Erika took a while to come to her senses. It was early morning. That's what the sun angrily rubbing against her eyes was saying. Not a time she'd be awake if there weren't duties to be done, which meant that there was no time to be entertaining random events on the street. Whether it be a man who was making a fool of himself or kids that weren't supposed to be out that late, she tried ignoring the city. This mindset only came from lacking enough sleep; she'd turn normal after her first nap of the day. The only unavoidable obstacle that morning came in the form of a slumped dark figure at the back of her gym, the same place where she'd first been introduced to fairy-types.

  Very few distractions would be considered pressing enough for her to interrupt the morning commute. Experience tempered the heights of her awareness, the pinpricks she'd get from a gambler singing to himself in the street in glee or a blatant member of Team Rocket skulking at the mouth of an alleyway. It was pleasurable, realizing that horrible night had improved the city. Since the destruction of the game corner, vagabondery and roguish behaviors, the antisocial and smelly, had been reigned in. Most actually started working on the habit. Some transferred towards other legal betting options like battle bets (the Championship fight coincidentally had an unprecedented surge in money betted). All said, there was a sudden lack of people wandering the streets at strange times mourning their losses, which reignited the debate if gambling was acceptable if the main distributor disappearing had made the city better.

  This person sleeping at the back of her gym had become abnormal. That was a good thing. It made it more noticeable, and thus harder to ignore. That was bad. She had wanted the last wisps of sleep to keep hold until she staggered to a napping spot.

  Dawn crept over the building, excluding the two of them in a pitch black shadow. The light posts that were supposed to be on flicked off minutes after she left the front door. Unsure of how to approach him, she leaned down to get a better view of the man's face. The closer she got, the more boyish his features became.

  "Excuse me, sir. This is the gym, not—"

  She screamed as the man leapt up to his feet, just barely reaching up to her height. He tried hiding the fact that he was sleeping but the slight slur to his words wouldn't fool anybody.

  "Hey, boss! Good to see you! Didn't know that my first shift was going to be this early, but I'll do anything that ya need!" Lane said.

  Breathing shallowly, it took her physically holding her chest still to finally calm down the frantic heartbeat.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, calmly. As calmly as possible. Ignore the frantic arrhythmic leaps of her voice and slightly sharp tone.

  Lane brightened up and smacked the building. "I wanted to sign up for a room at the pokémon center, but I forgot that my pass for being allowed in Kanto had expired about a week ago. So all those services that I'd been getting are now no longer free unless I present a good reason to renew my whatchamacallit, breeder's permit or whatever. I don't got one though."

  Thinking deeper about it, Erika wasn't sure how Lane got one in the first place. You needed to be actively distributing pokémon—which she didn't see—or breeding them—which he couldn't do with how much traveling he was doing. A mystery that she was going to find out later.

  "That doesn't explain why you're at the back of my gym," Erika said.

  "Of course it does. I no longer have free rooms. I also have no money. Ergo, I have to sleep outside. It's fine, isn't it? What? Am I not allowed to sleep outside once I'm in a city?"

  "Yes!" Erika said.

  "Why?"

  "Because it isn't right!"

  "Then why can I sleep outside when I'm not in a city?"

  "Because there aren't buildings that you can sleep in!"

  Lane put a finger to his chin, thinking through the sentence as if a philosopher had said it.

  "But if I don't own any of the buildings, then there's these things called 'property rights' that I can't infringe or Officer Jenny's gonna come and lock me up."

  "Then buy a room! There's cheaper ones around the pokémon center for people in your exact situation!"

  "But do the buildings really morally call us to sleep in them?" At her aggrieved look, he gave a shrug. "Fine then. I'm sleeping outside because I don't care about what rules that society has in place. I'm not going to use the rest of my money on a stupid hotel room or apartment complex. Not that an apartment would take a kid anyways, so here we are! You can't force me to do anything!"

  "I can let the pokémon center open its doors for you as long as you're working here. Please drop the subject and—" Erika accidentally took too deep of a whiff. There was pine somewhere deep beneath a moldy smell mixed with dry dirt. Human sweat had long lost precedence in the concoction. "You will need a shower if you're to enter my gym."

  Confused, Lane took a sniff at his armpit and hummed.

  "That's pretty bad. Does that free pass to the pokémon center start now?"

  The rest of the employees had arrived by the time that Lane was fully groomed—a new man who smelled like a man with the smell of 'grit and determination', so proclaimed the shampoo bottle, walked through the gardens. Over the hedges was Erika taking her place in between the trees already on the first nap of the day. Without wanting to deal with whatever reaction his new boss would have for waking her up, Lane decided that familiarizing all of his pokémon with their new workplace would be the best use of time. Lurantis and Fomantis both enjoyed snuggling among the new plants of the area while Dunsparce enjoyed how the bushes easily hid him from the employees. The girls who started their gardening work would greet him, a how you do, watering the planters and gushing over his foreign pokémon, giving legitimate advice as to what being a member of Erika's little piece of the world would be like.

