Howdy Everyone, and welcome back to another chapter!

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Now that I've said my piece, on with the next chapter!

Professor Birch barreled through the underbrush, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to keep up with the trail of destruction Pikachu had left in its wake. Broken branches crackled underfoot, and the occasional scorch mark marred the tree trunks, a clear sign that the sick Electric-type had passed this way. Birch had spent years researching Pokémon in their natural habitats, so hiking was nothing new to him, but even he was struggling to keep his current pace down the trail of the panicked Pikachu and the determined trainer chasing it.

He cursed as he scrambled over a cluster of exposed roots, his bag bouncing heavily against his back. The situation was getting out of hand—Ash had bolted ahead the moment Pikachu fled, and now both of them were somewhere deep in woods they knew nothing about. At least they had gone in the opposite direction from his research enclosure. The Pokemon in there were in no mood to take any more disturbances. Another roaring pillar of electricity cracked in the air, and Birch knew he had to find them quickly before things went even more wrong.

His focus was entirely on the trail ahead, so much so that he missed the moss-slicked root that his foot landed on. He yelped as he lost his footing, arms flailing as he desperately tried to regain his balance. It was no use—his momentum carried him forward, and he slipped, tumbling down a steep incline. He crashed through the foliage, breaking bushes and bouncing off rocks until he finally skidded to a stop at the bottom of the small cliff.

Groaning, Birch lay there for a moment, dazed from the fall. He could already feel bruises forming, as well as thorns and twigs poking through his clothing. With a wince, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, brushing dirt and debris from his beard. That was when he noticed he felt lighter. A quick pat down and glance up confirmed his worst fears. His bag—the one containing all the supplies he brought, not to mention the three starter Pokémon—was still at the top of the cliff, snagged on a branch just out of reach.

"Just great," he muttered, looking up at the steep slope he had tumbled down. There was no way he could climb back up easily, not without slipping back down a few more times. He could always try to walk around and find an easier climb. He was just considering his options when low, menacing growls reached his ears.

Birch stood very still, only slightly turning his head to see a pair of glowing eyes watching him from the shadows. Then another pair appeared. And another. Three Poochyena emerged from the underbrush, their teeth bared in a snarl as they stalked toward him, hackles raised. The professor's mouth went dry. Poochyena in a pack were dangerous, especially when they sensed weakness. Under normal circumstances, his size would make them think twice, but if they saw him fall, they probably assumed he was hurt at least. Easier prey.

"Easy there, fellas," Birch said, shifting to face them. He kept his hands raised, backing away slowly. He wanted to give ground, but not as though he was retreating. Slow and steady was the key.

He scanned the area for an escape route. The Poochyena advanced, their growls growing louder as they closed in. Birch's mind raced—without his Pokémon, he was basically defenseless. He needed to think fast.

He eventually spotted a sturdy-looking tree nearby. Its branches were thick and low enough that he could probably get up it. It wasn't the most dignified option, but dignity was the last thing on his mind as he turned and bolted toward the tree, an adrenaline-boosted jump giving him just enough momentum to scramble up the trunk with surprising agility for a man of his build. He felt the snap of teeth just inches from his heels as he hauled himself up onto a thick branch. The Poochyena barked and snarled below, jumping up and snapping at him, but they couldn't reach him.

Panting, Birch settled himself as best as he could on the branch, keeping a well-maintained grip on it. "Well, this is just perfect," he muttered sarcastically. "Stuck in a tree with no Pokémon, miles away from help. I really hope someone comes along soon." He had doubts, though; It wasn't like this was part of a route or Ranger Patrol.

He leaned back against the trunk, his eyes flicking between the Poochyena and the bag still dangling taunting at the top of the cliff. Without his bag, he knew he was in for a long wait, and while he could handle the wilderness, he wasn't looking forward to how uncomfortable it would be.

The Poochyena barked below, as if mocking him as they circled the tree. Birch sighed, gripping the branch tighter as he settled in to wait.

Malic glanced at May as they walked side by side. She was an interesting puzzle. She was spirited, no doubt, with energy to spare. She seemed determined, something he could respect. But there was something else—something underneath that bubbly confidence.

Malic wasn't used to being around people who wore their emotions on their sleeves. May was an open book compared to the orphans, let alone himself. He'd always preferred to keep himself under control, hiding his feelings behind a mask. It was easier that way and less of a hassle.

Still, it wasn't every day he met someone who could be both stubborn and optimistic in equal measure.

He also had more than a few questions about how she qualified to be a sponsored trainer. Even Malic knew what an honor it was to be a professor-sponsored trainer. It meant you were considered to be the best of the best, an individual with skills and talents that justified becoming the face of their respective regions.

