Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Thanks for the help Fil!”

“No problem! Least I can do when you've been supporting our cause for so long!”

The last stragglers of the Art Club are attending to a few paintings hanging on the walls. As Halloween looms on the horizon, Juliana felt that it would be nice to touch up the League Club room with some thematic decorations. She had had some spare BP to whittle away, and had felt the need to take a break from her Elite 4 challenge. 

Filbert's Rotom phone rings. As he takes the call, she surveys the room. They had gone above and beyond this time around. Violet drapes adorn the walls, alongside brass filigree candelabras. An oxblood, chesterfield sofa from Arceus-knows-where is off to one side, with ebony furniture scattered throughout. There is even a crystal ball and a tarot card spread to set the mood. They had really gone all out. The interspersed pokemon seem happy to be there as well, if the cheerful Slugma in the fireplace is anything to go by.

“Did you guys really paint those too? They look so lifelike,” Juliana says, a note of awe in her voice as she examines the Chandelure and Gothitelle paintings. 

“Yeah that's all us!” one of the Art Club members notes with pride, tipping her beret at a jaunty angle. “Fil did the Gothitelle, I did Chandelure…based on my own of course!”

“Wow, I'm so impressed! And who did that one in the middle?” Juliana points to a portrait of a young girl with blonde waves, embracing a Banette in what appears to be a death grip. 

“Ah that one…you know, we're actually not sure. We found it in storage, covered in some velvet cloth. Maybe a past Art Club student who graduated? We just thought it matched the vibe…”

There is something about the painting that makes Juliana feel uneasy, but she can't put her finger on why. Before she can say anything further, Filbert pipes up, “Sorry Juliana, we need to head out, Amy’s Smeargle is wreaking havoc in our room. We got a Code Red on our hands. Is it okay if you get the last painting?” He gestures to the painting of the girl, which is still skewed at an awkward angle. 

“Yeah no problem! You did so much already!” Juliana figures that one crooked painting shouldn't present too much of a dilemma. 

“Thanks again for your patronage!” Filbert says with a wave. He and the rest of the club members file out of the room. 

Juliana slowly approaches the painting. An antique, gilded frame surrounds it, worn with age. On the bottom edge of the frame, a small placard reads, Until the End of Time.

What in the Dimension World is up with this painting?

As she steps onto the sofa to reach the painting, a brief flicker of movement catches her eye. She stops. 

Did that painting just blink?

“Haha very funny,” Juliana says aloud to no one in particular, thinking of this specific situation as anything but funny. “To any Haunters or Gengars out there, I'm suitably impressed. You can stop now.”

No one responds. 

She heaves a sigh of frustration. I've probably just been pushing myself too much doing the League challenges, she thinks. 

She continues to warily watch the painting before her, only for nothing to happen. I'm just being scared over nothing, it's just my imagin—

The club door suddenly bursts open and she screams. Like a feral banshee. Juliana could not recall ever having had an out of body experience, but this came damn close. 

She pivots on the sofa to look at the newcomer at the club entrance and heat rushes rapidly to her face. Kieran stands at the door, hand clutched to his chest in utter terror and surprise. He is as pale as a sheet, further emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes. 

“I, wh–what's wrong with you???” Kieran sputters. He glances about the club room in bewilderment. “And what's up with all this??”

“I, uh…thought it'd be cool to decorate for Halloween…” she trails off feebly. 

Kieran quickly regains his composure, eyes growing colder by the second. “You have time to waste on this?” he scowls. “This is why it's taking so long to get through the Elite Four? Because you want to play interior designer?”

“I only have Drayton left! I've been out in the Terarium nonstop lately! I heard that Unovans celebrate Halloween which is kind of like Dia de las Brujas? I thought it'd be fun for everyone!”

“And this is why everyone in the club is so weak," Kieran grates. "If we'd stop wasting time on useless things like…like frivolous decorations and parties—”

“It's my BP! I get to decide how to use it!”

“This is a waste of my time, I've been waiting for you all this time and you just do whatever you want, how selfish can you be—”

Waiting for me all this time? What? “Selfish??”

“Yeah, I guess that's what I can expect from the person that just…just waltzes into my hometown and takes the Ogre away—”

“Ogerpon wanted to come with me—”

“How self-important can someone—”

“You know what? I came to this school hoping to see you again, but I’ve HAD IT— ”

Suddenly, everything goes silent.

Juliana's ears pop as a sudden pressure change weighs heavily on her skull. It almost feels like she is plummeting. Was there some sort of breach in the school walls? She doesn't hear any alarms going off. Rather, she doesn't hear anything anymore.

She looks at Kieran, who is silently mouthing something to her in shock. He appears alarmed and outraged in equal measure. Was he also deafened? She couldn't be sure. 

The pressure hurts, hurts and she wheels around to face that damn painting. And it blinks back at her. 

She saw it. 

What the fuck.

She silently screams as the painting seemingly begins to fall from the wall onto her. The air grows thick. Her vision becomes distorted and hazy as she attempts to hold the painting upright. The frame is heavier than she anticipates.

She hears muffled footsteps rapidly approaching her from behind, the first sounds she feels like she has heard in years. A hand on her shoulder, gripping her, nails digging in. Yelling.

The scent of fresh apples. A warm breeze. A workshop with masks. The aroma of cedar, balsam, and beech. Rain. Laughter. 

Link established.

What was—that wasn't me—

She feels a hand overlap with her own, someone bracing her from behind. As their hands simultaneously support the frame, the clubroom lights flicker out of existence like dying stars. 

Until there is nothing to see. 

But she can still see those uncannily bright, gray eyes in the pitch darkness.

I am beginning to hate this fucking painting.

As suddenly as it all began, bright light floods her vision all at once and the pressure in her ear canals dissipates. She can hear heavy breathing next to her. And for some reason, everything is sideways. Half of her field of vision consists of plush burgundy carpeting. 

Juliana heaves herself off the floor with a groan. Everything appears to be as it was before. The painting remains on the wall, although…

Hadn't it been skewed at a weird angle before? Why is it perfectly straight now? She does not remember adjusting it properly. 

Beside her, she sees a disheveled Kieran push himself upright, strands of hair falling loose from his ponytail. She could almost believe that the whole ordeal hadn't happened, if it weren't for the fact that he looks as shitty as she feels.

“I feel like a Revaroom ran me over,” Juliana grumbles. “Are you okay?”

“No idea,” Kieran replies in a gravelly tone. He chokes out a wet cough. “You saw that too, right?”

“The painting, just…”

“Yeah.”

They sit there in horrified silence.

“I’m going to kick Filbert’s ass for giving us a haunted painting,” Juliana says decisively. 

“Filbert did this?” Kieran asks, bemused.

“I wouldn’t say he did this, but it came from their club room and no one knows its origin story. I should’ve known it would be dodgy. I’ve seen a ton of horror movies, I should know better…”

As plain old reality begins to seep in, Juliana feels a shift in the mood of the room. The weight of their recent fight still lingers in the air. Frankly, a painting scaring the living daylights out of her was a welcome distraction in comparison to any past or future confrontations with Kieran.

She digs the heels of her palms into her eyes tiredly, rubbing a semblance of wakefulness into them. “Anyway, uh…I’m sorry about earlier,” she mumbles sheepishly. She feels exhausted. “I’m…maybe not in the right headspace right now. I should go…”

“You’re…apologizin’?” Kieran’s eyes widen slightly before he schools his expression into a mask of cool indifference. “Hey wait…I’m not done talkin’ to you yet.”

Juliana ignores him. 

She stands up, legs wobbling. She almost feels like a baby Deerling attempting their first steps. She has to go she has to leave before this gets worse—

As she takes her first step, a tinge of nausea catches at her throat. Juliana feels blood rushing to her feet, leaving her lightheaded and somewhat delirious. I probably just stood up too quickly, she reasons with herself. The nausea intensifies with her next step, her stomach doing a brief flip. By her third step, she wobbles in place, grasping out for the edge of a nearby chair. 

“Uh…are you okay?” Kieran asks, voice laced with concern. For a brief moment, he sounds like the boy she had met back in Kitakami. Her gut twists with longing before she can tamp it down. 

“I’m…fine,” Juliana grates. She makes it to step four and briefly contemplates projectile vomiting, before deciding that it might not be the best look for an esteemed representative of Naranja Academy to barf on the floor of an elite school’s most prestigious club. From behind her, she hears a pained grunt and a shifting of weight on the carpet. 

By step five, it’s lights out.

Kieran sees Juliana face plant onto the floor, rigid and lifeless as a Sudowoodo playing at being a tree. 

At the same time, a searing pain jolts his chest. Something has his heart in a vice grip and an intense panic sets in. He knows his diet hasn’t been the best lately, but isn’t he still too young…?

He grabs at his chest in futility, trying to alleviate the sensation. He does his best to push past the feeling. 

What happened to Juliana??

He wills himself to crawl forward, making towards the motionless body in front of him. As he closes the distance, the pain in his chest begins to subside. A queasiness that he hadn’t even noticed before starts to settle. By the time he reaches Juliana’s side, his symptoms have all but abated.

What in Arceus’ name happened back there? He recalls that strange change in atmospheric pressure, the sudden muffling of sound, that painting falling towards Juliana in slow motion. His sight shimmering like a heatwave. He had been so angry before but witnessing her on the verge of toppling backwards from that sofa—

Any and all thought processes had ceased to function in his brain as he ran towards her on autopilot. He had tried to steady her, stepping onto the sofa and reaching out for her shoulder on instinct. The moment his hand had made contact, he had been overwhelmed by sensations that he had no memory of experiencing whatsoever. 

Fields of olive groves. A building of medieval stonework with tall spires, surrounded by students adorned in the same orange tones that Juliana used to wear. An older male student with unkempt hair and a serviceable vest, beaming alongside a canine pokemon he had never seen before. A picnic by the sea. A lighthouse. The scent of citrus and flowers. An older girl with dark hair and verdant bangs, grinning and eager. 

An underground cavern, strewn with iridescent crystals. Large, menacing pokemon with potent tusks and razor-sharp fangs, seemingly familiar but far more dangerous. A dimly lit laboratory filled with scattered notes. A woman with a wild mane of hair and a feral grin, dressed in a contrasting combination of pristine lab coat and prehistoric furs, adornments of beads, claws and teeth. Eyes glowing. A room bathed in urgent, bloody red with no way out. 

Activating Paradise Protection Protocol to remove the offending obstacle… 

Locking all Poke Balls except those registered to Sada's ID.

Fear fear fear clawed at his gut and he didn't even know why

An unknown voice reverberated in his head like a clarion call, clear as a bell.

Link established.

What did that even mean? Who even was that?

Then the lights went out and everything went to Giratina in a handbasket. He hadn't even known how long they had been out. The last thing he could remember was a sense of relief that he had broken her fall. At least that much he could do. 

And now this girl, usually full of life and headstrong as a Tauros, is lying unconscious in front of him. He reaches out for her wrist to feel a pulse, only to flinch on contact. 

She's as cold as a block of ice! What the actual fuck

Dread punches him in the stomach. Was she dead??

He hurriedly reaches out for her wrist again, internally preparing to press his fingertips to the equivalent of a human popsicle, but surprisingly he finds that she has warmed up a bit the second time around. Maybe he imagined it? His fingertips detect a faint but recognizable pulse at her wrist and he feels a surge of relief. 

Juliana's eyes snap open as she gasps for breath.

“Hey! Speak to me,” Kieran hisses.

She glances about her in alarm. “Wha-where….”

“We're still in the clubroom. Do you remember what happened?”

Juliana shakes her head, hand pressed to her temple. “I remember walking to the door and feeling ill, and then everything got cold and dark….it was freezing…”

“You were freezin’ for a moment there. I swear you were as cold as a Vanilluxe.”

Juliana stares at him. 

“You're kidding, right?”

“I wish.”

She props herself upright on her elbows. “Mierda,” she grunts. 

“Mee-erh-what?”

“Some useful Paldean that Nemona taught me,” she explains offhandedly, glancing at the painting. “Good for this situation.”

Kieran looks at the painting as well. Something about those eyes…

The eyes blink at him. 

“W-wowzers!! What the actual—”

“Yep,” Juliana says, with an emphasizing “pop” of the P. 

There is a lengthy pause before Kieran adds, “You'll have to get in line behind me. I'm gonna feed Filbert to my Hydrapple first. Fuck that guy.”

“I’ll battle you for first dibs,” she replies blandly.

Their conversation is interrupted when an alarm goes off on Juliana’s Rotom phone, reading, “Dinner with Carmine.”

“It's already six??” she exclaims. “Were we out that long?”

Kieran swears. “I was supposed to be training already, my entire schedule is messed up now.”

“You were going to train at this time? Don't you eat dinner?”

“I have an energy bar,” he waves off. “No time to mess around when you're the school's strongest.”

“I mean…that can't be too healthy…we're only human, we gotta eat…”

Kieran shrugs sharply, his jacket sliding further off his shoulders in the process. He puffs out a breath of exasperation, before slowly standing up. 

“Ok, I'm just gonna grab my stuff from my locker–what I originally came here to do–and head out,” he says to himself. It almost feels like he is giving a self pep talk. 

“Wait—”

He manages about four feet before he emits a sharp hiss. Behind him, Juliana plops back on the floor, doing her best impression of a Staryu. 

“I told you to wait,” she groans, “I don't think we can walk too far without getting psychically poleaxed.”

“What do we do then? Stay here forever?” Kieran asks irately.

Juliana shoots a quick text to Carmine, feigning temporary illness. It wasn't entirely false. She did feel terrible in general. 

“I…have a friend,” she starts hesitantly.

“Congratulations.”

She snorts. “Anyway, she's a ghost type specialist and gym leader back home. Ryme, the MC of RIP.”

Kieran startles. He had heard that name before. Drayton used to blast music from his Chatotify app frequently, back when he was Champion. Ryme was on his hip hop playlist. 

“Of course you'd know a famous rapper too,” he deadpans. 

“I had to get to know her, to pass the gym challenge. She's a gym leader. Anyway, she told me to give her a holler if I ever ran into some ghosty situations and I'd say this qualifies. Can you spare an hour?”