  A few girls approached, wary about a kid being added to the roster before he dramatically retold the story. For once he had a legitimate counter to when people thought he was invading a place. It felt strange.

  That atmosphere of serenity was ruined as a suited woman made her way through the maze, fully visible to everybody in the room. A black dome sailed above the leaves like a sailboat. They locked eyes when she rounded the last hedge. A pale finger beat down on the air in front of his nose.

  "I'll deal with you later," the woman said.

  "You're not my mom," Lane immediately retorted.

  "I wouldn't want my child to suffer what you will have to go through," she said over her shoulder, walking into Erika's impromptu bed.

  Some of the other girls had taken positions around the trees as if their bodies were hidden at all. The older ladies dissuaded the younger ones from being too near, having the memory of the previous times she'd gotten this angry. Fomantis crawled onto his head, Lurantis on his shoulder, Cottonee on the other, and Dunsparce on his back, as they could read the room wonderfully. There was a moment when everybody thought that nothing would happen as the woman paused in front of Erika to appreciate her sleeping face.

  Her mighty hand rose and descended. Gasps rang out. Lane flinched. Just before it impacted her cheek, its arc curved to slap Erika's shoulder. Another hand grabbed her other shoulder. Erika was jolted awake from the impact just in time to be shaken around like a smoothie.

  "Sometimes I wish that you were wearing normal clothes because I want nothing more than to lift you up by the collar. What were you thinking?"

  "About wha? Who?" Erika mumbled.

  The woman stuck out her hand that had an entire stack of papers clenched down into a mesh of black and white and read all over. Newspapers and their less reputable cousins fluttered down onto the grass. The first coincidentally landed on a full page article about the fight from the previous day. Most were more professional than the smaller pamphlets that had angry faces plastered on their front pages—most. Erika picked up one of the most popular of the visible bunch, the Eight City Circuit (est. four of her lifetimes ago, 60 years, by a prospector who originally had been a man of letters that heard of Hypno who taught each other the English language at a cave that today was paved over by Fuschia, of which upon finding the Hypno he suddenly decided that he didn't want to trek back across the Johto-Kanto border, making use of his literacy and biting applications of said literacy; historians argue if the man himself or the Hypno were the true CEO of Eight City Circuit). Grayscale lines creating a picture of Lane whispering into her ear nestled between the previous article of a Mankey who built a bridge by himself over the course of ten years and bold words declaring "TREASON WITHIN THE KANTO GYM CIRCUIT!?" Opening up to the page had a full story from a freelance reporter that had snuck in a seat against the wall. Most of it was a normal recounting of events from the battle until it came to the very end when Erika had made a comment about how 'weak' Lance was.

  Closer inspection on the papers revealed a bizarre fixation on an offhand comment that could barely be heard over the fight, with four witnesses within hearing distance if she were being generous. Even the tamest of them said that the grass gym leader noted how the fairy-typing could be even stronger than dragons, while the seedier publications outright said that she declared the typing to have surpassed dragons. Again, four witnesses, ones that she could list on her hand. The 'eyewitness' who heard her say that she'd 'compromised national security by saying that common pokémon could even beat Lance' was the surly business mogul of Saffron who sat at the other end of their row.

  It was nearly amusing how her image was being used to fit whatever these people fantasized about. She dug through the pile to find the most incredible accusations. "It must be a pretty slow week if they're so focused on this."

  "Is it? This is supposedly a brand new typing that just had its debut in the region. Lance had already suffered some reputation hits since those two kids had beaten him, and tried gracefully recovering by calling them prodigies; now we have kids from the side of the street picking up pokémon that have been perceived as weak beating him down. Doesn't matter the details. The fact that Lance almost lost is scaring people." She scanned the treeline before locking eyes with Lane. "You! Get in here right now. I don't remember your name but we're going to be very familiar by the end of this."

  Lane strutted around the gawking girls with his pokémon at his heels. Though Dunsparce wasn't in the spotlight exactly, he was shivering underneath the intense glare of the woman. Lurantis was trying her best to match the stare while Lane killed her with a winning smile. His other pokémon did the good PR by looking as cute as possible. His hand extended.

  "Name's Lane if you want. Historian, though I'm deciding on my job title at the moment. You can think of me as a scientist and a salesman, magician and historian, if you want the full breadth of my potential."

  "I'm Erika's secretary, Yoko. Think of me as a manager, secretary, and public relations all wrapped into a single position. Yesterday Erika said that we were going to hire a boy who claimed to have region-wide findings that could increase our gym's prestige. Naturally I was skeptical and if I were a more cautious woman, I would kick you out without thanking you, especially since she went ahead without consulting me." A quick glare was returned by serene acceptance. "This does present an opportunity however, and I doubt that we can back out of this now that Erika made these boneheaded comments."

