I Will Touch the Skies – A Pokemon Fanfiction

Interlude – Spectators

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INTERLUDE - SPECTATORS

Anxiety coiled around Temperance's neck like an Ekans looking to asphyxiate her. She did not show it—not with so many people around, including her friends. She was perfection, and perfection could not be outwardly nervous. The coordinator was surprised at how many eyes were set on a low-stakes battle such as this, especially with dozens of stadiums to choose from constantly running fight after fight. Granted, in the Conference, one could argue that every battle's stake was high. It certainly felt that way in her heart waiting for Cece's third battle to begin. Her current score was zero wins, two losses, the second of which she could have won had she stood her ground and not let doubt cloud her mind. Losses early did not matter—no, they did. They were mentally taxing and ramped up the pressure, squeezing a trainer's heart to see if it was steel or cloth.

Temperance knew her girlfriend might be able to afford a few more losses, but would that send her spiraling? Her new style, albeit effective, was still clumsily implemented under so many eyes, and trainers did not tend to remember that Pokemon, too, got nervous and felt the pressure to perform. Few people knew this more than coordinators themselves. Again, Temperance's gaze found itself drawn to the enormous corridor Cecilia would be arriving from.

She wished she could have been down there with her to squeeze her hands tight and warm them.

"Who is Cece—" Kael shrunk from the way Temperance glared at him, "—Cecilia fighting again?"

Of course, everyone in the group had come to support Cecilia in her time of need, though amidst these rowdy folk, voices had to be raised to even hold a conversation. If this was the Grand Festival, people would have been speaking in hushed whispers to not disturb each other or the coordinators about to have one of the most important performances of their careers.

"Some brute from Orre." When Cassandra spoke the word, she did so wrinkling her nose. They had all heard the stories swirling around such a place: a land without laws where encountering death was something one had to grow up with. Temperance would have nodded along and grimaced as well, once. "Hamili, I think."

"Ammar's his first name," Ronaldo corrected. "I've heard nothing but bad things about him and his… tactics."

"Sorry, but I'd rather trust a ten-year-old aspirant trainer than you when it comes to gathering info on trainers," Cassandra said with a laugh—though Temperance figured Ronaldo hadn't heard due to all the noise. She was well-positioned to catch every word that was said in the center.

The coordinator felt a pull on the sleeve of her blouse and turned toward Amber, who had sat down next to her. "Yes?" she asked. In the corner of her mind, she imagined Cecilia tilting her head to the side to the point where Temperance feared for the structural integrity of her bones. She'd picked that up from her slightly. "Is something wrong, Ambs?" She could already see it on her face, but she figured she might as well ask. People were more likely to answer that way.

Amber was new and a nervous little thing. They'd met through a mutual friend a month back at one of the endless Hearthome fundraisers, and she had quickly proven herself to be able to stand among Temperance's closest confidants, be it through social acumen or her skills at contests. Not in participating in them, per se—she had no Pokemon of her own—but in analyzing them and knowing the ins and outs of how Type Energy functioned. It wasn't often that Temperance herself learned something new through someone other than herself. No matter what, however, Amber still couldn't be herself in front of her. She was more real than most, which was why she had even been invited here for the month in the first place, but none of them were their true selves to a fault. Even if they had to tell Temperance off, call her names, or just say no to what she asked, sometimes, they only rarely did so. None of them could be like her.

"You know what, never mind," Amber said. "I guess I'm a little nauseous. There are so many people around and you know how I get about violence." She twirled with a strand of her hair and pulled her other hand away.

"Close your eyes if you need to. And you know, there's no shame in leaving if it really gets to you." Temperance watched Amber nervously smile and adjust her position on the admittedly uncomfortable chair. To be heard better, the coordinator leaned in for a second, and Amber flinched. "Want water?" She turned toward her other friends who were engrossed in a shouting conversation about Orre. "I think Kael has some bottles—"

"I'm fine! Uh, yeah. I'll just close my eyes, I guess."

Temperance raised a finger. "But don't forget to tell us if something's wrong. The last thing I want is for you to be that uncomfortable. Cece would understand."