“I don't see that I have a choice.”

Chapter Text

Kieran stares at the woman displayed on Juliana's Rotom phone screen. He had never actually seen the rap artist before. With her gold makeup, braided white hair, and sharp green eyes, she made an imposing visage. 

So this is the MC of RIP.

“Well if it isn’t our Champion! You've sure grown! So tell me abou—” 

Ryme stops mid-sentence, staring with rapt attention at a spot just above Juliana’s left shoulder. Juliana automatically pivots to glance over her shoulder, only to see…well, nothing. On the video call, Ryme silently continues to trace her eyes further left, seemingly off-screen. 

It’s the most unnerved that Juliana has ever felt in her life. She has never seen such a reaction from the gym leader before.

“Hey, um…you remember when you told me to give you a call if I ever ran into any ‘hexin’ specters’? This…would be that time.”

Ryme shakes herself out of her trance. 

“Damn, you’re not jokin’, kid. What’d you do to get hexed that hard?”

“Um, we may have pissed off a possibly haunted painting?”

“We? Is that why…turn your phone that way.”

Juliana reluctantly angles the camera further left, revealing a sullen Kieran by her side. 

“Both of you, huh? It looks like it’s just affectin’ you two…this link looks really strong,” Ryme mutters. 

Juliana attempts to quell the furious blush on her face. Out of the corner of her eye, Kieran almost seems…flustered? 

“Wh-what does that mean?”

Ryme sighs. “There’s different types of ectoplasms and curses out there, with different effects. Dependin’ on the type, I can exorcise them, easily. This isn’t a ghost ridin’ piggyback on you. It’s a curse. Probably a contractual curse, at that.”

“A…contractual curse?”

“It’s in the name, baby. A contract. Usually a curse that is bound to someone until some type of stipulation is fulfilled. Curses are sorta like energy manifested. They focus on strong feelings in humans and pokemon. Usually that’s the focus of the contract.” Ryme stares up at the ceiling in contemplation. “For example, if someone has a strong regret about somethin’, the curse will latch onto that and they’d have to resolve their regret. Tie up loose ends. That’s just one example.”

Juliana has a bad feeling about this.

“So I have to do something that will…satisfy this curse then?” she asks tentatively. “Do you know what it could be?”

“That’s the interestin’ thing. It’s specifically linkin’ both of you together. Normally, it would just affect people separately, even if they were cursed by the same ghost at the same time. So my guess is…it has to do with the both of you.”

Juliana feels a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. 

Ryme raises an eyebrow. “Hold up, do you two have a history?” 

A brief expression of alarm flashes across Juliana’s face. Kieran manages a strange combination of sickly pallor and flushed, tamato berry red simultaneously. Oh. Ryme does not even want to go there. “Nah, actually don’t answer that. I’m an exorcist, not a therapist. What are the side effects you’ve been experiencin’?”

“Well…when I walked away from Kieran, I just felt all the energy drain from my body. My legs just gave out like they were made of jelly. Full on fell flat on my face.”

“And Kieran is…? Guy over there?”

The “guy over there” gives a half-hearted salute in response.

“Got it,” Ryme says. “How far away were you when you collapsed?”

“Hmm…maybe about…five feet? It didn’t feel like it was all that far.”

“How ‘bout any other symptoms?”

“I guess I also felt nauseous? Maybe dizzy or light-headed?”

“And you don’t get those symptoms usually?”

“Nope, haven’t had any issues before, just a history of headaches but this doesn’t feel the same.”

“And how ‘bout you, Kieran? Anythin’ happen when she walked away from you?”

Kieran scrubs at his face tiredly. “I guess…I did feel nauseous. I don’t get that weak feelin’ though. Maybe…some…pressure?”

“Pressure? What kind of pressure? Like on your shoulders, weighing you down?” Ryme asks.

“Nah, like…chest pressure.”

Alarm flits through her eyes. Oh Arceus was this a medical issue? “Hold up, any history of heart problems?”

“Nah not really.”

“But it feels like a weight on your chest?”

“Kinda, yeah. Almost like…something is grippin’ at my heart?”

That particular phrasing sent chills up Juliana’s spine. Is it like some kind of ghost hand holding his heart in a vice grip? What kind of creepy shit is this?

“Why didn’t you say anything??” Juliana exclaims in horror. “That sounds pretty damn important.”

“More important than you literally collapsin’ on the ground lifelessly in fronta me??” Kieran yells back. “Do y’know how much that freaked me out??” His Kitakami accent leaks through the seams, tinged with fear. 

Juliana stares. Does he really…care that much? I thought…he hated me?

“Aight let’s chill out for now,” Ryme says, hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. “Can you show me the painting?”

“Yeah...um, sorry, sure thing,” Juliana replies, aiming her Rotom phone towards the painting of the girl.

Ryme sucks in a breath sharply. 

“Okay yeah no, that painting has to go. It’s hella haunted, some real bad juju. Where’d you even get that?”

Juliana sighs. “No one seems to know. Not even Art Club.”

“Yeah that thing should've been removed yesteryear,” Ryme emphasizes. “Last thing. I need to verify somethin’. Juliana, I want you to scoot away very slowly from Kieran. When you get to five feet, stop.”

Juliana gives her a brief look of confusion, before shaking it off and nodding in acquiescence. She grips the bottom of her chair and slowly shuffles with it…one…two…three feet…

Kieran watches in mute fascination as her features become more pale. Prickles of sweat begin to bead at her forehead. He suddenly flinches as a sharp sensation twitches at his sternum. 

Four feet…

“I’m not feeling so good…” Juliana mumbles feebly. 

Ryme stares in apprehension at the gap between the two teenagers. 

“Wait that’s enough—”

At five feet, two things happen in quick succession: Kieran suddenly doubles over, his right hand grabbing a fist full of shirt on his chest, followed by Juliana’s eyes rolling backward as she begins to topple over in her chair. Ryme makes an abrupt, incoherent noise of surprise as Kieran lurches forward from his seat to catch Juliana before she can slump sideways onto the clubroom floor. The moment that his hands connect with her, her eyes flutter open. Color floods back into her face. 

“We’re not doing that again,” he says acidly, staring pointedly at the older woman. 

“I’m sorry kids, point taken,” Ryme replies placatingly. “That gave me enough to work with. I’m gonna work on figurin’ something out for you guys, but for now you need to stick together like two peas in a pod.”

Something akin to terror floods Kieran’s features. “Why? What’s goin’ on?” he asks hoarsely, hands still supporting Juliana’s petite frame. 

“It’s hard to explain, but it almost looks like a…rubber band effect when you pull apart. The aura gets stronger, like how there is more force when you pull a rubber band taut. But when you caught her, it almost looked like it faded away. Right now, I can just barely sense any traces of the curse.”

As Juliana awakens further, she startles and straightens out, apologizing profusely. Kieran flinches, as if he had just laid his hands on a hot stove.

“Aaaannnd there it is again,” Ryme says with mild exasperation. “I hope you two like holdin’ hands, ‘cause that will be as good as it gets. I’ll put in work on my end, but you two should put on your thinkin’ caps as well. Sound copacetic?”

Kieran and Juliana stare at her, wild-eyed. 

“Anyway, it’s gettin’ late over here,” Ryme says. Juliana looks over at the clubroom clock. After a brief mental calculation, she realizes that it is almost 1:00 in Paldean Standard Time. “I'll ask my Sis if she has any ideas too, she's my soundin’ board. But I'll keep you updated.”

“How long are we gonna be like this?” Kieran bursts out, a thin veneer of indignation layered over his fear.

Ryme pauses. “I…really don't know. Not yet at least. Sorry, kid.”

“Do you know anyone with a tape measure?”

Five minutes have passed since the phone call with Ryme ended. Juliana still remains on the club room floor, mentally processing the conversation she had just had. She knows that if she were back in Naranja, Atticus would definitely have a tape measure. 

Man, I miss Naranja.  

“I think Lacey does? I know she sews. But why do we need a tape measure?” Kieran asks.

“She sews?”

“Yeah, she added those pink wings to the arms of her coat.”

Huh.

“Okay, the reason I ask is because…um, we're going to have to work out some arrangements.”

“...what kind of arrangements.”

“Think about it. We're stuck together because of this…curse, right? We still gotta, I dunno, use the bathroom? Shower? Sleep? Mierda , I didn't even think about our class schedules. I'll have to talk to Director Cyrano.”

Kieran's face flushes multiple shades of scarlet. 

“It's hitting you now, huh?” Juliana asks.

“Oh my Arceus.”

“Yeah. I need the tape measure to see if we can at least give each other privacy in our own damn bathrooms. They're like the size of a closet so maybe one of us can stay outside at least, but I'd rather have peace of mind.”

“You'll have to…sleep in my room…”

“Yeah, or vice versa. Either way.”

Kieran buries his face in his hands. His plans, his goals to upstage Juliana, to show her how far he had really come, how much stronger he was…they had all gone up in smoke. He had wanted the element of surprise. There was a certain level of showmanship involved, to prove how much he had changed from the boy he had been in Kitakami. Any sense of dignity or gravitas would be destroyed if he had to take a piss break five feet away from the girl he has not stopped thinking about since he had left home. 

This is a complete disaster.

“Wowzers…okay…well, I still need to keep up my training, I can't compromise on that,” Kieran says adamantly.

“That's fair I suppose. I just want to ask…what is your training schedule anyway? When do you sleep?”

He pauses.

“I don't exactly pay attention to time when I'm training…”

“Kieran. When do you go to sleep.”

“Sometimes.”

“‘Sometimes’ isn't an answer!” Juliana pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. She had anticipated some initial bumps in the road in terms of coordinating their schedules, but it seemed like it would be more challenging than she initially expected. “Okay, fine. I can bring a sleeping bag with me if anything. It'll just be like when I used to camp in Galar and back home.”

This gets Kieran's interest. “You used to camp in Galar?”

“Ah, yeah…I used to live there,” Juliana says distractedly. On her Rotom phone screen, he can see her typing out a quick message to Lacey, inquiring about a tape measure. 

This is news to Kieran. “Oh…I didn't know…” he trails off. Now that he thinks about it, how much did he really know about Juliana? He remembers her battling prowess, her enthusiasm when she listened to his stories, her beaming smile, her…beauty at the festival. He remembers the witty banter, her silly photos, her compliments. He definitely remembers the indescribable face that she made when she had sampled the candy razz berry at the Kitakami fruit stand, despite his initial warning. But for the life of him, he couldn't recall discussing anything such as favorite foods, movies, pokemon types, color, anything. He had always thought she was a native Paldean, but now he finds out that she used to live in an entirely different region? A fresh wave of shame sets Kieran off kilter. What kind of friend is he?

Shit…are we still even friends? Were we?

But this isn't the right time to have these thoughts warring for dominance in his head. He convinces himself that he can mull over it in a few days or whenever this curse will dissipate. In the meantime, he just needs to survive. 

Chapter Text

After a somewhat scathing email addressed to the Art Club regarding the painting of the girl and an additional request to take it down (and cover it, ideally with gasoline and fire), along with a much less scathing email addressed to Director Cyrano regarding a change of class assignments, Juliana and Kieran had departed for the Terarium. They had made a quick stop at her room to grab a few supplies, an old rucksack, a sleeping bag, and a change of clothes. Kieran's plan for training is to practice in the Coastal Biome. Lacey had agreed to meet Juliana there to lend her tape measure. 

“So what did you tell Lacey, anyway?” Kieran asks as he opens up his satchel. 

“Well…I went for the truth…?”

He stops. “Wait. So you really told her that we were cursed to be constantly within five feet of each other by a mysterious old painting in the club room?”

“Uh, not in those words exactly but…yes.”

Kieran stares at her, really gets a good gander at her. “And what did she say…?”

“She wants a demonstration,” Juliana says. She notes Kieran’s expression. “Hey don't worry, I told her to catch me this time.”

“That's…not what I'm worried about–”

“Hey, if I land on my face at least it will be in the sand. Nice, soft sand.”

“A real optimist here. Really though, aren't ya worried about what all this faintin’ will do to ya in the long run?”

And there is that Kitakami accent slipping back in, Juliana notes. She had noticed its absence when she had first encountered him in the cafeteria and in her sporadic run-ins with him afterward. Tonight though, she had heard it more in the past few hours than in her entire time spent at Blueberry. She hadn't realized how much she had missed it until now. Was it happening more due to…surprise? Stress? That would imply that he was actually making an effort to suppress his accent. She files this in the back of her mind for later. 

“Sure I do. I think as long as one of the Elite 4 members is a witness, I won't have to do a repeat performance. Lacey's pretty respected around here.”

“You know Drayton would ask.”

Oh Arceus he would.

“Good point. So…maybe twice then. Which admittedly sucks. I'm more concerned about your new onset chest pain though. That can't be good for your heart.”

This entire situation isn't good for my heart, Kieran thinks. 

“Fair point,” he says. “It's probably not good. I'm just….worried about you I guess.”

“...you are? But why?” she asks.

Kieran is surprised how much it hurts when she asks that question.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

She winces. “Well…I dunno…I just got the impression that you were…well, mad at me. Or that you hated me. Sorry.”

What?

Hold up hold up.

Kieran freezes. Sure, he'd been angry about the Ogr–Ogerpon. The way she happened to make friends with ease, the seeming effortlessness of her power, it was all frustrating, irritating, maybe, especially to someone like him—the antithesis of a cool, social Butterfree. A freak obsessed with myths. He had almost been sure that she was trying to avoid him, if anything. No comments from her about how amazing it was that he was also a Champion now, on her level, worthy of being next to her. That particular daydream went down the drain awhile ago. But she thinks that he might actually hate her?

Kieran realizes there has been a grievous miscommunication.

They are two ships passing in the night. Except his ship is the capsized S.S. Anne. 

“I…” Kieran doesn’t even know where to begin. “ Arceus, I don’t think I could ever, well, hate you–”

“Hey guys!”

The two teens jolt in surprise. They hadn't even noticed Lacey walking up to meet them from the plaza. 

“Oh! Uh, hey Lace.”

She comes to a stop in front of them, lavender coat swaying in the coastal breeze. For a good ten seconds, she glances from one to the other, speculatively. 