  "It does? I thought that you would've been angry about bringing so much negative attention to the gym," Erika said.

  Yoko allowed herself to smile slightly. "Oh, I am angry. We're a public institution. The maxim, 'any attention is good attention' doesn't apply to us. We need good attention. Your comment was wholly negative. That we're currently hosting a person who has knowledge from outside has potential, on the other hand. I believe we have the ability to take it by the horns, subvert it so this'll be better for the long run. Welcoming this new change while apologizing about the comment towards Lance, along with clarifying that you believe fairy-types will bolster our region's strength, will spruce up your image as a classical lady by showing that you have an interest in the sciences and are willing to open up to good change. Older folk will still be mollified by you abiding by all the rules that a lady should follow while the younger ones will look up to you for being so progressive."

  "And if we fail?" Erika asked.

  "Then you lose the trust of the older generation while the newer ones don't focus on you being the drive behind this change. This is why I would've kicked this kid out if you didn't make that comment. What's done is done! That's why we need to push this hard." She lightly smacked the top of Erika's head with a paper. "To reiterate: while normally we could've ducked out of this, your callous comment has put us under the spotlight. So today, we strike. The mayor is organizing a press conference on this issue and I pushed him into including you. You're going to show that we're working on learning about this typing, and you're going to apologize for that comment you made against Lance. Lane, was it? You're hired. Come along. We're going to work on your image. Are those three grass-types in your possession? Good. That's a great place to start from."

  She had no problem that Lane was too slow on the uptake to follow as unlike Erika, he was polite enough to wear a collar. The back of his shirt was grabbed, yanking him off his feet and dragging him along. He tried to yell commands but the pressure against his trachea was too great. His pokémon collapsed off into a train, the caboose trying to fight against the tight grip while his partners genially followed behind. Trimming hedges and picking up stray leaves were always tables over which the girls gossiped over, but now they had something substantial to chew on. Erika got plenty of congratulations, questions, even suspicious looks from her trainers as she walked out too.

  Lane would be dragged through the wringer, she knew, and she couldn't let herself be the scruffy one between them. Outfits flitted through her mind as she called two of the girls to help her.

  Lane never regained control of his own legs meanwhile. He was dragged to a nearby building, a place that he wasn't entirely sure about its function. The building seemed to be a beauty parlor, a mysterious one, with dark back rooms and private areas that had latches on the doors. Reflected on the wall were clothing racks full of tinsel clothes and prim suits that lined from one to the other like soldiers standing at attention, freshly dry cleaned. Photos of celebrities, Erika being in the largest photograph in the center bowing to the camera, wrapped the room at around the height of an adult's kneecaps, sparing only the door and mirror stretching from wall to wall. On the door was a motivational poster with a flexing Meowth saying, "you can do it!"

  Plush red stools were scattered around the room, overseeing a giant counter with every kind of makeup that a man doesn't know about. Wands and grimoires laid around with no sense of order. His pokémon took seats on the stools as the crazy woman got a good look around him. 'Around' meant from every angle, even below, and it took Lane a second to realize that she had already picked up one of the potion vats. The switch next to the mirror flipped. Lights from every angle flashed alight with a buzzing like a mandolin.

  "So in that job description, you never said anything about being a stylist," Lane said.

  It wasn't as if the woman had any standout style of her own. She wore a simple, black business suit and kept her black hair in a hime cut. Hardly stylish, in Lane's opinion.

  She put scissors right beneath his chin and lifted slightly. "It's a matter of doing what needs to be done. I'm only here to make you look presentable to the cameras. A professional stylist would only be necessary for somebody who intends to remain in the public eye. Do you?"

  "Not really. I'd rather that this whole situation didn't happen but," Lane just shrugged as if that were an answer.

  "Yet you fought against an Elite Four member in a public setting with a new typing. I have no sympathy for you," Yoko said. The scissors flicked, clipping a stray hair. Lane watched as it floated onto his leg. "Let's think about a plan. We'll need responses to every question that a reporter can throw your way."

  "When is this press conference exactly?"

  "Two hours from now. If Erika is going to capitalize on this opportunity, then we have to get a statement out as fast and forcefully as possible. Let's get talking. First question: why did you break into the game corner?" she asked.

  Thus began the torture. Torture was never just physical. Little bits of his hair had given way to a short, basic haircut that looked like the hull of a ship bravely cleaving into the air after a helping of gel. Answer this, answer that. Question from here, ignore that question, never answer that question. The traitors of his pokémon had quickly learned that most weren't going to be present during the meeting and checked out. Lulu had taken the little Fomantis into her lap, grooming the pokémon by lightly dragging her blades wherever there were imperfections. Lightly bouncing like a tumbleweed, Cottonee was content with flitting around the room wherever the air conditioning took her. Dunsparce had started sleeping before he got confirmation that the pokémon weren't expected to be there.