The conversation ended there, and the coordinator refocused toward the door. The crowd was slowly ramping up as the minutes ticked by, still feral despite the fact that there had been a battle here just thirty minutes ago. The battlefield itself was nearly finished being fixed up by an array of Pokemon. Hippopotas and their evolution for the soil and mud, Gulpin and Bibarel to set up for what appeared to be a torrent of poisonous water, Kadabra to move large chunks of rock and Mr. Mime to reinforce the barrier. The last battle had been on a battlefield dotted with island floating with residual psychic energy high above an icy, ethereal lake, and this one… looked like it was going to be a poisonous swamp of some kind. Often, some of these arenas were boring, only being meadows or deserts et cetera, but the League knew how to play ball sometimes.

"...talk about Ammar's violence, but Cecilia didn't seem that phased by it at all when she studied him," Cassandra said, though Temperance hadn't heard the start of that sentence.

"She's seen her fair share of violence. Her face isn't like that for nothing," Ronaldo spoke so quietly Temperance was surprised she caught it. "Poor girl's been through a lot."

If only they knew the half of it, Temperance thought. Not that she knew much either besides the information available to the public. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs before flicking a piece of dust on her shorts. How long had that been here? Had people noticed? She—

Needed to calm down. No one was looking at her—besides Ambs. This was no performance.

Cecilia had always been cold and closed off. She'd gotten better about it, yes. One day, she had come back from some unknown conversation with her friend Chase Karlson and suddenly apologized and they'd had a long talk about boundaries and what was okay and what was not. While Temperance hadn't known it at the time, it had been a welcome change and she wouldn't go back for any reason. It had made what felt like an attraction-based fling turn into a genuine relationship, and she knew now that they would never have lasted this long otherwise.

Yet even still, Temperance felt like there was part of her girlfriend she could never access—the true weakness within. Slowly, painstakingly, Temperance had peeled away at her like the layers of an onion, but the more she progressed, the more it felt like so much of her was hidden away.

And most of it was because of Grace Pastel and what she'd done to her. How the cheating destroyed Cecilia and crushed what remained of her confidence and self-love to a pulp.

But slowly, she was getting closer. Slowly.

"You seem deep in thought," Amber noticed.

Temperance stayed unmoving from her seat. "Oh, it's nothing. I was just thinking about Cecilia and—"

She could not find it within herself to finish that sentence, nor would it have mattered anyway. A cacophonous applause erupted from all around the stands as the announcer began to speak and introduce the two trainers to the crowd. Temperance despised how unrefined she was being, but it would do for this bunch of trainers.

"...side, the wild and brutal trainer from the untamed lands of Orre, Ammar Hamili!" Her voice rang sharp and loudly across the stadium. "Ammar's no stranger to high stakes and crowds; he learned the ways of battling in their colosseums, and he's come to the other side of the world to give us a show, so give him a huge round of applause!"

Somehow, the crowd got louder. Ammar might not have been a frontrunner, but from the way Cecilia had talked about him, most people despised him.

Oh. She'd thought the crowd was getting louder, but it had done so with boos.

"Or boo him, I guess," the announcer said.

They hated him because he was the only one actively trying to cripple his opponents through violence and maiming, making sure they'd be in the Center for longer to narrow down trainers' options in their future battles even with the best care available, and the few who had attempted to fight fire with fire had just been worse than him. Even Grace Pastel, the other trainer associated with such tactics, was not expected to go that far.

Temperance was realizing she knew way too much about trainers these days, but unfortunately, Cecilia seemed to enjoy speaking about them. Ammar was already up on his platform, unbothered by the noxious swamp the League had created. He was a confident-looking man with sun-kissed skin, dark stubble, and a constant, smug look on his face that made you want to hate him from the get-go. His arms and face were dotted with scars, some shallow, some deep.

He was also frustratingly attractive, with the way his plain shirt was unbuttoned. Ugh. Like he could ruin her life if he wanted.

"On the other side of the battlefield, we have our famous Unovan! A rising star who's gotten eight badges in her first year, who's helped Sinnoh beat the scourge that was Team Galactic in her time of need despite being a stranger to these lands, I give you… Cecilia Obel!"

This time, they cheered, and loudly. Cece was wearing a fitted sky-blue tunic with a high neckline and a subtle gradient that faded to white near the hem, the fabric soft and flowing enough to move with her but still practical. Her leggings were a sleek silver-gray, hugging her form and catching the light faintly with a metallic sheen that hinted at elegance without being overdone. On her feet, she donned slightly white sneakers with a hint of wear, the kind you'd expect from someone who spent a lot of time on the go.

It was a starkly different look than her usual, one but it was what she needed to embody the theme of this battle, and it would have nothing to do with poison.