“So I saw that painting you mentioned. Art Club is taking it down as we speak. And my verdict is…creepy. Not cute at all.”

“Did you see it blink, too?” Juliana asks.

“My word, I thought I imagined that. Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Goodness. Well I guess that explains Director Cyrano's email then,” Lacey says.

“He emailed you?”

“Juliana…he emailed all of us. He forwarded your email and CC'd our Elite Four. He mentioned that Shauntal is going to come here on Monday as a contractor to take a look at the painting.”

“Shauntal? As in Shauntal of the Unova Elite Four??” 

Everyone in the Elite Four knows???

Juliana feels somewhat faint, and it isn't even her scheduled time to actually faint yet.

“The very same. She is a ghost type specialist and happens to also be knowledgeable on tales and ‘urban legends’ regarding ghosts, related to her profession as a novelist. There are other resources that the Director may pull favors from as well.”

“I think I should probably CC Ryme to that email as well, then,” Juliana replies, rubbing at her temple. This whole situation was involving more and more people with each passing hour. 

“Anyway! Where would you like to do this…uh, demonstration?”

“On the sand, preferably,” Juliana says. “I'd rather not inflict too much damage to my face. I need it.”

“Oh shush! I'll catch you!” Lacey swats at her arm playfully. 

“Oh my hero!” Juliana swoons.

Kieran facepalms. 

“Shouldn't we be taking this a little more seriously?” he asks as they make their way towards the section of beach not occupied by the local Slowpoke population.

“This is my coping mechanism,” Juliana says. “My super unhealthy coping mechanism, but still. Please let me have this much or I might cry.”

Kieran gives her a strange, indiscernible look that she can't quite fathom. He briefly catches her eye before his face flushes and he redirects his attention to a nearby palm tree. Juliana can just barely catch a “I could be training right now” muttered under his breath. 

Lacey comes to a stop in a clearing. “I think here is good. Now, you take this,” she says, giving the end of her soft tape measure to Juliana. “And you take the other end,” she lends the other side to Kieran. 

“I'll walk with you whenever you're ready, Juliana. Are you going to be okay here, Kieran?”

Kieran runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Yeah, I think so. Just don't drop her when the time comes.”

“Goodness, so protective,” Lacey murmurs as he coughs from sheer mortification.

Lacey and Juliana begin their slow shuffle down the beach. Kieran watches the tape measure slowly unravel. 

Two feet… 

Three feet…  

And there's that twinge again, right in his sternum.

Four feet…

The unfurling of the tape pauses. He fights down a surge of nausea as he observes Lacey grasp Juliana’s elbow. She'd need to do more than that soon…

The now-familiar pressure grips at his chest as he watches Lacey attempt to halt Juliana’s fall. She does manage, but with noticeable exertion. 

Strange. Juliana didn't feel heavy at all to me.

He fumbles his way over to the girls. 

“Hey are you okay??” Lacey exclaims, gripping Juliana's shoulders. 

“Been better,” Juliana mumbles into the fabric of Lacey's coat. 

“And you?”

“Same here.”

“Well, it was exactly five feet,” Lacey notes with a glance at the tape measure left in the sand. “My tape only goes up to sixty inches.”

“That's great,” Juliana states unenthusiastically. “Do you believe us?”

“Honestly, if I hadn't seen that painting blink at me, I'd send you to the school nurse. In fact, I think you should still go to the school nurse to be safe. But that aside, yes, I do.”

All three students sink into the sand wearily. 

“Thank goodness I'm not going crazy and this isn't just some fever dream,” Juliana says.

“Wouldn't it be better if it was just a fever dream?” Kieran utters.

“Hmm…I guess so, although that would imply that we all collectively have a fever. Which…also wouldn't be great,” she replies lamely. 

“Hey, I just wanted to clarify something,” Lacey asks. “So if you two can't be more than five feet apart, how is your League challenge going to work?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for your trial with Drayton, I suppose Kieran could be with you, as long as he isn't actively assisting or trying to help you. It's unprecedented, but we can work with it. But…if you defeat Drayton, then…how are you two going to battle? You can't stand across from each other on a court in the state that you're currently in.”

Juliana pauses. “Oh my Arceus, Lace, you're right.”

Kieran groans, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. He pulls off the now-loose hair tie and attempts to put his hair back up. To at least have something within his control. Even if that something didn't include his own personal space. “Another delay to the challenge now, great.”

“I mean, you could try to battle while giving commands a few feet away from each other? It isn't really within regulations though.”

“That would look…well, stupid. Unless it was a Multi Battle, but that doesn't work for a Championship Match.”

They settle into a tense silence. 

“Well, I'm going to train. I'll stay within range giving commands, so you don't have to worry about another fainting spell,” Kieran says testily, releasing his Politoed and Dragonite with a flick of his wrist.

Juliana nods and starts to unfold her picnic table and orange tablecloth. “Well I'm famished. I'm going to whip up a sandwich. Are you hungry, Lace?”

“I'm okay, thank you though! I ate before I came here. I'll maybe see you at club tomorrow? Er, I guess the both of you, now that I think about it.”

Juliana gazes in Kieran’s direction, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I'll keep you posted on that.” She doesn't know what the entirety of Kieran’s schedule is like, and she can tell that he isn't in the mood to discuss such things right now.

“Alright, well let me know! Text me if something changes!”

As Lacey departs, Juliana heaves a sigh. She has a feeling that she will have a long night ahead of her.

Kieran has already run into a problem.

And that problem smells like a ham sandwich.

His Dragonite and Politoed usually tended to be focused. Drills were not usually a problem for them. They were battle-hardened fighters who had been given proper care, the right vitamins…

But apparently they have a weakness and that weakness is ham. 

For the past ten minutes, they have been frequently, yearningly looking over their shoulder at the table behind them. And the scene playing out at said table looks like a complete circus, without the clowns. Ridiculous music is issuing from who knows where as Juliana carefully slaps on some ham slices, cheese, onions, tomatoes, and cucumbers. She tosses the top slice of bread across the table like a frisbee, but the bread never makes contact with its surface. A giant, feathery red lizard has snapped it up mid-air. Her Meowscarada makes a sad, mournful sound of longing behind him. Off to the side, her Kingambit floats around, spinning in chaotic circles cheerfully. To complete the tableau, she suddenly, fiercely stabs a pick with a polka dot flag down the middle of her…sandwich? Flatbread?

He looks for another sane being within his vicinity, but the rest of her party is sleeping. He sees a Tinkaton emitting impressively acoustic snores, using her hammer as a makeshift divan. It really didn't look all that comfortable, but he also wasn't a Tinkaton.

It looks like she actually changed out some of her team, he notes with some surprise. 

He also has to wonder what exactly is magical about the bizarre experience that is Paldean picnicking. He'd heard of its extolled virtues before in regard to team bonding, synergy, and other strange buzzwords. It obviously seems to have some effect, since Juliana's team is the poster child for powerhouses. But seeing these pokemon sleeping, goofing off, eating flying sandwich materials…is this really it?

“You also wash them too,” Juliana says.

Is she reading my mind??

“No, you're just talking out loud,” she replies, amused. “I think you really do need to get more sleep.”

“Holy shit,” he says. This is bad.

“Do you want to join us? I can split this ham sandwich with you if you want.”

“I'm fine, I don't need anythin’,” he asserts gruffly.

“Your energy bar, right? Well, I don't want this entire sandwich. You'd be helping me, if anything. Maybe I can feed your pokemon too?”

Now that just wasn't fair. Bringing his pokemon into this. 

He'd put himself through the wringer, straight into Dimension World levels of torment, but…he couldn't look the other way when it came to his team. 

He reluctantly gestures at his Dragonite and Politoed to follow him as they approach the picnic table.

“You can let all of them out, you know,” Juliana says. “That's Paldean style. We do it back in Galar too when we camp, but I'd make curry because the weather was usually shite.”

A sudden, unbidden image of Juliana making curry appears in his mind. He briefly wonders how her cooking would taste before he nips that train of thought in the bud.

He shrugs before releasing the rest of his party. 

Most of them immediately make a bee-line towards the table, eyeing the ham sandwich with interest. Speaking of…

“So…I wanted to ask…”

“Yes?”

“...is that even a sandwich if there’s no slice of bread on top? Or am I bein’ culturally insensitive ‘cause it’s a Paldean thing?”

“Oh,” Juliana replies, looking somewhat abashed, “well, no, not necessarily. Arven gives me shite all the time. It’s just, sometimes when I put the bread on it kind of…well, the ingredients fly out. Or the top just pops off.”

“...what kinda sandwiches are you makin’, exactly?” And who is this…Arven?

“Ones with terrible structural stability. You know what, though? I stand by my open face sandwich. Less carbs.”

From his peripheral vision, Kieran spots his Incineroar awkwardly approaching Juliana’s Meowscarada with a bushel of flowers that he recognizes from the Coastal Biome. Juliana follows his gaze towards the two pokemon, her eyebrows flying up to her hairline. “Oh…wow, okay,” she says. “Do…you want me to intervene? Should we intervene?”

Kieran feels heat consuming his face. “Uh…honestly, I dunno.”

Juliana clears her throat. “Erm, well, anyway. Here’s your half.” She hands him a plate with half of the flatbrea—sandwich. Throughout the table, there are other plates laden with similar ham sandwiches for their pokemon. Kieran takes the plate, eyeing the contents on it. Lifts up the sandwich. Takes a bite.

And it’s the best thing he has tasted in months.

To be fair, this included several months in which he had been consuming a steady diet of energy bars, chocolate, and various vending machine items, so maybe there was not much to compare this meal to. 

“Whoa, slow down, I can make more!” Juliana is staring at his hands with complete fascination. He follows her gaze down, only to find that he has almost devoured the sandwich in its entirety. Only a few bites’ worth remains. He doesn’t even remember eating that much, that quickly. 

“Wowzers…uh, I’m sorry,” he says, a look of abject horror on his face. He feels embarrassment wash over him and he’s not even entirely sure why. He wanted to be in control, needed to be in control. This was all stupid, he didn’t need to be…to be taken care of like this…

“It’s fine! I have plenty of ingredients left, I like to make my own food. Um, no offense to Director Cyrano, but the cafeteria choices here…worry me? Like I’ve heard that fries and pizza are pretty standard at Unovan cafeterias, but…one of the sides for the Special is literally a pile of gummy candy. And the flan on the donut really confuses me.”

“I’ll be honest…it confused me too. I just assumed it was a weird Unovan thing. Food back home is less…erratic?” 

“Same,” Juliana says wryly. “We have potato tortilla, Klawf al Ajillo, escalivada, ceviche…ooh! And paella too! I miss paella. And there’s stuff you’d probably like too! Like arroz con leche, churros, alfajores…You still like sweets, right?”

Kieran gapes at her. “You…remember that…?”

“Of course I do! The time we spent in Kitakami was one of the fonder moments I look back on. The candy apples were so good! The candy razz berry, not so much though.”

“Yeah I did warn you.”

“You did.” She laughs. 

He recalls her reaction upon eating the candy razz berry and fails to suppress the laughter that rips through his throat. His attempt at stoicism backfires, resulting in a snort that would not be out of place to hear from a Lechonk. Juliana stares at him in marvelment, transfixed. 

“...what? Somethin’ wrong?”

“No! I…”

He feels an unfamiliar sensation contorting his features and realizes belatedly that he’s smiling—

“...I’m just happy,” she says simply.

There is a strange, delicate pause, teetering on the verge of a precipice. Things left unsaid, things that need to be said. Everything and nothing. I’m sorry I missed you I couldn’t stop thinking about you and everything that happened and 

Suddenly, there is a feral, heated YOWL. The hair-raising, feline scream echoes throughout the Coastal Biome. Not a moment later, a sheepish Incineroar shuffles back to the picnic table, managing to look somewhat self-conscious. The two teenagers look at each other, faces seemingly trying to out-compete one another for ‘who-can-look-the-most-like-a-tamato-berry.’ Kieran slams his face into the picnic table.

“I’m…going to go make another sandwich now,” Juliana states. Her bag rustles as she rummages for ingredients. 

“Yeah…uh, thanks,” Kieran says. 

Later on, both of them pointedly ignore her Meowscarada, who quietly deposits a green-spotted egg into the nearby picnic basket. 

Chapter Text

For Juliana, the problem is not falling asleep.

During her school-wide Treasure Hunt, she frequently found herself camping out among the grassy hillsides that she would encounter during her travels between different towns and Team Star bases. Sure, there were Flying Taxis that could take her back to the Naranja dormitories, or hotels located within the major cities. But she had never really understood why people would bother with that. Galarians of all ages were familiar with setting up camp in practical, sturdy tents. Back in her old stomping grounds, there were traveling vendors who would hawk their culinary wares, so it was rare to run short on ingredients for curry. Her mum had insisted that she bring her camping gear with her to school, “just in case.” And it had paid off in terms of time saved. It was partially why she had been able to help Penny and Arven simultaneously while knocking out Gym challenges. 

She could—quite literally—fall asleep to the sound of a raging blizzard. A brief vacation in the Crown Tundra had proven that, once. So the lulling, calm, artificial breeze of the Coastal Biome was nothing in comparison. 

Juliana’s problem is staying asleep.

This had only become an issue after a specific series of events deep within the Great Crater. Sadly, therapy was not a particular option when one was not allowed to divulge Paldean League secrets with civilians. Even then, she was not sure if a therapist would believe her.

Yeah, so an AI-powered robot who was created by my friend’s–only recently discovered to be deceased!–mother tried to kill us in an underground laboratory deep within the Great Crater (oh yeah, you know the Great Crater with severely restricted access due to dangerous, feral ancient pokemon? Well, that Great Crater!) by locking all of our Poke balls so we couldn’t defend ourselves, in order to preserve an active time machine. The only reason we didn’t die was because I happened to also have an ancient, dangerous, sandwich-loving pokemon that had the late Professor’s ID. I still have recurring nightmares to this day. Did I tell you that the technology to lock Poke balls exists? Anyway please don’t report me to Champion Geeta. I don’t want the Paldean ninjas to get me.

Were there Paldean ninjas? Juliana doesn’t know. 

