and the weather only concerns me if I have to leave Medali for business elsewhere in the region. Except today the rain is heavy so people are discussing it more and I can't avoid the topic. She loved the rain and she loved grilled rice balls. I don't care for either of them.

I think of all the tasks I have ahead to fill up my day but my only motivation for them is a desire to kill time. I start to eat the rice balls, my break is almost over and I need to return to the office before my next Gym battle, which is due early this afternoon.

Full but without satisfaction, I pay and head out for the office. I am aware of a few looks as I stride through the rain, feeling the comforting rhythmic bump of my briefcase as it swings with each step I take. It is my anchor, keeping my weighed down to my work, focused and fixed in place. I would be lost without it, which is why it remains by my side even in battle no matter what people think.

Medali is neat sidewalks with carefully clipped trees in the shade of the office blocks that consume most of its natives' lives. The restaurants, cafés and takeaway stands serve as the main form of entertainment. There are no discos or nightclubs, no fuss, just a collection of nine to five workers who wake, wash, work, eat and sleep on a daily basis. It is normal and it is safe. The dreariness keeps the criminals away. Well, most of the time.

I glance to the left to the park. The rain has it emptied of people and Pokémon alike and looking at it gives me an uncomfortable ache. I hate how even after all these years it is familiar though I have not crossed its rusted gate threshold in almost a decade. I should move out of this town but I won't. I need the work and I don't know where to go.

I step through the sliding glass doors and ignore the look of bewilderment the secretary gives me. In a wake of puddles I head into the elevator. Alone I shake myself dry to the cheery tune of some band I cannot name. The doors open and I head down the corridor to the bathrooms as it won't do to return to my desk in a bedraggled state.

I step through to the bathroom and find myself alone in a room of off-white walls and tiles to face my reflection. The grey streaks in my hair have become prominent over the years, in the wind they are unruly, flapping upright like feathers. She would have liked them, they both would have so maybe it's ironic they are the cause for them.

I rest my briefcase on the counter, tug a comb from my inner blazer pocket and do my best to sweep out the damp and tame my hair down. My blazer is soaked right through and my blue, cloud patterned, silk tie hangs limp like a dead Ekans. It's untidy but I can't do much about it.

I pocket the comb, lift my briefcase and retreat from the judgemental mirrors to my desk. It is one of many in a crowded office block dedicated to Pokémon League business. Photos line desks as reminders to their owners as to why they need to work so hard for cash. Mine is the only one without framed reminders of life outside these walls, in that respect I am an oddity, a jarring contradiction to my state of average.

I log on to my computer and scroll through e-mails of tasks from my boss. She works me hard but it's what I want although I'd prefer a better say in my work. There's a reminder to cut back on my overtime. I often wonder what she defines as overtime but it only bothers me when she scolds and the stress comes, otherwise I don't mind the many hours. I want to be kept busy and if I have work then I can stay away from home.

I frown as I see an invitation to the Pokémon League from the boss. There are no Elite Four challengers as far as I am aware. I find this change to my schedule perplexing but I can't do much about it, La Primera is the boss and she doesn't respect no. People wonder why she hired me to be in the Elite Four, I have no spunk or flair but I'm a worker and La Primera appreciates hard workers. That and she understands how desperate I am to fill time, everyone knows that, which is probably why even as there were grumblings about my additional job as a member of the Elite Four no one really protested too hard. I sometimes wonder if I should have considering she makes me work twice as hard as the others because my Normal Pokémon aren't worthy enough for the Elite battles so I have to use Bird types. It means double the training for me but my Pokémon are the closest friends and family I have left so I don't mind spending the time with them even if it can be gruelling.

I e-mail back a confirmation that I will attend the League and then I look to my watch. I'll have to be quick with the next battle to get to the League on schedule.

I reach for my middle drawer and tug it open to get out a fresh tie. As I pull it out my hand brushes against a ball. My fingers recoil and I avoid looking at the ball as I pull out the tie. I cannot even remember when or why I put the ball there. I won't move it though, I can't look at it but I can't get rid of it either. It's been almost ten years and the thing hasn't deflated or rolled off into obscurity.