The referee announced the rules—no killing, three-on-three with one switch, et cetera, et cetera, and Temperance found herself squeezing the side of her chair. Both trainers had already locked in their first choice before the battle, so it did not matter who sent out their Pokemon first; they both had the same amount of time. Ammar did so, releasing his mighty Fearow. The bird erupted from the Pokeball with a sharp cry, its voice cutting through the air like a blade. Its faded feathers were a patchwork of battle-worn plumage. The crimson crest atop its head was jagged, no longer smooth, with small nicks and missing tufts that told stories of vicious clashes. Its beak, long and sharp, bore faint scratches and a slight curve at the tip as if it had been blunted and reforged by countless strikes.

It hovered there, each flap of its massive wings a testament to its strength and sending blasts of wind below the flying type that might as well have been Gusts on their own. Smart to release a flying type when stepping in the poison would slowly diminish a Pokemon's strength. Cecilia's Pokeball had already been in the air—yes, she threw it just like old timers did—looking at the bird with unabashed awe in her blank eyes and a smile that looked like it belonged to a little girl. Good. It was not so much as being in character as it was understanding that Fearow encapsulated the theme of her play. Cece had also always loved the power that came through raw strength.

And it was also about having a good time.

Scizor would be the first. He appeared amidst the swamp, ankle-deep in one of the shallower parts of the water and unharmed by its poison or fumes even as they slid off his gleaming red plates of armor. Temperance knew that within one of his pincers was a Flying Gem ready to be used.

The referee's arm bore down, and the stadium immediately went quiet.

"Do your thing, Fearow," Ammar lazily ordered in a thick accent before following with a series of whistles. His nonchalant tone betrayed him—Temperance knew focused eyes when she saw them. It was a front to frustrate his opponent, but he was taking her seriously, just as he would every trainer facing him.

Fearow croaked, each movement of its mighty, scarred wings kicking up more and more poison, and dove toward Scizor. The bird was not fast so much as it was mighty. It was like looking at a freight truck barrel at you on a road. There was a sudden sense of inevitableness that made you want to freeze up.

Cecilia took a deep breath and lifted up a hand, her movements smooth like the wind. "Scizor steps forward in a dance."

It would be Swords Dance; it would be Agility—but that was not what Temperance was focused on.

Her voice accomplished three things. One, its tone screamed narration, somehow being fast enough to fit the rhythm of battle, but slow enough for the audience to parse and relish every word; two it was loud—louder than Cecilia had ever used to speak and it overwhelmed the ears and made people focus on her and commanded attention with an almost magnetic pull, every syllable sharp and deliberate, like the cracking of a whip; three—and perhaps it was a little too early for this—it carried an undeniable sense of purpose, as though her voice alone was an instrument in the battle itself.

Scizor moved graciously through the muk; his wings buzzed and he danced, each movement a deliberate motion to make him move faster and faster as his edges sharpened and dripped with a metallic gleam that seemed almost alive. "Each step builds momentum," Cecilia continued, her voice rising in tempo to match Scizor's accelerating movements. "His edges gleam, sharper than a blade, preparing to strike with unmatched precision—"

Just in time, she finished. Fearow descended from the sky like a thunderbolt, a streak of brown and cream against the air. Its wings stretched wide, each feather sharp and bristling with power, cutting through the air with a forceful whoosh that made the crowd instinctively flinch. The bird's talons gleamed with a wicked power—it screeched when Scizor slashed across its legs, but it did not relent and grabbed him by the shoulders, carrying him up into the air. Scizor struggled, but Fearow's grip was ironclad, and beams of light erupted from his body powerful enough to burn the winged beast's plumage. His wings flared with Bug Buzz until Fearow repositioned its grip and tore half of them apart.

The Orrean trainer called for a Drill Peck, but Cecilia paid him no mind. "Scizor panics," she said, slightly breathless, and through her voice that rivals Fearow's screaming, her steel type ceases his thrashing and senseless attacks, "but he sees how high he is, he tastes the crisp air, understands the cost of freedom—"

Ammar scoffed as his Fearow still dominated Scizor in the air. "Kid, what the fuck are you on about?"

"—and he is unbound."

Scizor's claw shone with a brilliant light blue, the color of the sky, and Temperance was overtaken by a feeling she could not name. What it felt to look at an endless expanse and to realize how large the world was. Pressurized air swirled around the two Pokemon until it exploded and separated them. Fearow let out an annoyed grunt, having been far less hurt than its opponent in the exchange, but—

Two-winged, torn apart, and shredded, poison penetrating the tiny openings in his plating,

Scizor flew.