Strangely enough, her nightmares had reduced in frequency since coming to Blueberry Academy. She wasn’t sure if it was due to being all the way in Unova, in the middle of the ocean, far away from the Great Crater. You couldn’t really avoid seeing the Great Crater when you were in Paldea, since it was smack in the middle of the region. Maybe it was also because she had been so preoccupied lately with the Elite Four challenge, completing BBQs, and the bizarre drama surrounding the League Club—and by extension, Kieran. She would be lying to herself if she denied that the first thought that had crossed her mind when Kieran arrived with the rest of the BB Elite Four in the cafeteria was, “Oh no he's hot.” The only thing that made up for this initial shock to her system was the fact that Kieran himself also looked like he was about to have a coronary upon seeing her. It was only fair. 

Lacey had been right, though. His personality had taken a nosedive. 

When she had seen his new behavior, observed the way he told that club member that he was going to write him a letter of resignation…it had been a mach punch straight to the gut. Did I do this? She knew Ogerpon wanted to be with her, it was her choice to come with her, but…it really did not look good out of context. An outsider taking away a Pokemon that was a central myth, a cornerstone to the Kitakami community. In hindsight, it was a very Galarian thing for me to do, she had thought bitterly. 

Upending his world, lying to him…

She shouldn’t have cared what Carmine said. Or what her grandfather said. 

Not if it all led to this. Not if it led to Kieran hating her. Although she swore she could recall him saying that he didn't. She wasn't sure, it had all been a blur after Lacey had shown up.

If there had been one upside to this entire state of events, it was that her nightmares of Area Zero had subsided. Instead, she was having more dreams about Kitakami, both good and bad. She had discovered that having nigh constant dreams of various natures about her crush—and then having to see said crush in real life—was doing terrible things to her sanity, which she felt was rapidly declining. The curse was the Cherubi on top. 

So she bluffed. She prided herself on her ability to deflect, deflect, deflect. She could push anything down if she kept herself busy enough. She was strong, they all thought she was strong. She needed to set an example. They’re all watching her.

Some “Light of Paldea” I am. 

The unfortunate thing about being unconscious is that one is not really in control. The time when she slept was also the time that things tended to come screaming back to her. This was why sleepovers were an absolute no-go, outside of her closely-knit friend group in Naranja. Penny, Nemona, and Arven would be the only ones to ever understand. 

This is also why, when she wakes herself up with a guttural scream of terror, frantically looking around for glinting red walls and an AI-powered, killer robot–only to find the balmy shores of the Coastal Biome–she realizes that she has fucked up. 

A cloud of Pikipek erupts from a nearby tree as Kieran nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Ack—why???”

He pivots around, only to see Juliana staring, wild-eyed, her knuckles white from clutching at the edge of her sleeping bag. He has seen her expression before, usually on a cornered Rattata before a Furret strikes. Alarm bells go off in his head.

He's never recalled Juliana looking so terrified, so unsure. This isn't the girl he remembers from Kitakami. 

What could possibly scare a Paldean Champion?

“Are…you okay?” Kieran asks.

She shudders, shaking herself out of her reverie.

“I…yeah. I'm okay. I'm here.”

I'm…here? What does Juliana mean by that?

“ ...yes, you are? Where else would you be?”

She hesitates. “Good point! I'm…I'm just knackered. I'm fine!”

Sure. And Tepigs can fly, he thinks.  

He tries to tap into early memories, things he had locked away when he had come back to Blueberry. Memories of his grandparents, when he had had his own rough nights.

“Uh, do you...want to talk about it?” The attempt comes off as clumsy, tripping up on his tongue. He hopes she doesn't detect his nerves. 

For a brief second, he thought he had seen something flash in her eyes. It almost seemed like…hope?

“I…it's classified. I'm sorry.”

He snorts. “This is real life, not a spy movie. If you don't wanna talk about it, just say so.”

“I'm serious.”

He stares at her.

“...how? How exactly is your…nightmare...classified?”

She scrubs at her face with her hands, attempting to divest herself of restless energy. “Paldean League secrets. Government secrets.”

“What kinda things are they havin’ you do as Champion over there? You're…we're…only teenagers…”

Sure, Blueberry Academy had granted him frankly excessive privileges as the school Champion, including the ability to override administrative protocols and decisions by adult staff members, but these conferred benefits only apply to the school. Not on a governmental level. 

“Well, it didn’t have to do with Champion duties, it was kind of on us–me, I mean. Anyway, I can't talk about these things. At least not out here.”

Not out in the Terarium where other students can hear her, she means.

Kieran deliberates.

His main goal was finally within his grasp, after months of rigorous training and studying. He could finally prove himself. When he had observed a couple of Juliana’s League matches from a distance, he wasn’t disappointed, either. She had gotten even stronger, if anything. Which meant that it wasn’t a time to slack off. He had to be on top of his game. He had to train even more, now. Tonight was no exception.

However, he also had to acknowledge that without dispelling this strange curse, it would be unlikely that the school could even hold the Championship Match. They had already made an extreme exception for Juliana’s case, in that she was able to immediately challenge the Elite Four—to the chagrin of many students who were working their way up the ladder in the usual manner. He had felt uneasy enough pulling rank to make that possible, especially after the strict rules he had established. Kieran couldn’t even imagine what the student body would think if he had to battle Juliana from the same side of the field, within arm’s reach of her. Her upcoming challenge with Drayton would also be unusual. Even if they permitted him to be in close proximity to her, it wouldn’t help in dispelling rumors that the current Champion is helping her. 

Ultimately, he decides that his focus should be on the curse.

What had Ryme said? Put on your thinking caps?

She had also mentioned that it was unusual that the same curse would affect two people simultaneously. She had described it as a “link,” which was also the same word that had been used by the voice that had been in his head. Link established. All of those visions, too. What did it all mean?

Maybe he could at least try to get some answers and make some headway. For all he knew, her nightmare could be involved.

“Maybe sleeping in an actual bed will help,” Kieran sighs. “I’ll call it quits then, if only for tonight.”

Juliana fumbles for her Rotom phone by her sleeping bag and rubs her eyes. It was 23:15. She still had it set on 24-hour mode from Paldea and had refused to change it.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to throw things off too much for you,” she says quietly. “I feel bad already.”

“Don’t. I’m over tonight already. I don’t think I’ll be able to look at another painted portrait for a while without Tera Blasting it.”

Juliana freezes. It only occurs to her now. All of the Elite Four, their Tera Orbs…

“You have a Tera Orb now, don’t you?”

Kieran scoffs. “Yeah, I do. Ms. Briar gave it to me when I got to the top.”

Her expression is initially unreadable, but settles into a lopsided smile. “That’s great, you’ve earned it. I guess…I never congratulated you on becoming BB League Champion after all this time, huh?”

Juliana takes a deep breath. 

“Congratulations, Kieran.”

Kieran looks at her, really looks at her. This is it, this is what he had daydreamed about, what he had imagined after their meeting in the cafeteria. Acknowledgement of his strength, how far he had come. All of these elite students—the offspring of renowned gym leaders, people with connections, people born knowing the right people, set up for success from the moment of their birth. He had beaten them all. He, a boy from a remote countryside region, here on a scholarship. He clawed his way up with his own hard work, his blood, sweat, and tears. And now finally, finally, by sheer luck, the girl that lives half a world away from him is here, congratulating him.

Then why doesn’t this feel as good as I thought it would?

Is this what I really wanted from her? 

What do I want from her?

“Thanks,” he replies, a little bit less enthusiastically than he had intended. 

“Anyway…yours or mine?”

“I, uh…what?”

“Which room?”

“Oh!” Kieran feels a surge of heat rushing to his face and wills it—begs Arceus for it to go away. His dorm did have his notes and studying materials on his desk. At least it wouldn’t be a complete waste of time, if the nightmare turned out to be unrelated. He could still study, and she could sleep. “Mine, if that’s okay.”

“Sure thing, lead the way.” 

The moment they reach the entrance to his dorm room, Kieran realizes that he has made a grave miscalculation.

His room is an unmitigated disaster.

For the first time in months, he imagines his room through the eyes of a stranger. The wrappers and empty water bottles littering his kitchenette. The red marker on the walls that definitely was not supposed to be there. TMs, supplements, Poke balls strewn throughout his desk. The mummified remains of his houseplant, ready to greet them cheerily upon entering. 

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

It’s too late now.

“Um…try not to be too alarmed,” Kieran says.

“Uh…okay? I wasn’t alarmed before but I am now.”

He winces. “It’s just…it’s a bit messy.”

“Oh. The way you said that, I thought you had a body in there.” 

Juliana pauses.

“You…don’t have a body in there, right?”

“No! Wh— why would I??”

“Just wanted to make sure.”

Kieran exhales sharply. “You—I—never mind.” Why is she like this?? He pushes his key card into the slot and nudges his door open. 

He braces himself as the door opens in its entirety. Waits for the inevitable “damn, bitch, you live like this?” Waits for a scream and the sound of feet running down the hallway. Anything.

“Huh. Honestly, I’ve seen worse.”

What?

“What?” Kieran says lamely.

“I have a friend back home. Her place is cozy enough, but you’re literally walking through a valley of cardboard boxes and takeout containers. A real commitment to the gamer lifestyle.” She dares not mention Penny’s name, for fear of summoning her to her phone, magically somehow. Magic involving hacking, at any rate.

“Oh.”

“I mean, sure, there’s some bottles and wrappers around, but mostly this just looks like some kind of…war room? Conspiracy theorist chamber?”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel any better.”

“Well, all that aside, I think it just shows how much effort you put into your training. I have to ask though…do you have any other food in your room besides chocolate?”

Kieran attempts to recall the last time he has been in his dorm room, period.

“Lately…no.”

“Okay, well that settles it. I’m gonna make us some sandwiches in the morning.”

“Hey, wait, there’s no need to—” He pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation, recalibrates. “I don’t need anything. Don’t go through the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Look, I gotta make something for myself anyway. Might as well make something for you too. Unless my sandwich tasted that bad…”

“No! It’s not that!” he exclaims, before he clamps his traitorous mouth shut. He had rushed to defend her sandwich a little too fast.

“Then it should be fine!” Juliana says breezily, thankfully not acknowledging his previous outburst. Kieran sees her withdraw Lacey’s tape measure from one of her rucksack pockets. 

“Mind if we head over to your bed?” she asks.

???

Kieran internally screams, willing himself to not burst into flames. She does NOT mean it like that she isn’t—

“Wh–what?”

“I need to measure the bed. Dorm room beds are all pretty standard, so I’m guessing I can get away with putting my sleeping bag next to your bed. The only hazard is that you might step on my face when you get up in the morning.”

This entire situation is too weird for Kieran. He gazes upward at the ceiling beseechingly, praying for a passing Wailord to careen headfirst into his dorm room. “Uh…that also doesn’t sound ideal?”

“Unless you have any better ideas?”

“Just take my bed. I’m gonna study anyway. Someone might as well use it.”

Juliana pockets the tape measure and aims a beleaguered look in his direction. “Kieran. You have to sleep sometime.”

“I got this far and I’m fine. Just take it.”

“Are you, though?” 

Kieran freezes.

“Am I what?” he asks slowly.

“Don’t play dumb,” she sighs, “you’re better than that. Are you fine?”

What a stupid question, he thinks, as a lump forms in his throat. His eyes burn. 

He feels like he is truly back in his body for the first time in ages, and he hates it. 

“I’m fine. I’m stronger than before, y’know,” he replies gruffly. I've changed. I'm not the same weak kid you remember from Kitakami.

“...I don’t doubt that. But that's not the same thing.”

Kieran huffs. “Okay, I’ll bite. What makes you think I’m not fine, then?”

Before he can react, Juliana absentmindedly closes the distance between them. He feels the last of his breath leave his lips as a feeble wisp, as her right hand carefully cups his jawline. Her thumb lightly traces one of the dark circles beneath his eyes, a mute testament to the hard work he has put in. The sensation of her touch is ephemeral, but the trail she leaves behind sets fire to his skin. Kieran stares at her, transfixed. 

“You’re not fine,” she murmurs. Almost as if to herself. A revelation.

“I’m—” 

His words catch in his throat. His body—his treacherous body—betrays him, as he shivers and leans into her touch. Kieran tries to say something, anything. 

“You’re not either,” he finally manages.

And there is his admission.

Juliana jolts, as if she were breaking free from a trance. She quickly retracts her hand from his face, attempting to look at anywhere else in the room but him. “Now you’re just deflecting,” she breathes.

“Pot, meet kettle,” he counters feebly.

“And what do you mean by that?”

“You were gonna tell me what happened back there in the Terarium? We’re in a private space now, so what was that all about?”

Juliana groans. “Fair. But we're coming back to this later, okay?” She scrubs at her face tiredly as she pulls some sleepwear from her rucksack. Kieran trails behind her out of necessity, granting her a brief reprieve of privacy as she shuts the bathroom door behind her. He uses the opportunity to memorize the sensation of her hand on his face.

Chapter Text

“So…do you want the short version or the long version?” Juliana asks.

Kieran stares at the girl sitting beside him on his bed. She had untied her signature braid, leaving her hair in relaxed brown waves over one shoulder. An over-sized, plain t-shirt hangs loose over her frame, the hem nearly concealing her shorts underneath. Other than the time she had worn his old jinbei, he had never seen her in clothing that wasn't school attire in one form or another. There is something strangely intimate about seeing this side of her, he realizes. Heat flares in his gut and he does his best to not think about it too much. 

“I'll…take the short version,” he says, willing himself to come back to reality. He picks at his yellow duvet, tracing the outline of the calligraphy adorning it. 

Juliana raises her eyebrows. “Okay, if you say so. Remember, not a word to anyone about this. Not to Carmine, not to any of the Elite Four. I don't want to be condemned to death by backflipping off the Great Crater.”

“Is this some sorta Paldean version of a public execution that I don't know about?”

“It hasn't been done. Yet. But I'd be the first. A truly cool and unusual death.”

“That would be pretty sick.”

“Right??”

“And...you're deflectin’ again.”

“Okay, fine.”

She takes a deep breath, bracing herself. Squeezing her eyes shut.