  And the discipline! What he'd learned is that he'd forgotten what a 'rule' was, that abstract word that meant pain would descend from an angle he couldn't see if he broached a line that hadn't been explained, or a line that had been explained an hour ago yet was apparently essential.

  "Could've you beaten Lance?"

  "Well, if we had a little time to prepare rather than walking in with a half-baked plan, then—"

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! He was 90% sure that every civilized country had banned this sort of teaching; he was also 95% sure that he'd get a harsher smack if he brought that up, and 99% sure Kanto was not one of these civilized places. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  Getting dragged out of the dressing room came a different person. The outfit was chosen to emphasize his 'trainer-ness'. He pinched the material, uncomfortable with how much it looked like Red's, with the brown and beige color scheme being the only appreciable difference. A touch of makeup didn't help the feeling that he wasn't even wearing his own skin. The transition from artificial light towards the true world was equally traumatic. Bright little suns bounced around his vision from how long she had him staring into the mirror, exploding into supernovas when greeting sunlight after burrowing in a dark room, enveloping his whole vision soon after because there was radiance. Not brightness—brightness wasn't radiant. Radiance was different. Incomparable. Brightness didn't have all the positive stuff attached to it, and it could sometimes be bad. What made those purple splotches, that just wouldn't go away no matter how much he blinked, good?

  There was always an unapproachable feeling when he stood next to her, the same way that people got uncomfortable inside of courts, empty schools, an abandoned building, the name of that specific fear where you've entered a place not meant for you. It was a common feeling that he had, yet it wasn't comparable when it was magnified by her. Standing across from him was the same person who he'd been poking fun at, criticizing her battling, the exact same person down to the way that she stood with her hands crossed together (because it was an expression of meekness, chafing against her slightly mocking smirk meant to prod the wild trainer being forced into a suave outfit, making his knees a little wobbly) to the straight back (through years of discipline, lacking in his whole life); and standing against her was the same person who would walk through a whole region to annoy someone to the point of being abandoned, who acted without thinking about tomorrow. Everything was too immense: who was this person, and why was this happening now? So he broke things down to what he knew:

  She was wearing makeup. And it looked very nice. There was some new kimono or whatever that he could intellectually see but that didn't take nearly as much mental space as her face seeming to pop from the surroundings. Looking away broke him out of the spell, though his eyes kept gravitating to the same place before flinging out into the vastness of the rest of the world. Simpler, easier, than trying to process that one instance during that one time.

  Thankfully for him, the breakdown had only lasted four seconds; one second to see it, another for his brain to freeze, a third to look away, and a fourth to plaster a mocking smirk.

  "Well look at you. Two girls? I only had the one helping me and I'm looking slick. Maybe slicker than you." He ran two hands down his chest. "I think I could pull off that kimono better."

  Yoko leaned down to hiss in his ear. "Yes, yes, get cocky because you got an hour's worth of PR training. Are you ready, Erika?"

  "Ready as I'll ever be." She took a few calming breaths, bowing to the girls. "Thank you for your help. Please send your good wishes."

  Yoko hurriedly ushered them towards the conference, fifteen minutes left to spare. The small platform was set up with the destruction of the game corner as a backdrop as if it were a shining example of Lane's abilities, or a wry condemnation. Crawling down the middle was a long table with a white cloth draped over it; Lane likened it to a giant coffin where his anonymity went to die. Tripods held cameras like thrones which made walking around the great wall of expensive equipment a challenge without accidentally knocking something down. Metal chairs, mostly occupied, fanned out from the center.

  Tarps hung down from hangers at the sides, giving some privacy for the guests to prepare. A very short window happened where the crowd couldn't see, other guests too far to hear. The hand reached out and yanked him back as he was about to step into the public eye.

  "Excuse us for a moment. I need to make sure that my lessons imprinted correctly. Go take your place," Yoko said to a curious Erika.

  He was left alone, with nails that were slightly digging into his shoulder. It was uncomfortable which meant that she was being serious. Adults did that when they were serious. So said experience that he couldn't recall. So also said experience that he couldn't recall that adults who frequently resorted to pain were not good.

  "I'm not going to have to worry about," her eyes flung up towards the stage, where the radiance had consigned itself to sipping on a water bottle, "that, am I?" Waiting didn't get a response. "This is where you're supposed to immediately respond instead of continuing to stare." Her eyes pinched together. "Hey."