He watched as her eyes, wide and bright, darted around as they approached the forest's edge. There was a subtle tension in her movements, her steps hesitant, her shoulders raised. She was nervous, though she tried to hide it beneath a veneer of cheer and bravado. Honestly, it kinda reminded him of some of the wannabe tough-guy kids from the orphanage putting on a show.

She could be skilled with Pokemon, and he just didn't know what to look for. Or maybe she was another rich kid like Alton. Whatever the reason she was made a sponsored trainer, it was obviously something far above his pay grade. Malic resolved to keep it cordial. They were both just here to get things done—find Birch, get her starter, and head back to town. Simple as that. No need to complicate it.

Though the forest was dense, it was apparent what path they needed to take. Scattered holes punched through the forest canopy, still smoldering leaves and branches giving way to sunlight beaming down. Malic stopped for a moment, unclipping the single Pokéball from within his coat. With a quick press of the button, a familiar red light flashed, and Regulus materialized on his shoulders with a yawn.

May let out a gasp when she saw the Pokémon, but she quickly masked her reaction, feigning nonchalance. "Oh, a Slakoth, huh? That's cool. Is it your starter?" Her tone was a bit too rushed to be casual, and Malic didn't miss the way her eyes went everywhere but meeting his own.

He raised an eyebrow, not too sure what to make of it. "He is. Is that a problem?" The rich kid idea seemed more promising. Things would go poorly if she planned on degrading his partner. He wouldn't tolerate it.

"No!" She blushed as her shout made Malic and Regulus flinch back, the echo silencing the natural buzz of Pokemon in the background for a moment. "I mean, no. I've just seen a few around Petalburg, so I'm kinda familiar with them," she said with a shrug, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. "They're known to be really laid-back, right? Not exactly what most people would consider battle-ready." She gave a nervous laugh, still avoiding his eyes.

Malic was really confused. She wasn't insulting him or Regulus, but why did she seem so shifty? Honestly, this girl was just weird. "Regulus does what he needs to when it counts," Malic replied evenly, giving the Slakoth a few pats on the head. "You'd be surprised how strong a Slakoth can be."

May nodded, her eyes flicking to Regulus again before she quickly looked away. "Yeah, I'm sure it's got its own strengths," she said meekly.

Malic let the silence suffocate the conversation. He turned his attention back to the scorched path ahead. At least it wouldn't be hard to track, though the idea of running towards the source of the destruction at the lab didn't exactly fill him with confidence.

Malic marched forward, pushing the doubts from his mind. It wasn't like he was going to fight the Pikachu. He was just helping May while she looked for Professor Birch. And technically, he wasn't disobeying Professor Birch. He was following May into the forest, who just so happened to be following Birch. Totally different. Malic really hoped Professor Birch would see that distinction as well and not follow through with his threat. Malic truly had no intention of following him at the time, but he couldn't in good conscience let the impatient girl go alone into the forest. With him and Regulus along, they would hopefully be able to handle trouble if any should arise.

May was in a pickle. She had never really had issues making friends before. The girls in Petalburg were always friendly with her, though a few just wanted to use her to get closer to her dad. Even though he was happily married, they always thought they had a shot. Honestly, she knew girl talk was a thing, but she never wanted to hear about how her dad had a cute butt.

Just, no.

Back on track, May was the kind of person that people liked to be around. So why was it so difficult to talk to this one guy?

At first, she thought it was because he was a trainer, but she had talked with plenty of her dad's challengers, not to mention his gym trainers. And the few times she had a decent conversation with Wally, she had never had much trouble picking up a line of dialogue. But with Malic, it was like talking to a wall.

May found herself mentally scrambling each time he went quiet. Should she keep talking, or just let the silence hang there? She hated awkward silences—something about them made her feel all fidgety and anxious, like she had to fill the space or else it'd swallow her up. But the more she tried, the more she felt like she was just annoying him. Did he even care about what she was saying? Was he even listening? Every time she glanced over at him, his expression stayed the same.

Come on May, what is the one thing that would always get a guy talking? Wait, he had plenty to say when he thought she was making fun of his Slakoth. Not that she would ever do that; her father had made himself renowned for the strength of the Slakoth line, and growing up around the dopey little cuties had made her quite fond of them.

"So, how did you and Slakoth meet?"

Malic looked her way, a flicker of life in those icy blue eyes. "What?"

"You and your Slakoth, Regulus. How did you two meet?"

Malic was quiet for a bit, and just as May bemoaned yet another failed avenue of conversation, he spoke up. "We met recently. Just a few days ago, though it feels much longer. He was given to me by Professor Birch as part of the New Trainer Initiative."