“I was almost killed by an AI-powered robot that looked like my friend’s dead mum, in an underground research facility housing a time machine that spewed ancient, violent pokemon with the potential to destroy the Paldean ecosystem.” 

She waits.

And waits.

Still waiting.

Nothing?

She opens her eyes and turns to face Kieran. 

He gapes at her, slack-jawed. 

Juliana sighs. “Okay, long version it is then. Do you know how Tera Orbs came about?”

Kieran digs through his memories of Ms. Briar's lessons on Terastallization history and theory. “They were created by a faculty member from your school, right? A Professor…Sada?” Wait…

Sada?

She nods. “That's right. She's the reason that people were able to Terastallize their pokemon at will. The Tera Orbs were developed in the Great Crater, from her research. As a result, Professor Sada received so much financial backing from investors that she could fund her projects without any concern. Her real passion was the past…like prehistoric pokemon. Previous evolutionary branches of modern day pokemon. And that's why she decided to create a time machine.”

Kieran gives her a humorless look. “A…time machine. You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“I'm serious! There's something about huge concentrations of Terastal energy that allows it to…to enable technology that shouldn't exist. At least not yet. So she actually accomplished her goal and created a time machine. She would throw Master Balls into this machine and they would come back with pokemon that looked similar to the ones we know, but they were far more dangerous. She also created an AI-powered robot with her appearance and mannerisms to help her with her research.”

“How is this even your life.”

“I'm not even at the good part yet. And by good part I mean terrible part. You remember Koraidon? The one you called kaiju?”

Kieran nods.

“He used to belong to the professor. Another of his kind appeared one day and tried to kill him in a territorial dispute, but the professor sacrificed herself to save him and was murdered in the process. But no one really knew for a long time, because her AI counterpart took over. I'd receive calls from her with information but I had no idea the entire time that I was speaking to a robot.”

“Wowzers…this is seriously stuff from a movie. You swear you're not pullin’ my leg? You don't exactly have the best track record for tellin’ the truth.”

Juliana winces. Ouch. He really didn't pull back his punches. “Why would I even make this up? This is way too insane. Anyway, because the real Sada was dead, the machine was just pulling out ancient pokemon on autopilot, which led to an increased population in the Great Crater and even resulted in one escaping into the Asado Desert. It was a disaster. I'd happened to befriend Arven, who is the professor's son—”

And there is Arven again. Who is he to Juliana?

“—he was basically neglected by Professor Sada all this time. One day, he decided to search for her in the Crater and he enlisted my help, along with Nemona and Penny. While AI Sada gave us pointers on how to reach her, we weren't really there on official League business. In fact, they drill it into students to not go into Area Zero at all. But we were stubborn and we wanted to help our friend.”

“Damn, so you guys literally disobeyed school and League rules to go into a mysterious crater full of dangerous pokemon? I'm surprised you didn't even get a slap on the wrist.”

“I'll get to why in a bit. We went down further into Area Zero and got into the lab, and that's when I found out that the Professor Sada I'd known all that time was really an AI. The rest of my friends were fighting off all the wild pokemon at the time, so it was just me for the moment. I went down with her into an underground portion of the lab that turned out to be the time machine. I had the key to turn it off, but the robot had an override program to fight intruders, and I had triggered that. So I had to fight her in a pokemon battle. I won, but…”

She pauses. 

Kieran turns to face her. Her eyes…

She's not there. She's miles away. 

A chill runs down his spine. He has to think of something, he has to…

In a fit of desperation, Kieran grabs her hand and squeezes it, perhaps harder than he had intended to. She inhales suddenly, sharply through her teeth. 

“You with me?”

“I…yeah.”

“Do you wanna stop?”

“No…it's fine.”

“Is it, though.”

“Yeah, I can keep going. There's not much more.”

Kieran notes that she doesn't shift her hand at all. In fact, she's clutching his hand like a lifeline. He's not even sure if she notices. 

“Anyway…my friends came in to join me and then…everything went red. Our Poke Balls were locked—”

Kieran feels his blood run cold.

Locking all Poke Balls except those registered to Sada's ID.

“—and we couldn't use our pokemon. It was going to kill us. It was—”

“...the Paradise Protection Protocol,” Kieran says. 

Juliana stops in her tracks. Her hand falls slack in his own.

“No.”

He had said something wrong.

“No no no how—”

Oh shit.

“There's no way you should know about that. Literally no way. Tell me how you know.”

It's as if a switch flips in her. She withdraws into herself. Instead of the warmth of the sun, she's ice, the snow that crowns Mount Coronet. 

Kieran doesn't know where to start. At the risk of sounding completely insane, he slowly asks, “When we were both holdin’ that painting, did you…see anythin’? Or hear anythin’?”

Juliana freezes.

“What do you mean?”

He tugs at the loose strand of hair framing his face. “I mean…did you hear or see things that you don't remember seein’ or hearin’ before.”

“...there was a workshop with masks.”

Kieran sits up straighter. 

“I could…smell things, too. Wood smells like…cedar, I think. Among others. Apples, too. There was a huge downpour, it was humid.”

She had to be describing Kitakami. As far as Kieran could recall, Juliana had never stepped foot in his grandfather's shop. At least as far as he knew. 

He had to test his theory further. “Can you describe any of the masks you saw in there?”

“There were some masks that I'd seen before at the festival, but…there was one that stood out. It looked like a Zoroark but it was white.”

A Hisuian Zoroark mask? He couldn't recall any from recent memory. There was one time though. A wealthy Sinnohan client that was well known in the Contest circuit. They had paid an exorbitant amount of money to have a special order mask made. He had watched his grandfather make it.

Several years ago. 

“That mask was from many years ago,” Kieran tells her. 

Juliana connects the dots. “Memories. I…how many memories did you see? What did you see?” How much of me, of my life did you see?

He tells her. He tells her about the sights that he witnessed, the people that he saw. As he relates each scene, she quickly types on her Rotom phone to show him the corresponding places. The olive groves outside of Cortondo. A picture of Naranja Academy. The Poco Path Lighthouse. Juliana initially falters when he describes Arven and Nemona to a tee, but is satisfied when the selfies of her and her friends elicit a sound of surprise from Kieran. 

The Great Crater, well. She hadn't kept any photos from there. Any documentation was swiftly confiscated by the League. It hadn't taken a genius to figure out that they had broken into Area Zero. 

“Damn, we actually did swap memories then,” Juliana mutters. “This is crazy. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Sorry I had to see what?” Kieran asks, baffled.

“Well…what happened at the lab…”

He had felt her terror, he had seen it unfold before his—her eyes. The story she had told him had seemed utterly absurd, something straight from a sci-fi movie. And yet…he believed her. The visions he had seen clicked into place like pieces of a puzzle.

“Don’t apologize,” he says bluntly. “Nothin’ to apologize for. At any rate, I’m still tryin’ to get over the fact that the technology to lock Poke Balls exists.”

“Yeah, it’s a game changer,” Juliana nods. “For now, it’s stuck down in Area Zero. Can’t reconstruct the technology above ground, there’s not enough Terastal energy for that. But if they do find a way to replicate it, it’s going to result in a power imbalance between regions and strained relations. At least, that’s what La Primera was trying to explain to me.”

“La Primera?”

“Ah, Ms. Geeta. The Top Champion of Paldea. But yeah, it’s top secret for obvious reasons. The other problem is the Tera crystals themselves.”

A lump of dread forms in the pit of Kieran’s stomach. The crystals that are literally everywhere? Tera crystals were relatively new to the Terarium, and stable Terastallization was a recent development due to Ms. Briar’s inclusion of Paldean soil and water from the Crystal Pool in Kitakami. Was there something detrimental about the Terarium Core?

“When you get to the bottom of Area Zero, the crystals start consuming everything,” she says. “There was a research station that was practically half-rock formation when we got there. It’s pretty unstable. My homeroom teacher was telling me about new Tera Raid crystals that were appearing on the surface, too. More dangerous ones. We don’t really know much about them, but the allure of the unknown always draws people, I guess.”

People like Ms. Briar, Kieran thinks. Go figure.

“But…people use these crystals all the time, right? They’re part of the Tera Orbs we use…”

Juliana aims a grim look in his direction, but doesn’t say anything.

This is bad.

Kieran realizes the gravity of the situation, feels the heaviness of the responsibility that Juliana had borne on her shoulders.

“Yeah,” she exhales. “So now you know why you can't tell anyone about this. They're trying to keep it under wraps for now.”

“Arceus …”

“Sorry, I know it's a lot. But anyway, we survived through sheer dumb luck. Koraidon was still registered to the late professor's ID, so I was able to fight his more violent counterpart. The one that murdered the original professor. Let me tell you, those ancient pokemon are a different breed. They fight to kill, it's a whole different level of brutality.” She shudders at the memory. 

“But we defeated it. Once the Protocol was terminated, AI Sada regained control and went back in time, turning off the time machine in the process. That's the main reason why we kinda got off the hook. We ended up stopping the influx of ancient pokemon in the Crater.”

Kieran let out a long, low whistle of breath. “Wowzers…I…that's a lot to take in. Did anything happen after?” He finds himself too gripped by the bizarre narrative to feign indifference. 

“Hmm…well, Nemona and I are sorta the League Herdiers on a leash, so we aren't totally off the hook. La Primera had me run an entire gauntlet of gym leader inspections for her once, which was received about as well as you can expect.”

“She had you do gym leader inspections??” He imagines these experienced adults—experts in their respected fields—being audited by a teenager, and immediately sees the potential issue. 

“Yep,” Juliana says. “Penny was already in deep shite for hacking into the League's management system to give me LP, so she just got double duty as a volunteer engineer there.”

“LP?”

“Ah, League Points, kinda like BP here.”

“Okay. I will say that I'm all kinds of intrigued about why she was hackin’ into the League to give you money, but I won't ask. Sounds like your friends are as quirky as you.”

Juliana sighs. “You don't know the half of it. I think Arven was the only one who really got off the hook, but when La Primera was filled in on the situation, I think she understood. He just got confirmation that his mum died and had to go through all of that…”

The two teens sit in pensive silence. 

“Sorry to change the subject…but I think this brings up another, obvious issue,” Kieran states, “and that issue is that we shared memories? ”

“Yeah I was going to ask. Have you had any other visions like them since that whole painting situation?”

“No. Have you?”

“Negative.”

“How does it work, then? What memories get pulled?” Kieran tugs at his lock of hair restlessly. Sometimes there were certain things that teenage boys needed to do that he definitely did not want Juliana to know about. 

“How should I know?” she asks. “It's a good question though. We don't really know if or when it will happen again, either. I think we just have to communicate. Let me know if it happens again and I'll do the same.”

A truce, then. Albeit a temporary one.

“Sure.” The sooner we figure out this situation, the sooner we can battle each other.

Right?

Chapter Text

The first thing that Kieran notices upon waking up is a searing crick in his neck.

The second thing he notices is that he has lost all feeling in his right arm. 

He groggily blinks himself into some semblance of wakefulness as he surveys his surroundings. He finds himself half sitting on the floor, half sprawled across the edge of his bed in a haphazard manner, with his right arm splayed across its surface. His notebook on Battle Theory (with addendums to Tailwind and Trick Room counters) is laying open-faced on top of his duvet, on the verge of spilling off the bedside. Kieran blinks again, suddenly realizing that his world is sideways. He had apparently fallen asleep with his head pressed into his shoulder at an awkward angle. Judging from the artificial light emitting from the nearby window, it appears to be around seven in the morning. 

In a bid to adjust his posture and sit further upright, he attempts to withdraw his arm, only to find it securely weighed down. Something is firmly gripping his hand in place. 

Or someone.

Kieran freezes at the sight in front of him. Juliana is laying on her side facing him, her hand clasped in his. He doesn’t even remember how this happened. Had they been holding hands all night? Did they fall asleep that way? A brief surge of anxiety fills his chest at the realization that he can’t recall anything after their conversation. That in itself was another beast of a discussion to process—their shared memories, her near-death experience, the terrifying implications of her discoveries in the Great Crater. He was supposed to focus on defeating her and proving his strength, but it was becoming harder to do so when the foundation he had built for himself—the story he had told himself about Juliana—was crumbling. He was beginning to find that his preconceived notions of the Paldean Champion as a pinnacle of indomitable power and perfection were starting to fall apart.

He tries to ground himself, to not get carried away. What can he see? What can he touch?

Her hand…

He gazes at her hand, experimentally curling the tips of his fingers over her own. Kieran had grown long and lanky in the time they had been apart, with the type of lithe muscle borne of functional strength, rather than pure aesthetics. It was an athleticism built from the exertion required for manual labor and chores—assisting orchard workers with loading bushels of apples into awaiting bins, helping his grandmother in the garden, hefting hinoki wood bundles and tools into the mask shop. His fingers were littered with small scars and callouses from a combination of experimentation in woodworking and youthful carelessness. His hands couldn't be any more different from hers, her slim, tapered digits and unblemished skin. It was difficult to believe that she was a Champion-ranked trainer in her region. A real pint-sized powerhouse. 

He looks towards her face and barely suppresses a snort. She is performing the most accurate facial impression of a Gloom that he's ever seen. A trail of drool happens to trace down to her jawline in a perfect imitation. With her disheveled appearance and mussed up hair, it is the most undone that he has ever seen her.

Wowzers, she’s beautiful.

His brain short-circuits.

Wait, what

Before he can mentally process his previous thought, she stirs, lets go of his hand, stretches long and languidly like a content Persian. He does his best to school whatever stupid, gawking expression he was making into something more neutral. 

“Mmm g’mornin,” she mumbles, rubbing at her eyes. She blinks herself into further wakefulness, staring at Kieran. “Wait, did you get to sleep at all? You’re halfway on the floor!”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I got some sleep, more than I usually do anyway. I don’t remember much though.”

“Mmm…I remember. You wanted to study, so we went to your desk to grab your notebook and you sat against the bed. Then I fell asleep, but I woke up from another nightmare and you insisted on holding my hand until I’d finally passed out.”

I did what?

“I… insisted? ” Kieran asks, bewildered. 

“Yeah, you were being all stubborn about it, but it also looked like you were gonna fall face-first into your notebook, so maybe you weren’t one hundred percent awake.”