  Snapping fingers swung around his face like fireflies. Rapid blinks slowly found where the annoyed woman was glaring at him.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  "Were you saying something? I'm kinda distracted. I can't really…"

  He started looking back past the curtain. He'd most likely be the least important member there. I'll be fine, he repeated, trying to keep his eyes from spinning around the centers of gravity like an errant meteor. Erika caught his gaze and waved, nudging her head towards the irate secretary.

  "Look at me." She made sure that she had his full attention before continuing to talk. "You cannot do that on stage."

  He blinked. "Do what?"

  "Stare."

  "Stare." He frowned, crossing his arms. "Then what are my eyes supposed to do?"

  "Look above the crowd. Look around it. Heck, look straight towards the cameras if you have to. You absolutely cannot stare."

  "This feels like way too important of a lesson for it to be last second," he griped.

  "Circumstances change. Also, you're allowed to stare whenever a person is talking, but it's not absolutely necessary considering you're going to be a bit player compared to the names that are up there." His attention was starting to wander again, making her give a slight tug on his arm. "And whatever you do, don't stare at any member of the panel who isn't talking. Not a single one. The cameras are recording your every action and the people watching will notice little things like that. Understand? A glance is fine, not a stare, and not a bunch of glances either."

  Lane's eyes narrowed. "Heeeey. This is starting to feel targeted."

  "Call it a hunch," she replied dully. With a few light tugs, he was guided towards the short flight of stairs.

  Important smells, those that sniffed like money, mixed together as he scooted towards the bare seat next to Erika. Fomantis was allowed on Lane's shoulder just to 'reinforce the image of the grass gym in his appearance'—Yoko's last words before they left the dressing room. His knees nervously bounced, hidden away from the cameras. All that Erika could afford him was a sympathetic glance.

  The whole setup made Lane feel uncomfortable enough that half his water bottle was downed before they even started speaking. Flashes from cameras came from all angles; since many networks had lost their opportunity to film the initial battle, they certainly weren't going to miss their second chance. Single, simple microphones were set in front of each speaker, along with a placard that had each of their names and a title. Erika, grass gym leader. Issei, head of League operations within Saffron City limits. Shinji, expert on abnormal typings. Lane.

  He placed his pokédex next to the placard.

  The conference started with a man counting down from three for the cameras. The last curious people were ushered by the security Machamp, marked so with a black hat reading 'SECURITY', into the few empty seats that remained. Crews went to work on last minute adjustments as the mayor gave a dry intro. There was a man next to Lane, some League official, who leaned down to whisper.

  "Where is the girl who fought with you yesterday?" he asked.

  "Probably halfway to Alola by now," Lane said. He was joking, of course. He had no idea how far Alola was from Kanto. She could've only been a tenth of the way there. And he didn't even know if she even left Kanto. They said their goodbyes and went separate ways.

  The man mouthed 'Alola' to himself as he sat back straight. A mediator in a turtleneck sweater stood at the far end of the table. He tapped the microphone before giving a gentle smile that swiveled to make sure everybody got it.

  "Welcome. For those who don't know me, I'm Professor Cato from Celadon University. This conference was sponsored by the Celadon University but is a joint effort between the best and brightest that we have in the region. Gym leaders, professors, rangers, and various other experts are gathered here today to weigh in on the new typings that we've recently learned about. Before we begin, I'd like for us to thank the Celadons for giving us the opportunity to speak on this issue that will affect Kanto for generations."

  Lane's brow furrowed as the crowd joined in with the clapping. Everybody, programmed into them, had started giving enthusiastic but not too enthusiastic celebrations—except Erika. Pieces started falling into place, disturbing pieces.

  "Starting us off will be Professor Blackthorn whose research focuses on dragon-types. For those who have questions, please save them for when the Professor is done answering my own."

  The whole conference was a lot less nerve-wracking than Lane was expecting. Apparently the random kid who fought Lance wasn't being trusted as an authoritative source despite bringing the new typing in a battle. Instead he was there to look pretty and be pointed to when people had to throw some muck around.

  And, oh boy, was muck thrown around. It was a gradual process over the first thirty minutes when all the factual details were being covered. Snide comments and throwaway lines were occasionally heard, festering underneath the polite language. It only became a problem when Erika was finally called. By this time, there was a large crowd gathered blocking the street, who only weren't behind the stage because officials ushered them out of the camera shots.

  This was the main attraction. They'd transitioned from boring facts to the implications. Predictions were fun because anybody could say them.

  "Ms. Celadon," he started, which made Lane's world freeze up again. Celadon? Their family name is Celadon? That sounded unwieldy. Pretentious. Stupid! Mr. Celadon! My name is Bob Celadon! Worse still, an actual Japanese name like Yuki Celadon. Celadon-san! Celadon-san! "Separate from these events that were already described, may you please give your own account of how the day went? How did you end up sitting at the front row of Lance's fight?"