My day continues in a consoling blur of office work. I allow my unease to be numbed by the sound of typing, stapling, filing and printing. Requests flow in and out of my trays, the paperwork rises and falls and yet always stays the same. My phone alarm buzzes with a fifteen minute warning to head back to the Treasure Eatery for the latest challenger.

I grab a coat this time and slip it on hastily before heading down the elevator and back out to a drizzly day. The rain has tamed to a drizzle, just as well since I don't have a hood.

I'm back to the restaurant and the gym platform is already set up for us. It was a quick change as business is slow, it's the calm before the dinner rush, perfect time for a battle.

The challenger is a young adult male. A keen eyed courier, taking what time he can between deliveries to train and battle. I admire his work ethic. He is plucky and happy, proud to have solved the Gym challenge of food riddles. He gives the battle a good go with his Psyduck and Mudbray and but my Staraptor finishes him off in the end. I did not even have to use my Terra Orb. It's fine, we only had a small audience, no dinner time crowd to try and impress.

The courier bows out, a little stung but still happy and promising a return. I'm ready to rush off but he stops me.

"Just a minute," he says with a bashful glow to his cheeks, "I um, well I have a delivery for you too. Two stones, one Pidgey, that sort of thing." He gives me an embarrassed smile as he produces a brown papered package from his red bag.

I accept and sign for it though I am dubious over its contents. The courier nods his thanks and hurries on his way as he has more deliveries to make before his day is done. I watch him go with fresh admiration though I wonder if time will take his pluckiness away as it did mine.

I look down to the package in my hands. My name and the Gym's address are printed on it and there is no clue to a sender. I'll have to open it later, I need to leave for the League now to make it on time.

I tuck the package under my arm, it's light and I have no clues to its contents. With my briefcase in hand, I head back out to the grey day and call out my Staraptor once more. Normal and Flying, he's my only Pokémon that gets to stay with me whether my challenge comes through the Gym or the Elite, a loyal worker like myself.

He flutters his wings slightly in impatience as the rain patters down onto his grey feathers. By nature Staraptors are lone birds, perhaps that's why we have such a good understanding, I am alone too. I climb onto his feathered back with ease and instruct him to the League.

It used to be that my heart would jump up with a thrill when my Pokémon brought me to the skies with them but I'm too tired to feel it now. I lean down into his neck as the wind whips my hair back and squeeze my arms to keep them and the package secure against my sides.

The terrains of Paldea pass below, unseen by me as I keep my focus on Staraptor's grey neck. At the centre is the Great Crater, flying over it would get us there quicker but that is forbidden. I wouldn't risk it anyway, I'm not a thrill seeker.

Staraptor touches down on the wet grass outside the Pokémon League headquarters. It stands on a hill overlooking the Academy, formidable with its concrete and steel structure and yet welcoming in ways with the glow of its lights shining out from many windows. I'm not sure if it's meant to serve as motivation for the students or as a reminder for them not to get cocky.

The shadows of the evening are arriving, my work day has surpassed dinner time and I feel a grumble in my stomach. I call Staraptor back into its ball and hasten up to the towering doors with the outline of a Poké Ball on them. Remembering protocol, I rest my briefcase on the concrete porch and reach into my jacket for my black gloves. They are marked with the symbol of the League- a compass officially, it has often been confused for a watching eye. They are the closest La Primera can get us to wearing a uniform. I am grateful for that as having to change into an entire outfit to be present here would be too time consuming.

I take up my briefcase once more and head into the building.

Everyone is standing in the reception. It's improper and I feel unease for the irregularity of it all.

Rika regards me with a calm copper stare from behind her ovular glasses. It's her poker face, I recognise the facade all too easily as Poppy's small mouth wavers between a frown and a smile and Hassel looks on the verge of tears. I wonder if I'm about to be fired as I look to our leader dully. I don't have the energy for it.