She is right about that. He hadn’t remembered anything. He can feel the flush radiating from his face.

“Ah…right,” he replies coherently. “Also, uh…you got somethin’…” He gestures tentatively at the corner of his lip.

Juliana starts at the realization, furiously attempting to wipe away the saliva trail with the back of her hand. “Blugh,” she says. “What a great start.”

Kieran waves it off awkwardly. “It’s fine.” You still look great even with bedhead and drool shut up shutupshutup

She sighs. “Anyway we should start the day. I have a major favor to ask.” She hands over her Rotom phone to Kieran as she digs through her rucksack by the bedside for a change of clothes and her toothbrush. 

“What’s that?” he asks.

“The moment I enter the bathroom, go on my Chatotify and just play whatever you want on full blast."

“Huh?”

“You’re going to be right outside the door, Kieran. And as we all know, girls don’t have any bodily functions whatsoever,” she deadpans. 

Oh. That’s what this is about.

“Y’know I have a sister, right? I know more than I’ve ever needed to know…Don’t tell Sis that, though.”

“Good point, actually. Still, just spare me this once. Plus it’ll be nice to have music on.”

As Juliana enters the bathroom and closes the door behind her, Kieran attempts to work his way through her Rotom phone. She had momentarily forgotten how unfamiliar he was with technology in general. He briefly fumbles through the myriad, varicolored icons throughout the screen, accidentally opening a group chat before finding the icon with a stylized Chatot on it. When he opens it, a few prominent playlists show up at the top of the screen.

fuck yeah!!!

fuck today!

remind me why I have ears

i want to make myself sad on purpose don’t judge

asdfkljslkjfas

chill lofi beats Giacomo

rad beats Giacomo

Eri workout playlist

Kieran is finally getting a glimpse into the musical mind of a Champion and frankly, it scares him. He figures that something that leans more towards “bombastic” would probably be what Juliana would prefer for her sound camouflage, so he opts for the rather enthusiastically titled fuck yeah!!!. He finds an eclectic mix of songs from Ryme, Piers, and Roxie, among others. 

Piers, huh.

He remembers when Drayton would play Piers’ songs on his Chatotify before. Kieran found that he actually liked some of his music. He had mostly grown up listening to older music due to his grandparents’ influence, but he had learned about a wider variety of genres at school.

Wyndon Calling

Anarchy in Galar

Arceus Save the Kings

Dynamax My Arse 

Banned in Six Regions

Go Suck a Wiglett Chairman Rose

He hits the play button on the fuck yeah!!! playlist and decides to leave it on the preset shuffle as he attempts to go to the other window to close the group chat.

“Is this Piers??” a muffled voice cries from the bathroom.

“Yeah.”

“Solid choice! You like him too?”

“Yeah, I only know a few songs though.”

“Oh ho ho, just you wait. There is a whole new horizon of music awaiting you.” Kieran can practically hear Juliana wiggling her eyebrows. 

This girl will be the death of me.

As he fiddles with the Rotom phone, the group chat seemingly pops up automatically. There is a new message.

Pen (7:36): hey, how’s it been

Nemo (7:36): ¿QUÉ PASA?

Nemo (7:37): Oma I miss my battle buddy 😢

Nemo (7:37): No one wants to battle me here 

Nemo (7:37): Can I fly over there to battle you or would that be rude

Pen (7:37): Uh, I think that is a def no

Nemo (7:38): Booooooo

Arven (7:38): Uhhh let’s not get little buddy in trouble

Arven (7:38): Also are you eating well?? Are the BB students treating you well there?? 

Arven (7:39): If they’re not, I’m going to sic Mabosstiff on them. I will buy a plane ticket

Pen (7:39): You’re not helping either

Pen (7:39): Anyway

Pen (7:39): Have you finally had time to talk to that guy over there?

Pen (7:39): You know, the one you couldn’t stop talking about before? The one you were practically mooning over?

What? She is interested in a guy? Here at the academy?

Nemo (7:40): He sounded pretty strong too! I wanna battle him!! 

Pen (7:40): Of course you do

A strong trainer? Is it…Drayton?? Arceus please let it not be that toothpaste-head

Pen (7:40): I know you guys kinda left off on a weird note last time

Pen (7:40): So if you ever need an ear or some help, we’re here for you, okay?

Arven (7:41): Obviously same goes for me too! I wish I could send you a nice cooked meal through the Box system. They should get on that

Pen (7:41): Hey if there was a bloody time machine, there can bloody well be a meal transporting machine too

Arven (7:41): Agreed, it’s the least they can do after all that Tauros shit we went through

Nemo (7:42): Sí

Nemo (7:42): Anyway! We miss you :) In case you couldn’t tell!

Left off on a weird note? What was that about?

Mystery guy aside, Kieran felt a small but sharp twinge of jealousy. Juliana’s friends were so lively, and they obviously cared deeply about her, even though she was an ocean’s breadth away from them. He wonders what it would be like to have friends like hers. He tries to imagine if anyone would text him if he were doing a study abroad trip far away—and if he had a Rotom phone. His sister definitely would, probably to the point of being obnoxious about it. It was likely that Crispin would—they did bond extensively over TV shows and movies. Amarys probably would; although he imagined her messages would be pretty succinct, she did care. Lacey, maybe. Drayton, Arceus forbid. It would just be memes and constant buffoonery all the way down.

“Hey sorry! It’s all yours now!”

Kieran starts, quickly closing the group chat. He would have to figure out later who this “guy” was. 

Juliana emerges from the bathroom, a cloud of warm, scented steam following her as she begins to weave her damp hair into her usual side plait. 

“When you’re done, fancy a cuppa?”

He learns a few things that morning.

The first thing he learns is that Juliana brews tea strong enough to wake the dead.

This was not the tea that he grew up with in Kitakami—not the vegetal sencha his grandmother brewed, nor the grassy, frothed matcha that Carmine would make with her pokemon's assistance. Tea that reminded him of verdant fields and hillsides. This tea was dark, the color of the earth, malty and brisk. She had called it “Builder’s tea.” Alongside it were some portable Moomoo milk creamer packets that she had brought. He had felt his hair stand straight on end when he had drunk it. Kieran attempted to ignore the look of mirth she had aimed in his direction. 

The second thing he had gleaned was that breakfast was a serious affair for her. She insisted on using his hot plate, which had gathered dust over the past months from disuse. Juliana had wanted to make something “traditional” for him, claiming a bout of homesickness as a reason (she had also muttered something about a “full Galarian breakfast” but not having the proper ingredients). He watched as she lightly toasted the sandwich bread she usually carried, and constructed what appeared to be a flatbread with olive oil, crushed tomatoes, and ham. She had called it a “tostada con tomate, aceite, y jamon.” Despite the simple ingredients, it tasted surprisingly flavorful. Kieran was still adjusting to the idea of actually sitting down and eating a meal.

He discovered that, for whatever reason, she was viciously determined to feed him. And it utterly baffled him.

Ultimately, despite it being a Saturday, they came to the conclusion that they would need to stop by the League Club room. Kieran still needed to get supplies from his locker, and Juliana had received a text from Lacey inquiring if she was able to assist with some paperwork. The Paldean Champion had only recently been briefed on the fact that due to her winning streak against Crispin, Amarys, and Lacey, she technically outranked them all. It would not be officially finalized until her challenge with Drayton—and possibly Kieran—were completed, but for all intents and purposes, she was an Elite Four ranked trainer with all the responsibilities that position entailed. And that included the tedious aspects. While Lacey had expressed irritation with Drayton regarding the disarray that his mystery plan was causing (“she’s an exchange student! She shouldn’t have to be spending her time fulfilling League Club duties!”), she had privately admitted her relief that there was another body available to help with said duties.

Juliana had also checked in with Carmine, who texted that she was running an errand with Ms. Briar on the mainland and wouldn't be back until dinner. She had felt somewhat guilty at the surge of relief she experienced. Carmine still had no idea about the curse. Juliana was not particularly looking forward to explaining that she would be having mandatory sleepovers with her friend's brother. 

This had left one more thing on her to-do checklist: a visit to the school nurse. She knew that Lacey (and in all likelihood, Amarys) would ask if they had checked to make sure they were at least physically in good health. 

The visit itself, however, had been spectacularly uneventful. Juliana had expected as much. Audino had checked their vitals and auscultated, while the nurse had completed focused examinations relevant to their respective symptoms. When nothing had turned up, the nurse had advised watchful waiting, along with an offer of anti-nausea medication as needed. She declined, for now—she had a feeling that this was not a concern that could be easily alleviated with Zofran alone. 

“Hey Jules!” Drayton crows. “And if it isn't the reigning Champion himself gracing us with his presence!”

Kieran fights the urge to do a 180 and flee the club room. This guy. Why is he even here on a Saturday?

And Jules?? Who does he think he—

“Before you ask, he just started calling me that of his own volition,” Juliana groans. 

As the two enter the room, Kieran makes a mental headcount. Crispin grins at him from the sofa, firing off a roguish salute with his frying pan. Amarys gives him a nod of acknowledgement from the clubroom table, steaming cup of tea in hand as she scrolls through something on her sleek, silver laptop. Lacey aims a small wave and a smile in his direction before directing a cheerful Sinistea to pour a fragrant brew into a few nearby teacups. Next to her is a plate heaped with a variety of donuts. Drayton sits slumped casually in his usual corner of the table, with a spread of tarot cards laid before him. 

As Kieran aims a confused look at the donuts, Lacey catches his eye. “Ah, yeah. Those are apology donuts from Art Club. Help yourself.”

Kieran stares blankly. Art Club gave them donuts as an apology?

Hey, sorry about that painting that put a curse on two of your more prominent club members, including the literal Champion of our school and a foreign exchange student picked by the Director himself. Here's some donuts???

As he tries to wrap his head around this logic, Drayton picks up a card from the spread in front of him and gives it a lazy twirl. “So the Drayster's learned a new thing or two about mysteries of the occult,” he says with a theatrical wiggle of his fingers. “I would be honored to give a reading to the mighty Kieran.”

Drayton dexterously flicks the card to face Kieran's direction. 

The Fool.

“I think you just pulled your card, idiot,” Kieran seethes.

“Nah, I think the spirits have really spoken to me this time. I am one with the universe.”

“It is way too early for this,” Lacey sighs, rubbing at her temple. “Also, I don't think that's how it works.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Amarys says dryly. “More importantly, we should discuss the contents of the email we received. I admit I am a little disappointed that I was not able to see this painting. While I would not consider myself an expert by any means, I do have some experience. It would have been interesting to analyze the composition.”

“Trust me, you didn't miss out,” Juliana replies, sitting at the table to receive a cup of tea offered by Lacey. Kieran grabs the chair next to Juliana out of necessity, a hint of exasperation on his features. Of course he would have to be seated directly across from Drayton. 

“So what actually happened?” Crispin asks. “I couldn't really understand too much from the email.”

Juliana briefly glances in Kieran's direction. He gives a nod, before she launches into the strange series of events that led them to this situation. She smoothly glosses over the specifics of their argument at the time, but otherwise relates most of the relevant details. When she finishes her tale, the club room lapses into a heavy silence. 

A silence which is subsequently broken by laughter.

“Did you seriously get vibe-checked by a painting?” Drayton cackles. “Even ghosts think you should take a chill pill.”

“I'm going to turn you into a ghost soon if you don't shut up,” Kieran grates. 

“Don't threaten me with a good time. I would just come back to haunt you anyway.”

“This tracks. Even as a ghost you would goof off.”

“Aww. But I would whisper sweet nothings to you. And give you friendly reminders to hydrate.”

“Drayton, please,” Lacey pleads. 

“Question,” Crispin interjects. “How come we can't literally ‘kill it with fire’? Maybe if you ‘roast the ghost,’ the curse will be gone!”

Juliana gives him an appraising look. “Honestly, it's tempting. You don't know how much I want to. But I feel like if it was as easy as destroying the painting, Ryme would have mentioned it. If Shauntal is going to be here the day after tomorrow anyway, we might as well wait.”

Drayton raises his hand eagerly.

“Yes, Drayton?”

“How hard would it be to get an autograph from Ryme?”

“...I'll talk to her.”

Kieran facepalms.

“I am reluctant to cast aspersions on you, but I would like to rule out any other, more…organic causes,” Amarys says. “Have you seen the nurse yet?”

“Yeah,” Juliana shrugs. “We got a clean bill of health for the most part. Nothing came up.”

“And you said you saw the painting blink at you.”

“I saw it blink too,” Lacey pipes up. “I was here when Art Club took it down last night.”

“While it is difficult for me to conceive the notion, the fact that there are three different eyewitness accounts indicates that there might be something going on,” Amarys notes. “Perhaps the involvement of a pokemon? It would not be the first documented occurrence of a pokemon arising from an inanimate object.”

Juliana thinks of the treasures of ruin and grimaces. There was a precedent. However… “I feel like if it was specifically a pokemon, Ryme would have said something too. She just said it was a curse.”

Amarys adjusts her glasses. “Yes…that curse you mentioned. So it is true then that you are not able to be apart from Kieran more than five feet or so, according to your report as well as Lacey's.”

Juliana nods.

“Personally, I'd love to see a demonstration,” Drayton says with a grin that would not be out of place on a Gengar. 

Lacey frowns. “I've already seen it happen. I don't know if we need to put them through that again.”

“Hey it's fine! I can catch Jules, no problem.”

Kieran glares, yellow irises flaring with a sudden intensity. “You're not laying a finger on her,” he utters menacingly.

Drayton's eyebrows fly up to his hairline. “Wow, if looks could kill,” he chuckles. “You wouldn't happen to be jealous now, would you? It's not like you're her boyfriend or anything.”

“It's not like you are either, you fool,” Kieran retorts, flushing up to the tips of his ears. Juliana buries her face in her hands.

Drayton pauses.

“What, Meowth got your tongue?”

Drayton stares. 

Wait wait wait, is that what this is about…

“ Drayton?” Lacey asks.

Recognition dawns on his face. His plan…he hadn't factored this in. This changed everything. Was there another way? Did she reciprocate?

“Arceus,” he breathes. 