"Sharpened and quickened through his dance, Scizor fights to be free. Close Combat."

The Scizor species couldn't fly. It was impossible. Yet with a little help from a Flying Gem and having trained their control, they were defying the odds. Ammar's eyes widened, but he was undeterred, knowing his Fearow would win in a battle up close through its bulk and brutality.

And yet.

Scizor fought. Each part of his body was a weapon, a blade, a blunt object; each strike was accompanied by a burst of wind that shattered bone or pierced feathers and thick skin. The Fearow shrieked, its wings beating furiously to maintain altitude as Scizor clung to it, his metallic claws locking around its slender neck. The two spiraled through the air, a violent dance of desperation for liberation and violence that left Scizor's armor broken and his body lit aflame. Two wings were not enough to regulate his inner temperature. Cecilia's narration grew faster, more desperate, more hungry, and Temperance noticed that even the battle's commentator had stopped speaking—not that she had ever focused on her. Her girlfriend's voice was not commanding Scizor as much as it was now in lock and step with his actions. She knew him so well that she simply knew what he would do next, and whatever she said nearly always was exactly what Scizor was doing in the moment.

Trainer or not, coordinator or not, one would be a fool not to understand the amount of practice; of blood, sweat, and tears; of trust needed to achieve such a feat.

The struggle between the two Pokemon looked close to the untrained eye, until it simply was not. Using its beak as its implement, Fearow stabbed right into a minute opening in Scizor's burning flesh on his lower abdomen, and just like that, it was over. The flying type croaked, creating an updraft to keep itself still and gather back its strength. Some bootleg version of Roost still useable in the air? Cuts and bruises slowly healed, leaving behind dried blood, yet not wiping the mild exhaustion.

Ammar whistled, and he stared at Scizor's crumpled body collapsing amidst the swamp. "Not bad, not bad."

"What follows an unbounding, the first experience with freedom, is usually a flight too close to the sun." Cecilia ignored him, instead instantly releasing her second Pokemon—her fierce Hydreigon. He appeared onto the field a silent killer, his six narrow eyes facing the Fearow with a surprising amount of intelligence. Yet, Temperance knew, he was restrained.

"Always wanted myself one of those," Ammar quipped, "Fearow." He nudged his head forward and whistled once more, this one more grave and long-winded.

Fearow closed his eyes and began to glow and its feathers stood utterly still in the constant wind.

"Hydreigon," Cecilia started; beforehand, her tone had been wondrous and wanting, but now it evolved to what could only be described as restrained joy, almost terrified, "looks upon the world and finds himself with more power at his fingertips than he has ever expected to own, and so, decides to test its limits and experiment."

Already, power had been surging in all of Hydreigon's throats. One, the central head, cold and blue, its fangs tipped with a cold that smoked amidst the noxious fumes. A beam of ice burst out, but it hovered right in front of his face, growing more and more intense as frost spread among the swamp. The other two heads burned with opposing fires. On the left, a deep, searing red glow radiated from its jaws, embers falling like dying stars. The air around it shimmered and warped, suffused with blistering heat. Flames licked hungrily at its fangs, twisting and writhing like serpents desperate to be unleashed. Each breath sent tiny bursts of fire cracking into the swampy air, the moisture hissing into steam on contact. The right head burned differently—a savage, wild orange with flecks of golden yellow that sparked and danced in chaotic patterns. The fire there seemed alive, almost feral, snapping at the air as if impatient for release. The three orbs combined together into a ying and yang, cold and hot, opposites that had no right to stick together, yet were subjugated by draconic energy peppered throughout its structure. Just like they'd practiced.

"Do you know what it feels like to be freed yet feel trapped at the same time? To still feel the ghost of the chains wrapped around your ankles despite the wind blowing through your hair?" Cecilia whispered, with Temperance hanging on her every word. "It feels like this. Frostburn."

Ammar, who had seemed content to buy time until now, whistled to his Fearow, and the flying type's eyes snapped open right as the orb left Hydreigon's combined maws. It did not rush forth at speeds that would distort the air, yet it turned the battlefield into an incoherent mesh of fire and ice and poison and, and, and. A piercing cry sliced through the chaos. Fearow's wings snapped open with a force that sent a gust of wind rippling through the swamp, scattering steam and ash and cold like dry leaves in a storm. For a moment, it hovered midair, the powerful beats of its wings holding it steady. Then its entire body tensed, talons curling and beak pointing forward like a spear. The atmosphere around it began to shift—an invisible pressure radiated outward, pulling the battlefield's fractured elements into its orbit.