Geeta is a formidable woman in many ways, her beauty is fierce, her will strong, her battle skills second to none and her leadership tough but fair. She orders with a honey smile but her blue gaze will often warn of repercussions if one tries to refuse. Too many sakés consumed while drowning sorrows on a work night taught me that giving in to her iron will can be just as brutal as refusing it. Our relationship has always been tempestuous at best, I've often wondered if she considered that night together the conclusion of her victory over getting my submission to her will. The truth is I just stopped caring, only food offers me any kind of thrill anymore and even then that joy is fleeting.

I watch as the four glance amongst themselves in conspiracy and I await the news of my career's demise. My career is all I have left but it is no longer a goal, merely a distraction.

Poppy steps forward tentatively, tilting her head up so I can see the bright eyes her bonnet shades. It has always hurt to look at her, she is of a similar age and innocence to one I once held so close. It's why I won't embrace Poppy in a familial mode as the others do, she does not follow in my shadow as she does Rika's, or seek out treats from me as she would from Geeta, nor will she attach some term of endearment to me as she has done to Hassel.

"Larry," Geeta addresses me in a friendly manner. She is always friendly, that is the danger with her.

I look over to her and continue to wait for the news, the reason why I have been called here.

"We're glad you came."

"Why?"

"Because we didn't want you to be alone," Hassel blurts out an answer. He shakes his head despairingly. It must be amusing to some to see this dragon master succumb to emotion so easily. Sometimes I envy him for it and sometimes I pity him. Emotions can be an exhausting burden.

"Why?" I repeat my question, confused now.

"Oh Larry." Rika tilts her head with a look of sympathy. "You didn't think we wouldn't know what date it was, did you?"

Date? I realise in a moment of surprise just what date it is. Why I was driven to seek out the grilled rice balls and savour a walk in the rain. The shock shoots up my body and the package is loosened from my arm to hit the floor.

"Uh oh." Poppy pounces for it, grabbing it and offering it up to me with a smile. "Nothing rattled, I don't think it broke."

"We've got a nice meal ready next door," Geeta says gently. There is no firmness underlying the kindness, it's sympathy and I don't know how to handle it.

I feel the crinkled paper of the parcel pushing against my fingertips and I look down to Poppy. I can hear a voice repeating 'open it daddy' and I want to shove it away.

Arms envelope me in a Ursaring hug and I wince as they squeeze hard against my ribcage.

"Hassel," I gasp out his name, "let go."

"I'm so sorry," he splutters as he starts to lose control, "I am and I...I...I'm here for you Larry!" He screams my name into my ear as his voice gives way to loud, deafening sobs.

I remain rigid in his grasp, unable to escape and unwilling to welcome it.

"Hassel that's enough now," Rika admonishes him gently. She pats him on the back and I wonder dully who it is who needs comforted here.

Did they really need to acknowledge it? It's not the type of thing that requires an anniversary, it's not a birthday or a holiday. I realise as I catch Rika's worried copper stare that they're trying to acknowledge an anticipation of my pain over it. I consider telling them that the years have dulled the ache but it's a lie.

As Rika pulls Hassel back from me I droop my head in despair. It's not almost ten years, it is ten years now, a decade to the day. Now that the years have become double digits I realise my hope has flickered out at last. She couldn't be alive after all this time.

"Come on Larry, we got crepes all the way from Kanto!" Poppy tries to tempt me.

"How about a drink?" Rika suggests.

I sigh. "I'll take a coffee." The caffeine won't do anything, I've long grown immune to it, but the bitter taste might distract me for a moment.

"Alright then, let's head to the lounge," Rika says.

She turns the still sobbing Hassel round and pushes him on. I think about following but my feet won't move. It's a dinner in their honour and I should appreciate it but it also feels like it's a way of mourning them and if I'm mourning them then I'm admitting they're both dead now.

I think about the one place I won't venture to in Paldea besides the Great Crater. The graveyard where my wife has lain alone for a decade now. Will I have to go, admit defeat and carve our daughter's name there too?