“Don't leave us hanging,” Crispin says, “spit it out already!”

“I…no, it's nothing.” 

“Nothing my ass,” Kieran deadpans. “What are you not telling us?”

“Eh, it's not relevant.”

Amarys pinches the bridge of her nose, while flicking open her pocket watch. “Well that was an unfortunate use of time,” she sighs. “Anyway, it appears that while we were having this…conversation…we received an email from Shauntal.” 

Amarys turns her laptop for the others in the club room to see. 

Chapter Text

She isn’t supposed to be back on campus yet!

What happened??

Juliana stares in speechless horror at the doorway as Carmine gawks in consternation at the physical presence of her brother in the League Club room. In the flesh. It is a silent, three-way stand-off from which there is no return. From her peripheral vision, she can see Kieran mutely gaping at his sister. Juliana had warned him that Carmine would probably expect to meet up for dinner, and that they would probably have to fess up to her at that point. There would be no avoiding that conversation. 

But this was too soon.

“Uh…hey, Sis.” 

A chill runs down Juliana’s spine. A sliver of the old Kieran had slipped through the cracks out of sheer surprise. They are so utterly screwed.

“You’re…here! With everyone! And even Juliana too!" Carmine exclaims, appearing somewhat perplexed. She turns to Juliana. "Speaking of, are you feeling better after last night? It sounded like you had a stomach bug or something.”

“I…uh…mostly yes?” 

Drayton stares at Juliana. “Oh my Arceus…you didn’t tell her, did you? She doesn’t know—”

“I was going to tell her later,” she hisses in reply, “like tonight. I swear—”

“Tell me what.”

Juliana jolts in her seat as Carmine aims a terrifying death glare in her direction, fists clenched. 

“It's a little…strange. I was going to tell you tonight, really! I thought you would still be out with Ms. Briar running errands.”

“Oh, she called to tell me she was sick, I think there actually is a bug going around the school,” Carmine says. “But that's besides the point!!”

She storms up to Juliana. Her citrine eyes flit briefly, speculatively between her and Kieran before settling on the skittish girl in front of her. “You have ten seconds to tell me exactly what is going on here, that even this toothpaste-haired bozo—”

“Hey c'mon—”

“—knew before me, starting in ten—”

Juliana starts. “Wait—”

“—nine—”

“Okay fine! Kieran and I got cursed by a haunted painting that's going to be inspected on Monday and now we have to be within five feet of each other constantly or I'll pass out and he'll get a heart attack—”

“—eight, wait what?”

Kieran sighs, tugging at his lock of hair. “It's not a heart attack, you're being dramatic.”

“I don't think so, something’s going on there—”

“Wait wait wait,” Carmine interrupts, scrubbing at her face in frustration, “let's rewind it back here. Again, what?”

“We were cursed by a painting—”

“See? That's what I don't get. I heard correctly, right? A painting?”

“Yes, you did,” Amarys sighs.

“And….what? We're all just going to sit around talking about this like…like this is normal?”

“We were just discussing the situation before you came in, actually,” Lacey explains. “But when you put it that way…yes.”

Drayton snorts. “C'mon, Carmine. Your ace is literally a possessed teacup. Be more…open-minded,” he says, making a vaguely spooky, finger-wagging gesture with his hands.

“They're in a chawan, knucklehead,” she grates. “Also, Sinistcha is a pokemon.”

Lacey puts up her hands in a pacifying gesture. “I know it's a…strange…situation, but it's true. I've personally seen how it affects them.”

“...so how come you're all in the know then, and not me?”

“Only the Elite Four were CC'd to the original email. You see that blank space in the middle of the wall across from us?”

Carmine had noticed upon entering that the middle panel was strangely empty, especially in comparison with the adjacent panels with their respective paintings. It is even more glaringly obvious, now that she is purely focused on said wall. 

“Don't tell me that's where the painting was.”

“Correct,” Amarys notes. “It was originally lent to us by Art Club as part of a…renovation, but things did not go as anticipated. They apparently had found it in their storage, but otherwise they have no clue as to its origins.”

“This…this is crazy. You know that, right?” Carmine asks, wild-eyed. She turns her gaze on Juliana. “And you…I guess I kind of get it because this is all frankly insane, but still…why didn't you tell me?”

Juliana winces. “Well…I'm sorry. I just wanted to find the right way to tell you. This situation has kind of put me and Kieran into an…unusual…living arrangement.”

“An…unusual living arrangement? What does that—”

—and now we have to be within five feet of each other constantly—

Carmine short-circuits. 

“Wait…you…Kiki…”

Kieran's brain makes the leap from Point A to Point Z. He feels the beginnings of a flush creep up his neck. “Sis, it's not like that.”

“It's not like what? What were you thinking exactly, hmm?”

The room suddenly feels much warmer to Kieran. 

Carmine steps closer to her brother, reaching out for his wrist. “We need to have a family discussion,” she says briskly.

He quickly shifts away. “Shut it, Sis. I…can't leave her.”

“Don't give me that attitude! There's no need to be dramatic, Kiki.”

“He's being serious,” Juliana sighs wearily. “You two can leave the room, but I have to come with you.”

Carmine glances between the two of them. “You…you two really can't…”

They fall into a pensive silence. 

Carmine massages at her temple, willing the oncoming headache to subside. 

“Okay, we'll do this another way,” she huffs. “I'm sorry if this comes off as rude to everyone…”

Suddenly, Carmine breaks out into fluent Kantonian.

Juliana had never heard her speak Kantonian, even back when she was in Kitakami for her field trip. She had been aware that most people in Mossui spoke Galarian for the benefit of the tourists that came there, but she understood that their particular dialect of Kantonian was their primary language first and foremost. From what she had gleaned from Mr. Salvatore, each region had their own specific dialect of Kantonian. Hoennian, Sinnohan, Johtonian—the list went on. In fact, Kantonian was a misnomer carried over from Galarian-speaking regions. It would be more accurate to say Kitakamian, although the misnomer was so widespread that most people wouldn't understand anything else. 

Juliana had heard snippets of Kantonian being spoken in the background, when she was at the festival. But when Carmine spoke, she truly realized how rhythmic the language sounded. Juliana's own Galarian sounded brash to her ears, in comparison. 

And when Kieran hesitantly begins to speak back in Kantonian, Juliana is absolutely floored. 

“Sugu, is this for real? It's not some kind of joke just to get closer to her, is it?”

“...what? No! Why would I go through all this trouble? Don't be ridiculous.”

“Don't talk to me like that! I need to know. You're my brother but she's my friend. If you hurt her…”

“I would never do that.”

“Oh, I sense some anger here.”

“Shut up Drayton.”

“She says shut up,” Kieran supplies helpfully in Galarian.

“I figured.”

“Ah shit, I didn't realize. Anyway, Sugu, I'm just asking because I know things are kind of tense between you two, and as a petite girl in a guy's space, that puts her in a vulnerable position…”

“Again, I would never hurt her.”

“I thought you were mad at her?”

“Well…I am, but at the same time…there's more to it. Feelings that I have to sort out. I honestly don't know anymore.”

“Wait…do you like her??”

“What???”

“No way. Did you guys…do anything??”

“Wait wait wait stop that's not it, just stop talkin’ Nee-chan—”

“I should tell Ba-chan what you've been up to—”

“I've been up to nothin’, seriously. Nothin’ has happened. Just stop.”

“Sugu, if you're lying…”

“Please, can we talk about this another time? They're watchin’ us like we're performin’ a Kantonian soap opera for them in real-time.”

The two siblings pivot in place, abruptly aware of the eyes of multiple onlookers, observing them as if there were an active match on the field. 

“Okay you got me there. Lunch later?”

“Fine. Juliana has to do some paperwork here first.”

“Deal.”

“So, you guys really are stuck together at the hip now, huh?”

After assisting Lacey with League Club paperwork and filing, Juliana had left to obtain some food from the cafeteria with Kieran and Carmine. While Juliana usually opted to make her own meals due to the rather eclectic food options offered, Carmine’s peace overture had consisted of an all-expenses paid lunch, which was hard to resist. While she had been relatively healthy about her meal choices (it was difficult to eradicate her inner Arven voice, advocating for “fresh ingredients” and “eating your vegetables”), free food was free food. 

“I wouldn’t say we are ‘stuck at the hip’,” Juliana says, flushing slightly. “Five feet does give more leeway than one would think.” She stirs at her milkshake distractedly. Carmine could be pretty blunt sometimes. She hopes that her questioning won’t cross the line.

“Mmm,” Carmine says noncommittally. This worries Juliana more than anything. “And you two have been getting along okay? I didn’t realize you even talked to each other much to begin with, at least since Juliana has started attending the academy.”

Carmine had been on the nose about that much. They really hadn’t crossed paths much since she had started her tenure as an exchange student at Blueberry. She had been assigned to different classes from Kieran. The only times she had really had an opportunity to speak with him were when Drayton had roped her into the Elite Four challenges, and after she had defeated Amarys. Kieran’s approach after that battle had been the only indication that he was watching her progress from afar. While she had initially been despondent during her first couple of weeks at the academy—when it had become apparent that her friend appeared to be apathetic if not outright angry with her—she had felt somewhat better after forcing herself to spend more time with Carmine and getting to know the Elite Four members better. Juliana had kept her friends in Naranja updated as well, while they relayed school shenanigans that she had missed. In a moment of weakness, she had told them her story about Kieran, and now they just would not. Let. It. Go.

“It’s been fine,” Juliana blurts, out of fear that Kieran might utter something to the contrary. He had been, on the whole, helpful and a good listener. She had expected him to give her a hard time about her nightmares of Area Zero, but instead he had lent an ear when she needed it, and had ultimately accepted her story. But it was still difficult for her to get a read on him. There were times when he was awkward and unsure, times where he was prickly, and the nebulous, quiet in-between. And then there were the times he had held her hand. She tries to think of anything else, to quell the blush on her cheeks before it can fully manifest. 

“It’s been alright,” Kieran shrugs nonchalantly, eyes intently focused on his pizza. 

Carmine decides that getting answers from them is comparable to pulling teeth without anesthesia. 

Actions could speak as much as words, at any rate. The fact that her brother is here, in the school cafeteria, actually sitting down and eating with other people, makes her believe that she is either hallucinating or in an alternate dimension. If this is truly reality and not some elaborate scheme by a Mismagius or an Ultra Wormhole, she is just grateful that Kieran is actually eating a solid meal. 

“I have a question,” Juliana says, interrupting her train of thought. 

“Okay, shoot.”

“What's a…sugu?”

Carmine does a brief spit take of her udon broth, while Kieran chokes on a glob of cheese from his pizza slice. 

“What's so funny?” Juliana asks as Carmine doubles over, convulsing in silent laughter. “It came up a few times in your conversation in the club room, I was just curious.”

Carmine does her best to compose herself, wiping away at a few tears. “Oh man,” she wheezes. “Okay, sorry. Sugu is his name. Well, his nickname. His actual name is Suguri.” She gestures to her brother with a casual tilt of her head. 

Huh?

Juliana can feel the table vibrate slightly as Kieran aims a swift kick at Carmine's leg in retaliation. She blinks at the flustered look on his face. “Sis, you don't have to tell her…”

“It's common to have a Kantonian name given at birth, and a Galarian name that makes it easier to travel, work abroad, and talk to foreigners,” Carmine continues, ignoring her brother. “So if you think about it, his real name is Suguri.”

Suguri…

“And what's your name?” Juliana asks.

“Ah! Mine is Zeiyu.”

Juliana had grown used to seeing Carmine as Carmine, and Kieran as Kieran. However, she wants to try these new names on her tongue, especially if they are their real names. 

She tries to sound out the vowels.

“Su…gu…ri? Suguri.”

Kieran's eyes widen. His facial expression is nigh inscrutable, but the flush that wholly consumes his countenance is rather obvious. Juliana can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Oh sorry!” she apologizes, looking somewhat embarrassed. “Did I botch your name?”

“N-no, not at all,” he stammers. In fact, she had said his name pretty accurately. It had just felt strange to see his name—the name only his family and a smattering of Mossui residents had used—enunciated from her lips. Not even the BB Elite Four knew his real name; it had never really come up. He had wanted to blend in with the rest of the Unovans. But Juliana knows now. It feels…intimate, secretive. His stomach lurches at the thought. 

As his brain catches up with the continuing conversation, he overhears her practicing his sister’s name. Juliana notices his gaze and smiles.

“Which name do you prefer? Kieran or Suguri?”

He finds that both names sound melodic with her voice. He had never put much stock in a name, until he had found the right person to say his.

As Carmine begins her trek back to her dorm room, she feels a sudden tug at her elbow as an unknown force yanks her sideways into the adjacent corridor. She readies herself to initiate a seoi-nage out of sheer indignation, only for the culprit to hurriedly wave his arms in surrender. 

“What the—toothpaste-head?!”

“This is Dr. Toothpaste Head paging Dr. Carmine for a consultation, stat.”

“You knucklehead! I almost gave you a reason to actually see a doctor!” Carmine hisses. “What are you doing here skulking like a Seviper?”

“I do need a consultation, actually,” Drayton says breezily. “I require your…insight.”

“My insight for what??”

“Can we take this to a more private room?”

Carmine pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply. She could feel her patience quickly dissipating like an errant fart in the wind. “There's a couple of classrooms that hardly get used. They're down the hall and to the right. But if you try anything…”

“Whoa whoa, I'll be the perfect gentleman,” Drayton says hastily. “I call a truce.”

“Fine. Follow me.”

The two quickly exit the corridor, heading further down the long hallway before making a right turn into a dimly-lit section. Boxes and rolled-up posters line the hallways, forgotten and accumulating dust. They swiftly duck into one of the abandoned classrooms, before shutting the door behind them. 

Carmine leans against the doorframe, arms crossed sternly. “Okay, we're here. Now start talking.”

Drayton saunters over to the nearest desk, wiping dust from its surface with his forearm before taking a seat. 

“Only if you give me a gold star, Carmine-sensei.”

“You'll be seeing stars if you don't start talking soon.”

“So violent.”

His usual default expression of suppressed mirth slowly shifts into one of discontent. It is an expression that looks out of place on his features, to Carmine's emerging apprehension.