New Trainer Initiative? May thought she remembered her dad mentioning something like that to her mom and asking her opinion. Despite many thinking otherwise, her mom wasn't just a stay-at-home mom. She actually used to be part of the Johto Pokemon League and was their official representative in Olivine City before she and Dad met and fell in love. Her dad was brilliant, but it tended to be in the form of Pokemon training. On the other hand, her mom lived and breathed league regulations and legal nuances, so it wasn't much of a surprise that she handled all the logistics of the Petalburg gym.

But still, he had his Slakoth riding around on his shoulder after only a few days? Having never handled a Pokemon that wasn't already trained by her dad, May wasn't entirely sure how quick it usually took for Pokemon to warm up to someone, but she was sure that was really fast. Maybe it was easier because of how lazy Slakoth was? May made a mental note to send her dad a message at some point and ask. He would probably take a bit to respond; he was horrible with technology, which is probably why his gym was so traditional. May and her mom even had to beg him to put in electric lights instead of flame-lit lamps.

"Only a few days? You must be really good with Pokemon. Did you grow up around them?" May had to fight back a giggle as Malic and Slakoth tilted their heads like confused Growlithe. They even moved in sync. It was adorable.

"I guess. There were plenty of Tailow and Zigzagoon around, but they were practically the town pets anyways."

"And where is it you're from?" May asked, happy to be getting some answers at last.

"Grovewood."

Back to one-word answers. Great.

Before May could continue talking, Malic held up his hand, pointing into the distance. "Wait, is that…?"

May followed his finger, and there, dangling from a tree limb, was the familiar bag of Professor Birch.

Steven Stone sat behind his office; his eyes fixed on a polished slab of granite set on a nearby display. His fingers absently traced the rim of a silver cup—a modern replica of an ancient Hoenn design he had uncovered years ago. The latest investigation report into what happened at Birch's lab lay on his desk, and currently the source of his latest headache. What had happened only a few short days ago was the biggest incident since the beginning of his champion reign, though Steven would have preferred a rampaging Regice to this mess.

No evidence of tampering was found, no rangers reported anyone slipping in or out of the hold. Not even a fingerprint could be found on the pokeballs. It was as if the Pokémon themselves had suddenly released themselves and started wreaking havoc. The explosion that Birch reported was found to have been caused by a Hyper Beam; the distinctive attack had carved through some equipment used to preserve the stasis field in the Pokémon hold, causing them to explode. Any hope of the incident at Birch's lab being resolved had been dashed by one single report. Steven felt…disappointment, perhaps, or concerned. It was so hard to tell.

While many considered him to be one of the world's foremost experts in Steel-types, most didn't realize that Steven Stone was Steel. He had always been aware of that and realized that he experienced the world unlike how others did. It wasn't like he couldn't grasp the concept of emotion, or that he was unable to feel them. He still understood and still felt, but whereas others saw their emotions in their entirety, he had to piece them together like a puzzle.

He often wondered if this was something intrinsic, some quirk he had been born with, or if it was something he had learned. In the world he had been born, feelings had no place. Logic ruled, intelligence prospered, and pragmatism was all but required. He took to those attributes quite nicely, but despite his successes, or maybe because of them, he found himself alone, an outcast amongst his peers.

Emotions, he discovered, were essential even if only to be hidden. His perfect adherence to logic was too perfect in a way that unsettled those around him. So, he turned his attention from logic to emotions. He observed his peers, how they interacted, and slowly pieced together the social cues, the expected reactions. And then he mimicked them.

At first, it was almost like a game. Learning the controls, what combination got the winning response, and experimenting until he could fool his classmates. He continued, testing his imitation on teachers, businessmen, and corporate leaders. There were a few hiccups along the way, but he emerged with the perfect mask, the perfect imitation. He could summon the right smile at the right time, express sympathy when needed, and wear whatever emotion was needed like an artfully tailored suit.

To most, it seemed genuine, but inside, it always felt like he was watching his life from a distance. Like he was watching someone else live his life. That is, until he met Beldum.

The first time Steven locked eyes with Beldum, a silent recognition passed between them. Beldum's single, unblinking red eye stared back at him with the same kind of detached curiosity that Steven had seen in his own reflection. There was no immediate spark of affection, no rush of emotion—just a quiet kinship, unlike anything Steven had experienced before.

Training Beldum was unlike training any other Pokémon. There was no need for the usual displays of affection or motivation, no hurt feelings or snubbed pride. Instead, everything they did was rooted in logic. Problem-solving, analyzing situations, acting based on what made the most sense, it was like Steven could finally breathe after years of holding his breath. It wasn't that Beldum lacked loyalty or care; it was just that those things were expressed in the way Beldum instantly heeded his commands or stood a silent vigil beside him while he donned his public mask. For the first time in his life, Steven felt he wasn't alone in how he approached the world.

