This chapter is pretty important, but a lot of it won't come back until much later. Just want to preface with that in case anyone wonders if this is just a throw away chapter (it's not)! Back to reviews!

WyldClaw: I know! Othello has a huge edge by being able to communicate telepathically with most of his Pokemon, but his inexperience kept him from going really far. Hopefully next time he has to battle it goes better!

Othello had never lost a Pokemon battle before. He hadn't even participated in one until recently. Losing, winning, it was all so foreign to him. He had wanted to win the first three rounds for the extra credit, but in the past round, he couldn't help but feel like something was missing. The drive he had felt had abandoned him as soon as it was over. While he couldn't deny that the loss stung, the feeling faded as he returned Mythos to his Poke Ball.

He couldn't help but be reminded of his life prior to this one. There was never a reason for excitement, he simply lived disaster to disaster…death to death.

He stopped at the top of the stairs to the stands and stared into Mythos' Poke Ball.

"Has anything…changed?"

– Chapter Twelve: Lingers Like a Shadow –

"Where'd he go?" Ava tried to crane her neck in the direction Circe was waving.

"I…don't know?" Circe put her hand down, not seeing him anymore, "He was right there…"

Cannon glanced across the field, looking for that same blur, then turned to where Othello had been…still nothing.

"I would have thought…" he mused to himself, "But that's strange."

"We should try to find him," Ava stood up, taking Cannon out of his thoughts, "If he's taking that loss hard, he probably-"

"I wouldn't," Cannon sighed.

"Why?" Ava whirled to face him, shaking anger from her voice, "We can't just…"

"I think he prefers his solitude," Cannon added, "He's new to, well, everything. Let's trust him for now. Let him process it all."

Ava bit her lip, "I don't like it. I'm-"

"I…think we should listen to Cannon," Circe added, slightly scared when faced with Ava's tall form, "He seems to know people well…"

Ava shook her head, "I'm still going to check on him."

– – –

Othello kept walking back toward campus, staring at the Poke Ball in his hand all the way. He didn't entirely know where he was going, but the thought of an endpoint was the farthest thing from his mind. Instead he was considering his past. He had never considered it all "tragic." The word implied a dramatism which Othello had resigned himself from long ago. He had thought that resignation would make him immune to even more suffering, but that had been proven wrong time and time again. His eyes were glazed over as he continued his walk the hallways. He questioned what this feeling was. Was it more resignation? Was he not as happy here as he thought? Was this not the life for him? Did he-

Hey kid, watch it!

The words shook him slightly out of his fugue, but he still just kept walking, not paying attention to the person he had bumped i-

Hey.

It was much softer and motherly this time, or, at least, as motherly as the woman's gruff voice could manage.

He moved to keep walking, but then noticed she had a grip on his shoulder. Accepting that he was stuck here, he turned to face her and nearly fell over in surprise.

Uh…hello to you too?

She gave him a look of confusion as he squirmed, eventually letting him go.

She had to have been the tallest woman Othello had ever seen. In fact, he had no idea anyone could get this tall. She was easily at least 4 inches taller than Principal Owens and Ava with a build that couldn't be described. It wasn't skinny, nor bulky, the closest he could think of was lean, but even that felt incorrect.

She groaned (although the tone told Othello it was meant to be a sigh) and tapped her fingers to her forehead.

Do. You.

She said it slowly, making signs with her hands while she went

Speak?

Othello was still stunned, but managed to say, "Y-yes."

Ah, that's good.

She cracked her fingers.

I thought something might be wrong from you bumping into me. Speaking of.

Her tone changed.

Watch where you're going!

The words definitely seemed angry, but there was an odd undertone to them that made Othello feel that she was not, in fact, angry. Contrary to this feeling, she cracked her neck.

Now, come here.

She pushed him toward the nearest bench, an action he might have resisted if he wasn't still processing the encounter.

What's going on? You look like a freshman, but you're walking away from the fields…

Othello said nothing.

She growled, then cleared her throat, changing back to something that was "comforting."

You know, you're not required to be at the tournament. If any of it bothers you, you can go wherever.

"I…" he started to feel the need to speak, but swallowed the words; this woman wasn't here to listen to his problems.

Silence passed over as she looked at him. Eventually, she stood up.