There was an unimaginable focus in its eyes, like it could see things that it never had. Fearow launched itself forward in a burst of speed that was almost deafening, the sound like a thunderclap tearing through the air. Its trajectory was direct, unyielding, and terrifyingly precise, cutting through the mesh of fire and ice with the defiance of a creature that refused to be caged by chaos. The move was rarely seen, but it was known by all because of how iconic it was. Giga Impact. Fearow tore through the orb that had grown to twice its size, and it exploded in a mixture of steam and vapor that suddenly expanded and exploded amidst the barrier. Temperance could not see the results, though she heard Amber shriek, remembering she was not alone. Her breath hitched in her throat as everything slowly dissipated. The mist, debris, flames, and everything you could think of.

Hydreigon was skewered by Fearow's beak like a Magikarp, blood pouring out of his chest with half of his body submerged in the remains of the poisonous bog. Each breath came out as a pathetic wheeze that betrayed that one of his lungs had been punctured. They were wet, weak, and uncomfortable to listen to. Fearow too, had taken punishment. Not only was it more skin than feathers, covered in burns and frostbite, but the talons that once gripped with terrifying strength now flexed weakly against the muddy ground, their tips coated in a thin layer of frost that flaked away with each futile attempt to rise.

Yet it managed to remove and open its beak regardless, and a thin Ice Beam finished Hydreigon off; the dragon went limp in the poison. That was the thing about Ammar, apparently. He ramped up instead of slowing down.

"That sure was anti-climactic for your little show," Ammar taunted with a shit-eating grin.

Cecilia's arms went limp when she recalled the dragon, but Temperance could tell she was hiding a smile. This was even better than what she'd wanted. "He was given too much too soon, and in his confusion, failed to achieve anything at all."

"Roost," the Orrean ordered. He seemingly did not care for switching; he trusted his partner could pull this through no matter what. You could see it in his eyes. A bond a decade old, or perhaps even older than that. Shared scars and death stared in the eye countless times between the two of them. Fearow slowly pulled itself from the muk and began to glow. "Atta girl."

The swamp quaked and was utterly destroyed, with upturned earth and rocks below having mixed with the liquid and turned much of the arena to hard ground. Enough to release one of her land-bound Pokemon if she so wished—not that she had many of those. Slowking could fly on his barriers, Golurk on rockets, and only Toxicroak—

Cecilia grabbed her final Pokeball and prepared herself for the third and final act. "You fail again and again. Countless times until you wonder if life was better before you realized the vastness of the world and how overwhelming it all is." Talonflame shrieked in the air as Cecilia threw her Pokeball the highest she'd ever done—it went on and fell back behind her ramp. "Or," she said, tone rising, "Or," it was feverish now, almost in reverence of flight. Madness, "you can embrace it," Cecilia continued, her voice rising with fervor, almost trembling with the weight of her words. "You can let it consume you, let it carry you higher and higher, until the fear, the doubt, the failures—they're all specks beneath your wings."

Talonflame formed a sleek silhouette of red and white against the sky. She soared with a cry that seemed to tear through the swamp's stagnant atmosphere, her wings cut clean through the haze of frost and the remnants of battle below. Ammar whistled as Talonflame sped up, spinning around the battlefield until she'd created a veritable tornado that seemed to bounce off of Fearow every time it got close. Brute or not, their control is still excellent, Temperance thought to herself.

"These failures are all learned lessons, mind you," Cecilia added, "But Talonflame wishes she could stop fearing an inevitable fall, and thus—" Fearow jumped in the air, rising with a ragged screech as it hungered to destroy, destroy, destroy Talonflame; she was one third its size, able to be torn apart with a single swipe of its talon. "—she finally understands what it means to soar."

The battle began in earnest, the air alive with the clash of wingbeats and shrill cries. Scorching winds conjured by Talonflame's fiery wings were countered by cold drafts, heavy and oppressive, generated by Fearow's own power. Cecilia spoke so quickly, stumbling over her words, but it was half intentional. Passion, joy, and revelation were frantic, and so she would be as well. Brave Bird—no, Acrobatics! She uses Flaming Feathers and, and—it was never-ending, and each strike brought more laughter as Talonflame proved too quick to get fatally hit. Fearow could land a few cuts and grazes here and there, but it had moved on to using Uproar instead.