  Her retelling was droll and ignorable. So Lane let his attention drift and think about whatever came to mind. Vibrant skin cut out a piece of the sky. Emerald, as most would call them, but he'd rather liken the hard-set eyes as the many thousands of fermenting moss floors that he'd trampled over while traveling across the region. He waited, and didn't listen. It felt like the story had ended too quickly. At the capstone of her retelling, she sat down as the orator turned to the crowd.

  "Here's probably the most anticipated member we have on the panel. You may begin your questions." Over the field of hungry hands, he pointed out a single one. "You. With the brown hair and fedora."

  The professor's Mr. Mime floated the microphone over. One of the reporters for the Saffron Times stood up to take it.

  "Miss Erika, is it true that you have hired the boy from yesterday's fight for further research on this new typing?" the man asked.

  Erika's lips nearly pressed against the microphone. She spoke softly but evenly, her voice coming out clearly. "I did. Since we have met before, he thought that I would be more willing to hear his ideas. His employment wasn't definite until I had confirmed myself that the typing existed, and he is now part of the grass gym's staffing."

  Lane was surprised how many grumbles were coming from the cheap seats.

  "So you believe that the fairy-type exists?" the reporter continued.

  "Yes. Along with other evidence that he showed me privately, I believe that the fairy-typing exists," she said.

  "Yesterday during the fight between Lance and the two kids, my colleague reported that you said, and I quote, 'The way that you two presented it made it look stronger than even dragon-types'. Are you implying that this new typing is the strongest pokémon typing that exists?" the man asked.

  "She doesn't know what she's talking about!" yelled someone from the crowd. A few others threw in their own words.

  It was confusing enough that he finally broke away from looking at her, staring out to the crowd with a contrite pout. Who cared that much about pokémon typing? Most people he'd met hadn't been involved with battling. Why would there be people passionate enough about typing that they'd scream at gym leaders?

  Erika seemed unmoved by the hecklers. "It seems true on the face. As we saw in the fight yesterday, fairy-types are immune to any dragon move that is used against them. However, anybody who has been a battler for a long time knows that isn't the end-all-be-all of any fight. Secondary typings, common weaknesses, and good strategy can overcome any type advantage. We saw that yesterday with Lance. His skill showed through that even past the type advantage from two competent trainers surprising him, outnumbering him, and being unfamiliar in dealing with this typing."

  "But do you think that in a battle between a fairy trainer and dragon trainer of equal skill that the fairy trainer has the advantage?" the man asked.

  "Of equal skill? What situation would that arise? The two battling yesterday were a foreign gym leader and another young prodigy who knows our new Champion. They faced against Johto's very own Blackthorn, who's a generational talent inside and outside his family. No, sir, it's an issue implying that there's any such thing as equal skill, for a battle isn't only about skill. It's about preparation, knowledge, the innate power of your pokémon and trust amongst your teammates—it's the tiny things such as diet and the conditions of the room that you're fighting in, the strategies that have been practiced and the willpower of the battlers. This is not golf, sir; we are pokémon battlers, and typing is merely another part of the equation. Otherwise you'd be implying that I would lose every time to a poison, fire or flying-type specialist who's of comparable strength." Thin lips spread into a manicured smile. "I've taught many of those trainers lessons they'll never forget."

  Tapping from the speakers overcame the rest of her response. A swarthy man from further down the table had manhandled the microphone until it was pressed against his mouth. His placard read, 'Dean of Celadon University'. The mediator was shocked enough that he let the man start speaking.

  "We're taking this advice from a group of kids. The kid yesterday used a Wigglytuff against a dragon. What you, and the rest of the madman supporting this gesture, are suggesting is that there's an unknown typing that has always been in this region and never noticed before. That is the height of absurdity and an insult to the intelligence of every person gathered here today. That we need a news conference to assure the public of anything just shows everything wrong ever since our Champion was overcome by a kid. You want news? Here's some: there is no fairy-typing. It's a fantasy," the man said.

  A scrawny man who represented a research facility tapped his own microphone. "If I may interject here, it's actually possible for new typings to be discovered. Though it flew underneath the radar of most of Kanto, we have published a paper on our findings in the Johto area of their own pokémon typings. It's considered common knowledge in some areas of the region that there is a 'dark' and 'steel' typing. They even have a steel-type gym in one of their cities for those who didn't know."

  "Just because some people think that there are different typings doesn't make it true, doctor," the dean said. "Our typings are common sense and have been rigorously tested. Has anybody been able to confirm the 'dark' and 'steel' typing, much less this new mythical 'fairy' typing?"

  "We have had no reports, scientific or otherwise, of a fairy-type move," another scientist affirmed. "I believe this to be a hoax and nothing more. We rightly don't give credence to Johto's insistence on a steel and dark-type."