How about this, why don't we keep walking. Seemed like you were dead set on that when you ran into me.

Othello complied, although he didn't know why he did.

So, I'd appreciate some conversation. You are a freshman, right?

"Yes," he said quickly, not exactly eager to continue the conversation with how clouded his head still was, "Othello."

Othello. I'm Acantha.

She smiled, and where earlier there had been a stern expression, this action actually made her look…cute.

I'm a Sophomore. Don't do well sitting for a long time, so I left the tournament to stretch a bit. What about you?

"I…" he caved, the words spilling out of him, "Lost. But it feels so hollow…my victories…even the loss, what do they mean? I thought I would be getting something by coming here, and I thought that battling was supposed to give me "feeling." Now that it's over…I don't feel that. I don't feel the drive to keep going that I felt when I was still in it. In my last match, it was also waning. What if I made a mistake and nothing awaits me? Just how there's been nothing awaiting me before…"

He wasn't crying, but part of him wished he was. The other part was thankful that this upperclassman wasn't seeing him at his most vulnerable and only hearing about it. After all, he was sure that disgust was imminent from the woman. What type of person enjoyed hearing about problems?

Just as he had these thoughts, he felt arms wrap around him and Acantha pulled him into her body. The warm embrace took him completely off guard, short circuiting any thought he might have had.

"Maybe you don't like battles," she started stroking his hair, "And that's fine, but it sounds like you just aren't used to this all."

All of this was barely above a whisper. Othello felt as if he was melting into Acantha, his worries going with him. Where normally he would be anxious around people, like he was with his classmates, or nervous, like he was with Cannon and Ava, there was no stress with this woman. It was a strange feeling of comfort, one Othello wasn't sure when he had last felt…or if he had ever felt it at all.

"Sometimes we build this image up in our head," she whispered to him, "And we put it on a high pedestal, worshiping it. We go on making our imaginary reality into this paradise of grandeur and joy, but when someone brings us the real version of what's on that pedestal, we don't recognize it; we don't know what to do."

Othello's heart panged as she said these words. He had never been able to put anything on a pedestal, survival forbade it, but at the first chance he was able to…he had fallen victim to his nature, hadn't he? He would feel embarrassed, maybe even cynical, if it weren't for Acantha's warmth reminding him that these things were normal.

"I'm sorry nobody told you that before and let you go on thinking that everything needed to have that grandeur. Just because some parts of life aren't as grand as they seem, doesn't mean they're not worth experiencing, okay?"

She let go of him, leaving an aching in his chest. He already missed the warmth, but he knew that that feeling would have to fade for now. Even if he didn't know when he would next experience it, it had to be enough for now.

"Almost no one's on campus," she stood up and extended her hand to him, "I still need to stretch my legs. You mind hanging out for a bit?"

Othello shook his head. He no longer felt the need to say nothing to Acantha, but his tongue wouldn't move, so he resorted to body language.

– – –

Ava was shocked. Acantha was well known for being abrasive and even more aggressive than she was, yet she had just wrapped Othello into a hug as if it were nothing. Suffice to say, it was extremely unlike her, at least as far as Ava was aware.

She had never interacted with the Sophomore, but she was quite the celebrity. She was one of two Sophomores that made it to the Minor League this year and if that wasn't enough, she was the sixth leader, which made her quite popular. That is, until people figured out she would kill them for so much as asking her a question.

Ava debated if she should let her walk away with Othello. While she had seemed receptive and even friendly to Othello, it was strange that she was being that friendly with him.

Acantha!

A hand was placed on her shoulder and she whirled around, murderous intent in her eyes.

Oh! Ms. Ava…I…I thought…

The student gulped, rattled by the mistake.

"Hollis," she addressed the Minor League Champion coldly, "I hope you realize the mistake you made."

O-of course. I w-was just looking for Acantha…she's supposed to be watching the freshmen with us to look for potential among the Price Academy students.

Ava glanced behind her at the bench where Othello and Acantha had just been.

"She's obviously not here, and after you mistook me for her, I think you should go back to your seat."

R-right.

He bolted away, almost running into a wall as he went.

Ava considered her experiences with the junior before also turning back in the direction of the tournament.

"You better be proving my judgment right, Acantha," she muttered to herself.