It warmed Temperance's heart to see Cecilia this way. Weeks ago, when they had first met and she had analyzed her girlfriend's battles, it was not just her battling style that was boring, but herself, for she barely emoted at all. She was not a part of the battle with her Pokemon, but merely a spectator watching from beyond a window. Quiet. Passive.

"Drawing on her speed, Talonflame banks hard to the right, flames trailing from her wings in a fiery arc!" Cecilia screamed.

Talonflame climbed higher, the sun at her back, forcing Fearow to follow her into the blinding light. For a moment, it seemed to work; the larger bird hesitated, its sharp eyes blinking against the glare. Talonflame seized the opening, diving like a comet with a Flame Charge turned Flare Blitz, her body encased in fire as she slammed into Fearow's side as her body gleamed with metal and she generated a shockwave—

A sharp whistle.

Mistake.

Fearow absorbed the impact with a guttural screech, twisting its body mid-air to catch Talonflame, its claws still weakened from the thermal shock wrought by Hydreigon, but still able to rival the fire type's strength. The larger bird lashed out with its talons, catching one of Talonflame's legs in a crushing grip. A sharp cry of pain escaped her as the two birds locked together, tumbling through the sky in a violent spiral.

Fearow's talons clenched tighter, pulling Talonflame closer as its wings flared and fire overtook them, stabilizing their descent. Talonflame retaliated, her smaller talons snapping forward to grasp Fearow's legs in turn. The struggle became a deadly aerial waltz; they were intertwined together, struggling for domination as they stumbled toward the earth and wind turned to battering rams powerful enough to bend metal and sharpened knives that could cut through stone.

Yet Fearow's legs went limp.

Right before they hit the ground.

Talonflame flared her wings wide, straining against gravity with a final burst of strength. She pulled up sharply, her body bloodied body trembling as she skimmed mere inches above the dirt, a trail of scorched earth marking where the tips of her feathers had grazed the ground. Fearow hit the earth with a thunderous crash behind her, its massive body rolling to a halt, limbs sprawled in the dirt, unmoving save for the faint rise and fall of its chest.

Temperance couldn't believe it.

A story in three acts, each Pokemon representing a single character that resonated with her. Far from flawless, but at the very least executed correctly—the audience erupted into cheers despite the fact that Cecilia hadn't won. Ammar let out a pensive 'huh' as he recalled Fearow and released a Krookodile without missing a beat on a patch of less-poisoned mud. Temperance noticed a little gasp at the sight of the ground type, but Cecilia had been ready for it. The results were already obvious, but she'd won in everyone's hearts.

Krookodile made quick work of Talonflame, using the earth as a means to hit a sky-bound target. The attempts themselves were clumsy, but they exploded with scorching mud knitted with darkened tendrils that seemed to seek out Talonflame. The flying type eventually fell back to earth.

"It's important to plant your feet on the ground and to remind yourself of where you've come from, sometimes," Cecilia said before she bowed to the audience. "Thank you." She quickly went to pick up Talonflame's Pokeball—she'd gotten a little carried away there—and recalled the flying type before leaving.

Kael, Cassandra, and Ronaldo all spoke of her achievements and praised her performance, but Amber was more restrained. As if she were focused on something else entirely. Temperance hadn't been paying attention to her enough to see if she'd closed her eyes or not, but she seemed to be doing okay.

Amber looked away, then at Temperance, and then away again, like she didn't know where to look. "I was wondering if I could talk to you about something, uh, on my birthday?"

"Sure thing, Ambs," Temperance answered with a slight smile. She was a good kid. Kind of made you want to take off her hat and ruffle her hair a bit. Technically, she was a few months older than Cecilia, but it was just the way she acted… "Let's get going, shall we?"

"Let's."

Temperance checked the time for her phone. Grace Pastel should have been finishing one of her battles right about now.

She was going to try to see her not because she wanted to confront her, but because she wanted to understand how that girl had captured Cecilia's heart and still owned it to this day; she might have told Temperance to stop pretending to be Grace, but Temperance was certain she still thought of her during their nights together—and by the Legendaries, that was frustrating now that she'd gotten a taste of Cece's true affection. With how famous Grace was, it'd be easy to keep track of her whereabouts online.

Really, she just wanted to observe.

It would be alone, of course. She would not subject Cecilia to such torment.