I clench my right hand about my briefcase's handle, trying to anchor myself back to the present but the memory has slipped into the present. I can see my wife broken on our living room floor, bloodied, bruised and barely conscious. The violet spark in her gaze had gone and all she could say as our life faded was our daughter's name. No clues for me to the culprits, no names for her murderer or murderers as it may have been. My humble home had been turned to disarray in a matter of moments and sullied with the corpses of my wife's valiant Pokémon.

I recall standing in my daughter's room and seeing it stained with the blood of the Houndour pup that had died to protect her, barely lived it had only been with us for a handful of days. They had snatched her in the early evening while she had been waiting for her father to come and read her a bedtime story. Had I not been late home from work maybe I would have died too but at least I wouldn't be left with the wondering of who had ruined our lives.

I know the why.

My wife had been extraordinary, illuminated inside with the gifts of a psychic. I have never come to understand why such an ethereal being should have been with me or how even with my taint of blandness we could have made a daughter who bloomed with the same promise of talent. Together they brought light and laughter to our home. I worked hard to keep them happy and because it was all I could contribute, I have no special skills like they did.

My daughter had started to weave flames with her fingers the day before she was taken. Someone must have been spying upon her and seen that she was special.

If only I had stayed with the mundane and never ventured to chase after the gleam of wonder that was her mother then maybe we would all be safe. Separate and never knowing of the other but safe.

People spoke of masked men in dark clothes in the area but it did not generate leads. Lacking psychic abilities or any other powers that might assist, I never learned of any path to pursue my daughter. I was too normal to be her hero.

I work now because it's all I have left, because I hate sitting in an empty apartment and thinking about what I had and what I've lost. Work keeps me too busy to think much about my losses except for irritating moments like now when work interferes with my personal life.

"Larry, do you want to open your parcel?"

I feel the weighted looks of concern. I've gone and spaced out again, drifting through thoughts of despair without realising the time this thinking has consumed.

I look down at the parcel and take it from Poppy. Most likely it's work related, perhaps the file I asked for regarding the flat terrain near Medali and the request from a man to purchase it for a herd of Miltank he plans to import. I'm considering it as he's willing to offer a percentage of Moo Moo Milk to our restaurants in return. Such a sweet milk can be used to add interesting additions to several dishes.

I open the paper carefully and pull out its contents. There is a thin, brown file within. I open it and find a photograph and a letter inside it. The photograph is a slightly out of focus image of a fearsome looking man with scars about his face, wearing a black cap and a black top marked with a red R.

I turn my attention to the letter as the photograph means nothing to me.

There are sentences redacted out by a thick, black ink and I wonder if it is even for me until I see it starts with 'Dear Mr Larry'. I scan down its contents and my briefcase drops to the floor.

"Larry, are you okay?" Poppy quips with concern. Her voice sounds faint like she is far away.

I roll my eyes over the contents of the letter again. It speaks of a gang I haven't heard of, Team Rocket, and an Executive amongst them called Troy who has been overheard grumbling of his desire to find a psychic girl once in his possession. The sender discusses how he has been trying to infiltrate this group and through his ventures he has gathered from snippets that this man, Troy, kidnapped a psychic girl many years ago out of a desire to use her powers for this Team Rocket. Somehow she evaded him but in doing so left him badly burned and, as the letter implies, half-insane with a desire for vengeance.

"Larry?" Rika's voice tries to pull me back from the letter. There is a ringing in my ears now and I ignore it.

The letter says Troy is hunting this girl but does not make it clear if he has an active lead. Signed by a Looker in Johto, it gives me no clues as to how this Looker has linked this information to me. It seems suspicious and I feel a pain in my chest.

Only as I raise my hand up to press against my chest do I realise I have collapsed to the floor. Through my shirt I feel my heart beating, faster that it's done in a long time. A jolt of fear quivers up my body, it is alarm at my own alarm. Too long I've stayed safe in a dreary cocoon of weary work and I cannot comprehend this hope.

"Larry, what's going on? What was the package?" Geeta demands. She sounds concerned and suspicious all at once.

"Hope," I mumble.