  Claps came from the crowd. The people on the stage didn't wait as another scientist spoke over the riff raff. "Furthermore, these typings that have been reported in the Johto region don't have a solid understanding themselves. What types are weak and strong against them hasn't even been confirmed by the locals. Can anybody here name the attributes of dark and steel?"

  Lane licked his lips. He made sure that he was in the same position as Erika, nearly kissing the microphone as he spoke. There wasn't the same evening of his tone. The s's hissed and p's popped.

  "Steel resists dragon, grass, normal, flying, rock, psychic, ice, and fairy. It is weak to fire, ground, and fighting and immune to poison. It is super effective against rock, ice, and fairy while not being effective against itself, fire, water, and electric. Dark-type resists ghost and dark. It is weak to fighting, bug, and fairy. It is immune to psychic. It is strong against ghost and psychic. It is not very effective against fighting, dark, and fairy."

  There was a moment of silence on the stage as everybody was looking towards him. One of the scientists slammed his hands on the table and stood up.

  "This kid is a foreigner!" he yelled.

  Lane decided then and there that some fights aren't worth taking. Rubbing his head in frustration was all that could be managed as the mediator tried getting ahold of the conference while so many men were shouting.

  The conference ended without anything productive having happened. All that it did was make Lane feel less faith in the mental capacity of anybody living in Kanto. There were those that believed more research could reveal that all the typings were real, the most anyone gave a kid's testimony. Then came the ones who believed that dark and steel-types most likely existed since Johto saw them, but thought that the battle against Lance was a fluke that couldn't be replicated. Then came the most baffling of people who believed in fairy-types but didn't think that anyone from Johto could be trusted and thus didn't believe in the other typings. The most morally consistent were those who didn't believe any of the typings existed. Lane admired them the most because he liked imagining everyone who disagreed with him as a stodgy old man, of which this group was wholly made of.

  Along with these logically consistent positions were many more quacks deciding that the adage of chefs and broths was absurd, throwing in their own theories that sound-types had existed all along and that fairy-typing was actually ice-typing which proved that dragon-types were weak to ice moves. Slowly the quality of the conference deteriorated. The only winners were the reporters.

  None of them were taken aside for more questioning, whether because of their status or the lameness of carrying facts around instead of insults. The cobbled path that led through a small garden was virtually clear of all life, save for a flock of Pidgey snapping at each other on the power lines above them.

  "You seem to be fine with this," Lane said.

  "I expected this to turn out unpleasant. What matters is that we've clearly stated our position which will be vindicated in the coming weeks. Now what matters is making visible moves that we're researching and supporting this newfound typing." Yoko closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "The hostility was in our minds too. Had you not an eye on Erika? She never was taken off guard because she expected this. Typings are more than simple labels that guide us on weaknesses in battle and the habitats they roam: they're vibrant symbols. Have you heard of the human typing theory?"

  "Sounds like a load of malarkey," Lane said.

  Yoko plucked out a shard of grass and held it to Lane's eye level. "It's thought that we all have typings ourselves that make up how a person acts, thinks, and believes. It's thought that the typings of pokémon can be found everywhere in nature, even in human beings. I'm surprised that you think it's weird. Most people I've met believe in some variation of that."

  "Pokémon are pokémon. We're us," Lane said.

  Erika didn't agree with that at all. The kinship that she felt with her team was inexplicable if there weren't typings inherent inside of humans. Many magazines, those that were commonly referred to as 'guilty pleasures' yet referred as 'great reading material' in her home, were piled underneath her bed on rare days when she had an hour to herself. They talked about the titillating dynamics that worked between different types of people and were by far one of her favorite things to read.

  Because it was a manner of belief though, she knew well enough to hold her tongue.

  "Well, the point is that adding new typings makes a lot of people wary. It feels as if there's something fundamental that they missed. Soon enough we'll have enterprising fortune tellers debating on what traits a fairy-typed person has and cookies named after fairy moves." Yoko paused and looked up to the Pidgey flying overhead. "It really is strange how nobody has ever used a dragon move against a Jigglypuff. Are there any other fairy-types in the region that we don't know of?"

  "Clefairy, Mr. Mime, and, uh, have either of you ever seen an Azumarill?" Lane held out a hand to guesstimate how big it was. "About yay big, blue, got a ball on its tail? That's a fairy and water-type."

  For just a second, Lane could see the battlers in both the girls. They had expressions of pure wonder. That something so fundamental could be unlearned for so long lit up the parts that were usually carefully maintained. Surely Erika had never gained a sparkle in her eye when there was a bloated man screaming about fairy-type believers being traitors to Kanto's morals. It reflected with the way that she leaned forwards, invading his personal space and making it harder to ignore the radiance.

  "I was not expecting the steel and dark-type advocates to have their day in the sun also. You confidently affirmed their existence. That's," she thankfully leaned back to excitedly beat her fists together, "wonderful! I've heard of it but never paid much mind. It seemed to be an issue beyond my reach. To hear that it very well—ah!"