"Cassandra, do me a favor, will you?"

—

The battlefield before Maylene shimmered with gold. No, it was gold. She'd never seen this Pokemon before—Gholdengo, it was called. It looked quite cheerful for a ghost, even if everything it touched turned to solid gold. A flurry of vines shot out from Angel, whipping through the air with precision as they sought to ensnare Gholdengo. The golden figure dodged with an almost whimsical ease, its body turning to shining ribbons as it weaved between each appendage. Spores and the power of the sun exploded from their tips, and Gholdengo let out a pained metallic chime before the golden ribbons reformed atop a rock it had also twisted in its image. From its perch, Gholdengo raised its thumb, flicking a coin with casual ease. The small, gleaming piece tore through the air, breaking the sound barrier with a deafening crack before slamming deep into Angel's hide. The impact left a jagged, golden wound, and Angel staggered, his vines momentarily faltering in tandem with the ghost's laugh.

"Yeah, it's over," Nia whispered beside Maylene. "Surprised she didn't bring out Tyranitar—not that it would have made a difference."

"She's having fun," Maylene grouched.

She still couldn't help but grind her teeth. It wasn't a battle Grace had come in expecting to win, given she was fighting Jamie Pearce. Already, she'd lost her Electivire and Claydol in this fight and had made use of her one switch while Pearce still had his Gholdengo raring to go with a bunch of unknown Pokemon from Galar and Paldea in his pocket. Even then, Grace looked like she was having the time of her life. She was playing Intrepid Explorer this time—hell, she'd even bought the cutest costume, hat and all—and of course, she was decked out in a Poketch Watch and their logo on her back and front.

Gholdengo had been a happy little accident in that regard; now she could pretend she'd come here to loot and use the ghost for her own greed.

A fun story that would end with a human's hubris defeated, Maylene supposed. It wasn't the end of the world. This was only her first battle; she'd just been unlucky to draw Pearce first.

Candice shrugged. "She put up a good fight! Aubri's gonna have her work cut out for her if she wants to win," she nonchalantly chimed in. "Who do you think takes it between the two of 'em, Nia?"

"Pfft, could go either way." The grass type Gym Leader leaned in as Tangrowth this time took a flurry of golden coins. Nearly all of his body was covered in a thick, golden crust, now.

"Solar Blade! I'm not leaving without any treasure!" Grace clamored with a stomp.

Light shimmered through the gold, and Angel exploded with light, his vines glowing with a radiant green as he surged upward. He pushed himself off the ground, his hulking mass surprisingly agile, dodging a well-timed Shadow Ball that swept low, kicking up a cloud of golden dust where it struck. The attack had been aimed to pin him down, but Angel wasn't ready to be outmaneuvered again.

His vines shot outward in all directions, still seeking purchase. The golden terrain beneath him, reshaped by Gholdengo's touch, gave no grip, but Angel found his anchor in the twisted remnants of a once-tall tree now frozen in gold. Using the leverage, he swung himself forward, closing the distance with the elusive steel-ghost. Like a bolas, he threw a pair of vines that caught Pearce and his Pokemon off-guard. It wrapped itself around the ghost and tightened with swirling darkness. Gholdengo turned them to gold within the second, but the time bought had been enough for a Knock Off to slam on the steel type's head.

"Fun's over," Nia said.

Pearce calmly ordered a Metal Sound that made Angel and all of the spectators wince. The grass type recovered just in time to have a point-blank Flash Cannon delivered in his gut, and he fell a pile of smoldering vines and gold.

"Tangrowth is unable to battle!" the referee bellowed. "Victory to Jamie Pearce!"

The three Gym Leaders were on their way out as soon as the cheers ended. Grace would need to give her Pokemon to one of the nurse teams waiting in the stadium for her Pokemon to receive the best care available, given her next fight would be in a couple of hours. Sometimes, it wasn't fast enough. The system was unfair, but some said it allowed for further strategizing. Either way, with the way the tournament was organized, they didn't have much of a choice; even if the Conference lasted a month, the group stages were weeks of non-stop battling for every participant. Sinnoh had chosen to create a gauntlet both mental and physical for its trainers and Pokemon instead of the many alternatives available.