Over time, as Beldum evolved into Metang and eventually into the imposing Metagross that now silently hovered next to his desk, their bond deepened in a way that was uniquely theirs. But it wasn't just in battles where they connected. When the weight of his responsibilities as Hoenn's Champion bore down on him, and when the expectations of others felt suffocating, it was Metagross that grounded him.

Steven could simply sit beside his partner, the two of them sharing a silent space where the world's noise faded away. There was no need to force feelings or pretend to be something he wasn't. With Metagross, he didn't have to wear his mask.

Steven shook himself from the tangent his thoughts had slipped down. Despite what some may think, he was indeed still human, and the exhaustion from the last few days undoubtedly contributed to his slip of concentration.

A steaming mug of coffee levitated over to his desk, filled precisely three-fourths of the way with one and a half teaspoons of MooMoo Milk. Steven plucked it from the air, gratefully sipping the perfectly heated liquid as the paper-thin glow of psychic energy vanished.

Savoring the sweet ambrosia, Steven returned to the task at hand. The blame for the lab disaster was falling primarily on Birch's shoulders, though both the Hoenn Pokemon League and the Hoenn Rangers were under fire as well. What had been intended to bolster their trainer admissions as well as generate positive PR had now sent prospective trainers running for the hills, and every two-bit journalist with an ax to grind was now baying for blood. Accusations ran rampant, from intentionally culling lower socioeconomic groups to assassination attempts on the wealthy heirs who attended.

Few mentioned Steven himself, and those who did found themselves silenced…legally, of course. But many tabloids and even some reputable papers were dragging Birch and Gramm through the mud. Steven would consider it a minor miracle if Gramm got reelected in two years, if he even ran at all. Incidents like this broke careers.

While Birch wouldn't be out of a job, he would have to deal with a slashed research budget for a few years, and perhaps some stricter League oversight. Steven, and by extension, the Hoenn League, would have to be seen doing something to appease the public.

While those were valid concerns, they were minor in comparison to the larger issue: the PWO. Steven played back the recording of the video call. The modulated voice gave very little away, the individual's speech controlled, with no hint of accent or jargon. The only thing Steven could be reasonably sure of was they were male. He had the call traced but stopped immediately after it originated from a PWO proxy server.

As an interregional organization, the PWO wasn't subject to any one purview. Ran by a council, composed of an equal number of individuals from each region, the PWO operated independently of the region's control. It was meant to bestow impartiality, and for the most part, it worked. Having been formed after the last Great War, the duties of the PWO included regulating interregional legislation regarding trainers, operating as a middleman between regional disputes, and helping to maintain the balance of power between the regions.

Those inducted into the organization took extraordinary measures to conceal their identities so as not to be subject to bribery or threats. However, that same concealment made the PWO a rather faceless organization, with little means for individual members to be reported. Accountability had to be maintained internally, which was the main issue Steven faced.

Birch and Gramm had done well in accepting the blame with little fuss. The program had been a tentative partnership between the Hoenn League and the PWO, and while they were involved, it was strictly defined as an advisory role with enough red tape to wrap like a Christmas gift. Accusing some unknown individual of the PWO for what was seen as an on-site equipment failure in the Birch Labs would be spun as an attempt to shift the blame.

The only way to challenge the PWO was to issue an official rebuke. Only two people in a region had the means to do so if they felt the PWO had extended beyond its capacity. Steven, as Champion of Hoenn, was one of them. Gramm, as President of the Hoenn Pokemon League, was the other. Rebukes were taken seriously and would put some pressure on the PWO to at least start an internal investigation, but they were also risky.

Steven could only think of one in recent memory, levied by Unova after the PWO tried to dispute the region appointing the seventeen-year-old Iris as champion. It took the combined pressure of Unova, Kalos, and Galar, along with Alder publicly declaring his support, before the PWO finally backed down, though not before levying a hefty fine against Unova for region-sponsored underaged training. The PWO was impartial in design, but petty in practice.

The parallels to Hoenn's current situation weren't lost on Steven. Hoenn was attempting to strengthen itself, which would change the status quo. The same status quo that the PWO was dedicated to maintaining. Birch's lab was just the opening move in a larger game, a subtle flex of the organization's reach. Steven knew that responding would require more than just quiet diplomacy. He had to weigh whether confronting the PWO now was worth the risks, especially with so many unknowns still in play.

Was the man he and Birch had spoken to representative of the entire PWO? Or was this a plant from another region who intended to sabotage the relationship between Hoenn and the PWO? It could simply be someone with a grudge who wanted to make Hoenn look bad. He couldn't know anything for sure, so for now, he would wait, analyze what he could find, and pick the perfect moment to remind the world why he was Hoenn's Champion.

Malic

Regulus - Slakoth