  He pointedly turned his entire head to appreciate a fountain trickling water down its stone bowls. Blue tiles lined the floor. He could see the coins flickering like lighthouses in the distance. "Not entirely sure what that means. Not sure why you guys don't have pokémon with those typings when…"

  Incoherent parts. Connection. Threading. Idea. Idea, idea, great idea. Want: visit Johto. Have: duty to Oak to spread around the pokédex. Don't have: money.

  Everything fell into place, like a dream. Because he knew that the world didn't move for singular people like this, slot into place for the average person. Things simply weren't like that for an average person.

  "...you know what? I've got an idea that doesn't have anything to do with a bomb. Did I mention that there's steel and dark grass-types? They're pretty easy to nab if you know where to look. You gotta go outside the region to get 'em though. I can go getcha a few 'cause I know where they are 'cause I know these things, y'know?"

  Erika's mind went to the new pokéball that was hidden in her kimono. An entire new universe had been opened up with just a single pokémon from a faraway chain of islands she couldn't even imagine. Beside herself, the urge to act took over. Lane suddenly found two hands clenching down on his shoulders. It was more the urgency with the owner's emotions seeping through her skin that made the grip feel harsher than it actually was. Fomantis curiously tapped the hand that nearly knocked him off.

  "Describe them," Erika said evenly. An intensity burrowed through him like miners trying to excavate his thoughts. It certainly made it a little less awkward that he was currently being bathed in light.

  "Uh, well, there's, uh," a glance at Yoko's unamused stare made him shape up, "Ferroseed, which is a little steel guy who's shaped like a seed with spikes. It evolves into a big 'ol UFO-looking guy that can actually walk around, and is really hard to take down because it's hard as, y'know, steel and stuff. Then there's, mm, Shiftry, I guess. It's a dark-type that evolves from a normal grass acorn guy and he's got like, I dunno, a beard? And he fires leaves and stuff. Cacturne, he's a cactus-y guy and stuff and, er, he's got a, a, yeah. C-Can you get off me now?"

  She backed away, hands crossed behind her back as she started pacing around the little pathway that they'd been provided. Even the bare descriptions were constructing whole pokémon in her mind that weren't anywhere close to their actual shapes.

  Normally this would've been the time where Yoko would act out—and sometimes not pretend—that her dear gym leader's hidden quirks were exasperating, making her eyes roll good-naturedly when they were alone and giving slight hisses between her teeth when they weren't. These were the good-hearted times and not the great, when her eyes were similarly shining. Normally she'd fret that Erika's kimono was getting too near the bushes planted at both ends of the quaint walkway, not directing her attention towards the boy who couldn't stop staring.

  "You would go to another region to capture pokémon that we haven't seen before?" she asked. There was a tilt of excitement to her voice that smothered the professionalism dead.

  "Why not? I was already planning to travel around," Lane said.

  "When can you leave?"

  "Anytime."

  The reasons that she had been hired were manifold. An obvious reason was the sharp mind and perfect memory that recalled Erika's scheduled upcoming 120 hours.

  "Erika-sama. Please stop fantasizing so we can work."

  While Lane's mind was doing twists again, the gym leader stopped her musings and walked up. Her excitement had lowered to a simmer, hands crossed behind her back and slight smile hiding the fireworks that were happening in her mind.

  "Good. Erika, you'll have an extra hour of sleep to cut off your napping time. We need clear, uninterrupted sessions where you're going to stay awake and learn from our new hire. I want you to be able to refit the gym into a fairy-type gym if you'd be called to by the end of this. Learn about this typing inside and out, alongside steel and dark-types. This is what you'll do for the next week before we send off Lane to pick up these pokémon for us. In the meantime I'll see if there's any more chances for you to flex your knowledge, to show that you're making a genuine effort to learn about them, hopefully to the point where you're going to be the region's expert amongst the gym leaders if we move fast enough."

  There were two entirely different reactions. More pressing was the bouncy nature of Lane (fast to bounce from sadness or stress, and fast to bounce between topics) had hardened into uncertainty. Everything that he'd been roped into within a single day was starting to catch up. He did his normal thing, walk in and fight a person, and here he was: forced to teach, forced to take lessons, forced to sit still because of another person telling him so, now forced to leave the region instead of doing it by his own volition.

  Lane felt dread overtake him. These weren't his normal shenanigans. It was meant to be a week of jail time, a goofy kid that people forgot about within a year's time. What was this meant to be? Getting shipped off on a mission and changing the whole region? Sitting next to important titled people as if he were in any way equal?

  "I think you're overestimating how good of a teacher I am," Lane said.

  "Read a book. Ask. Teach Erika about the basics or else you're fired," Yoko said.

  That wasn't encouragement. That just made Lane feel stressed.