Even as Gym Leaders, they weren't allowed in the trainer holding room; they had to wait for Grace to come out instead. She was sweaty, still riding the high from that fight despite the fact that she'd gotten utterly crushed. Luckily for them, she wasn't getting swarmed, just nodding and greeting the people who had come along as fans to cheer for her. Maylene had seen a few of them wearing her merch. Her other friends—Denzel, Emilia, and Pauline—had found her first, it seemed. Marley was preparing for her own fight, and Lauren's group had been going on for days, with Mira going to every single fight.

"Guys! That Gholdengo was crazy, weren't they? I thought he'd bring out someone else, but it played so perfectly! And I learned a lot!" Grace blurted out as soon as she was within earshot. "It's unfortunate that he doesn't have many videos of his battles out! I bet I could take Gholdengo down if I had another try—"

"Relax, okay?" Gardenia said, patting her on the shoulder. "You've got another one coming in a few hours, so you've got to calm down and rest your mind."

Denzel scratched the back of his head and glanced between Candice and Nia. He must not have been used to hanging out with them still, even if they'd met a few times during the Conference already. "Heard a lot of stuff about that. Lots of horror stories about people throwing or not having the right Pokemon ready for a fight."

"Sheesh. Sounds terrible…" Emi muttered. Grace had said there was something off about her.

"Oh yeah, the group stages gave me a headache." Candice gripped her forehead as if she could recall the exact pain. "I was fried by the end and lost a bunch of fights I could have won. Luckily I'd won enough by that time that it didn't matter."

Grace flexed her non-existent muscles—okay, maybe that was too mean—and puffed out her chest. "I can… probably take it. I'm excited!" She turned toward Maylene. "Maymay, what'd you think?"

Grace looked at her with those yearning, Lillipup eyes she always made, and Maylene couldn't help but adjust her collar. "You were awesome, obviously. And Cass has been improving so much I'm surprised at how well they did."

Grace kissed Maylene on the cheek; her heart felt warm and her stomach fuzzy. "Tell them when they're out of the Center; it'll make their day coming from someone else. They're already too used to compliments from me."

"I'll tell them too!" Candice cheered. "Should we go and eat lunch or what? Double date?"

"Candice, please don't be so exclusionary." Gardenia pulled her back to reality and shook her head with a silent sigh. Then, she leaned in and whispered, "plus, Cynth called us over. I think she needs help with community outreach or something like that." No one but Maylene had caught that, though she already knew about this. "You kids feel free to hang out together—"

"I was thinking, we could go the two of us, right?" Grace asked. "Unless it bothers you guys."

"You go ahead and have fun, gremlin. I'll hold down the fort." Pauline gave her a thumbs-up.

"Uh, right," Maylene said. "It's pizza today, right?"

"Legendaries, you'll love it," Candice yelled a little too loudly.

Nia spoke up. "To be honest, I don't really see why people like it so much—"

"Don't listen to her; she's a deviant!" Candice cut in.

Pauline blinked, and something on her face shattered. She nearly gasped. "Wait, she doesn't enjoy pizza—"

"I just think it's not the best thing in the world."

The conversation continued for a few minutes until the group dispersed. There was still a little ball of nervousness in Maylene's stomach at the thought of eating something that deviated from the norm, and her throat desperately tried to get her to say no, but then she stared at Grace and saw her take off her silly little hat and wipe the sweat off her brow before she realized Maylene had been looking at her, and she beamed like the sun.

Everything was so wonderful with her.

There was just—

Just the guilt. Hidden so deep within that even her girlfriend couldn't wrestle that out of her. It was a terrible, terrible thing she'd done, and while Maylene would never give up Grace for anything in the world, it still hurt to think about Cecilia. She'd helped Maylene with her father and her Gym so much, and what had she gotten for it? Nothing. Worse than nothing. A broken heart.

Grace grabbed Maylene's hand, and they made their way toward a Kalosian pizza place up in the hills.

Maylene had told Grace that anything they could both tell Cecilia right now would most likely just make things worse. The Unovan most likely did not want an apology or for Maylene to grovel at her feet, but that left a bad taste in the Gym Leader's mouth. She shielded her eyes from the morning sun and rolled her shoulders—Grace was looking right at her. Don't freeze. Keep walking. Look at her and smile. Her girlfriend sheathed the daggers that were her eyes, and they softened within a second.

Arceus, she was perceptive.

But no. Maylene was not going to see Grace's ex, especially without informing her first. It would be incredibly stupid of her to create drama, even if she was being selfish. After all, had Grace not stood there and taken her… comeuppance, she had called it?

So why?

Why in the world was Temperance in the restaurant when they arrived?

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