“I think I might have gone about this all the wrong way,” he sighs tiredly.

“What are you even talking about?”

“It's about Kieran.”

“You mean it's about whatever fishy scheme you've been concocting this entire time? The one that pulled my friend into all this BB League drama??” Was he only having regrets now??

“I had to do something,” he counters. “He was relentlessly pushing everyone around him. League membership numbers were plummeting, the new rules were ridiculous—”

Carmine clenches her fists. “So you roped Juliana into doing your dirty work? To what, dethrone him?”

“She's the only one that has a chance, right now,” he asserts. “When I heard her crazy backstory, how she's a Paldean Champion, I knew that someone could actually defeat him. The club could finally go back to normal, Carmine.” 

“You bozo, did you ever think about what would happen to Kiki if he lost?? Did you ever consider how he would feel? I hate to see him like this, but—”

“He was happier before, you know this too. Sure he had all the spine of a Wimpod before, but when it came to pokemon battling, I never saw so much joy in anyone's eyes as in his! I want him back, just as much as you do.” 

Carmine stares at him. Any semblance of jocularity has vanished. He is all sharp edges and clarity. She looks at him and sees a long line of Dragon tamers, something ancient and unrelenting. She shivers. 

“So that's really your whole plan, huh? Have Juliana defeat him…then what, she becomes Champion? Can exchange students even be Champions here?”

“Mmm…I admit I didn't think that far ahead.”

Carmine groans, shoving her face in her hands.

“Hey, look at it this way. Kieran would still be an Elite Four member. And he could always aim to be Champion again after he's had a wake up call and cleared his head. Unfortunately, Crispin would be demoted, but that's how the system works I suppose. If it means better vibes in the club…”

“You really don't think things through, huh…”

Wait.

Carmine's eyes light up in realization. She walks towards Drayton, comprehension dawning on her features. 

“You…you admitted that something’s wrong…something isn't going according to plan, is it?”

Drayton grimaces. “I wouldn't say it's that. I just didn't account for every factor. This is where you come in.”

“Oh? Okay then, tell me.”

“What happened between Kieran and Juliana? There's obviously some kind of history there.”

“And you didn't think to ask me about it before you put this whole insane plan into motion, huh?” she sighs.

Drayton rubs at his eyes wearily. “Okay, this is me admitting that I may have overlooked some important things…”

“May have—”

“So what is the deal between them?”

Carmine gives him a scrutinizing look. She sits down at the desk adjacent to him.

And she tells him everything. She tells him about the school field trip, the budding friendship between Kieran and Juliana, the night of the festival and their encounter with Ogerpon, her decision to conceal the truth. Her brother stealing the mask, his increasing rage, the resurrection of the Lousy Three, their madcap pursuit. It comes out in a torrent comparable to a Kitakami downpour. In a way, it had been the last day she saw her brother as she remembered him. 

When she finishes her tale, Drayton stares blankly at the dusty, neglected projector screen in front of him. Or rather, he stares through it. 

“Fuck.”

Huh?

Carmine starts. “What do you mean, ‘fuck’?? Don't just leave me hanging!”

“Don't tell me. How did you say Kieran reacted to Juliana again when they first met?”

“Arceus, I couldn't get him to shut up about her, even when we got home. He was all googly-eyed over her. Wouldn't stop staring at her at the festival, either.”

“Carmine Carmine Carmine.”

“What.”

“I can't believe I have to be the one to tell you this, but I have multiple reasons to believe that your brother's got it bad for Juliana.”

“Wait SERIOUSL—”

Drayton clamps his hand over her mouth. 

“Whamriph aryou—”

“Shhh shhh shhh, I know it's empty over here but you don't have to give our location away to the entire floor,” he huffs, amused. He removes his hand as Carmine sputters. 

“Blugh, hold up,” she interjects, flustered. “Even if he did before, you're saying he's still into her now? I mean, I have my suspicions too, but—”

“Look, it all makes sense now. I'm a guy, Carmine, I get it. He sees a girl that he really likes and he wants to puff out his chest, right? To prove himself, that he's worthy—I know I know, outdated, but for some it’s still a thing. But imagine this girl is like a mini hurricane in human form. For a quiet guy like your brother, that's gotta be hard to hold a candle to. That doesn't even include the decision you guys made to keep the Ogre under wraps. He probably took it to mean that she didn't value him enough to tell him the truth and he conflated that with being weak. So he puts everything into being the strongest there ever was. Juliana coming back is just icing on the cake. Sure, he’s probably still mad about the whole Ogre sitch, but it’s more than that now. He can finally see if he measures up. He wants her and he wants to be her.”

Drayton sucks in a deep breath. Pauses.

“Do you think he can really beat her?”

Carmine chews at her lower lip in thought. “I…don’t know to be honest. He’s…he’s a lot stronger than he used to be. He definitely has a chance, more than anyone here. If they do battle, it’s going to be one for the ages. But Juliana is even more powerful now. Her last battle with Lacey was honestly a little terrifying.”

Drayton rubs at the back of his neck. “I think…if she were to fight against Kieran and win, the fallout would be bad.” It would be worse than he had anticipated.

“Catastrophic,” Carmine adds monotonously, numb from the realization. 

He massages his forehead tiredly. There wasn't enough data to go off of to determine the outcome. Things were at a fifty fifty chance for the time being, and he didn't like those odds. As appealing as the idea of Kieran “eating humble pie” is, risking an implosion isn't ideal either. “Earlier, you said you have your suspicions, right?” Drayton asks. “If you share yours, I'll share mine.”

“When we were speaking Kantonian in the club room, Kiki said he was mad at her but that there were other feelings involved too, almost like he's confused. And he got super defensive when I told him not to hurt her either. If you ask me, he's swimming in denial river.”

“You missed this earlier, but he won't even let me get near her, like he's some kind of angry guard Stoutland. I gave him shit about being jealous and he didn't even deny it.”

“Good for him.”

“Hey, whose side are you on?” he pouts, mock-hurt. 

Carmine ignores him. “What do we do then? Do we just see what happens? Or deter her from finishing the challenges?”

That was the question. Juliana had already beaten three out of four Elite Four members. She is already effectively in the last one hundred meters of her metaphorical four hundred meter dash. Stopping her now would seem unnatural. But a new plan is beginning to percolate in Drayton's mind. He only needs to know one more thing.

“Do you know how Juliana feels about him?”

Carmine frowns. “I'm not sure. She does seem interested. Today in the club room, I caught her looking at him multiple times when she thought he wouldn't notice.”

“Hmm…I'd feel better with more information, but I say for now we form a collaborative partnership.”

“Don't you think you've done enough meddling to last a lifetime?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Drayton holds his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “I've done enough solo meddling. I have you this time to hold the reins. If it looks like things are going off the rails, you can call the shots and I'll go with what you say, promise.”

Carmine mulls over his words. She had her doubts. However, this did also give her the opportunity to keep an eye on Drayton to make sure that he wouldn't be up to more mischief. His planning had been somewhat heavy-handed and singularly-minded, in her opinion. However, she couldn't deny that he was uncannily observant. His assessment of Kieran had made an unfortunate amount of sense, much to her chagrin. 

“Okay, fine, I'm in. What do you need from me?”

“If you can pick Juliana’s brain about Kieran, that’d be great. I can't even go near her without his hackles rising.”

“How am I supposed to do that when they're constantly within hearing range of each other??” she hisses. “It’s not like I can speak to her in another language that Kiki can't understand.”

“I’m sure you can get creative,” he waves offhandedly. “Maybe you can text her while she's taking a piss or something.”

“...you're the worst.”

“Hey, don't flatter me too much now.”

“How come you hide your accent?” Juliana murmurs drowsily.

Kieran’s pen clatters on his desk.

They had spent the rest of the afternoon searching the internet for any information regarding the ghost sightings mentioned by Shauntal. The only thing they had found so far was a blog post by a backpacker who had gone to Reversal Mountain for a “haunted house” livestream. The house itself appeared to be a large, adobe-style home constructed with clay and wooden support beams. The interior was spacious, but had clearly fallen into disrepair—the walls were peeling, and floor tiles were chipped or missing. Clearly, no one had lived there for a long time. There were various snapshots of books contained within a basement library, documenting information regarding pokemon related to sleep—Cresselia, the Drowzee line, Darkrai. One poorly lit snapshot showed a paragraph about a Hypno who had once taken a child away. Other excerpts included paragraphs on abilities and moves, such as Forewarn and Dream Eater. A comments section had contained a spirited conversation about what had possibly occurred there—rumors of a girl in a coma, the involvement of pokemon such as Hypno or Darkrai. 

However, there had been one thing that had caught their attention. The blogger had posted a few pictures of photos and paintings scattered throughout the abandoned home. These included family photos, which contained a girl hugging an Abra.

The girl was clearly a brunette. Dark brown hair, brown eyes. She had looked nothing like the girl in the club room painting. 

After the initial surge of disappointment upon the discovery, Juliana had begun a half-hearted attempt at a search on the Lumiose City ghost, before conceding temporary defeat. She still had reports that were due, not to mention that she needed to catch up on readings for her new course schedule. As of Monday, she would be in Kieran’s and Crispin’s class. 

Kieran had quietly offered her his syllabi and class schedules as a reference. Juliana still couldn’t tell whether he was sullen and annoyed with her or just exhausted from chronic sleep deprivation, but he did seem much less hostile and guarded than he had been the previous day. This was a win in Juliana’s book, if anything. He had even offered to use his BP to pay for sandwich ingredients, stating that he felt bad about using up her food stores. 

This is how they had found themselves in the dorms (once again, in Kieran’s room), working to complete their assignments. As it neared midnight, Juliana had decided to tap out, this time in her sleeping bag. She had insisted that Kieran claim the bed once he finished taking notes.

However, actually falling asleep is another matter entirely.

Kieran tries to repeat her question in his head. 

She had noticed that he was suppressing his accent? Since when?

“Look…I grew up in Kitakami, and people talk differently there,” Kieran begins hesitantly. It was more than that. The Kitakamian dialect or Kitakami-ben had the reputation for being the most difficult one to understand. The more “urbanite” Kantonian residents had a tendency to consider Kitakami-ben as a dialect for “country bumpkins” who slurred their words. “I spoke differently than the other kids here, and they noticed right away. Carmine hadn’t told me that she changed the way she spoke when she was away from home…”

Now that Juliana thought about it, Carmine really did speak differently than her brother. She had never delved into why that was the case, though.

“That’s not fair, though,” Juliana frowns. “You shouldn’t have to hide who you are, it’s part of your identity…”

He sighs. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re at one of the top tier, elite schools in Unova. Gym leaders send their kids here to learn the ropes, with the goal of havin’ them take over when they’re ready. People with connections come here—Pokestar Studios, high-end restaurants, Castelia corporations. It’s nepotism all the way down. The way I talked put a target sign on my back, sayin’ ‘kick me.’ Pride in identity won’t help ya here. My sis got protective of me, but I—”

I hated it. Hiding behind my sister. I was so weak. Everyone knew. 

The sad look that Juliana aims in his direction is a bullet punch to the gut.

“How did you and Carmine end up here, if you don't mind me asking?” she queries softly.

“Scholarship. Ms. Briar was in Kitakami researchin’ Terastal phenomena and had a special interest in our local water, but if ya haven't noticed, some people are wary of outsiders. She pulled some strings with Cyrano as a faculty member to introduce a scholarship for Kitakami folks. The Caretaker and the rest warmed up to her more after that, and we both got accepted.”

Things clicked into place for Juliana. Carmine had mentioned something about her school attendance being tied to her research work with Ms. Briar, in addition to maintaining her grades. Maybe those were her scholarship requirements.

“That's amazing,” Juliana murmurs, her voice dwindling into a drowsy rasp. “It sounds like you both put hard work into coming here.”

“Yeah…” More than she could ever know. “Anyway, in this school, strength speaks for ya. So, why are ya askin’ about my accent?”

“I dunno…I guess I missed it? I notice it comes back out sometimes when it's just us, and it's…nice.”

He stares at her, baffled. “Wh-what? Why?”

Juliana blinks back at him sleepily. “Hmm…I guess because it’s…well, it's you.”

Kieran's cortical circuitry seizes to function. 

Because it's…me? What does that even mean? 

He wants nothing more in that moment than to get an inside peek into Juliana's brain, to see what's really going on in there. The possibilities run rampant in his mind, driving him mad. Filling him with hope.

Was the guy her friend had referred to in her text messages…

Is the guy me??

Kieran stops that thought process in its tracks, his heart hammering in his chest. Why did it even matter if the guy they were talking about was him? Why did it matter what he meant to her? It's not like he—

Like I…

Like her?

It was normal to think about your rival a lot, right? After all, rivals drive you to become a stronger, better version of yourself. And it was normal to feel tingling down your spine, for your stomach to do a backflip when someone called you a friend. Friends are important. So are rivals. Friendivals. Sure, Juliana happened to be pretty. It was purely a coincidence that she could be considered attractive, with her warm eyes, radiant smile, quirky mannerisms, unusual accent—a Galarian lilt with hints of Paldean slipping in. 

The very nature of being a rival is that sometimes, you think about them—a lot. You think about their strength, their power, their finesse. You think about the conversations you have with them—so you can learn about any weak points, of course. You occasionally think about what their other weaknesses could be, just to be thorough. What it would be like to cause their knees to buckle, to elicit a reaction that would leave them shivering, desperate and exposed; to make her breath hitch from touches that render her nerves into electricity, in the same way that her touch left its mark on you, because that will show her—

Oh. 

Oh.

Oh no.

“Hey, are you okay? You’ve been just…staring.”

Oh no no no. 

“I…I’m fine. Sorry.”

You are not fine.

Your name is Kieran—Suguri—and you have just realized that you had fallen for your rival a long time ago.

Chapter Text

Kieran had not slept all night.

It wasn't for lack of trying. For once, he had decided to put his study notes away early. Seeing Juliana sleeping had some sort of peculiar mirror neuron effect, that in turn had caused him to initially feel drowsiness encroach on him. However, once he had awkwardly side-hopped over her sleeping bag into his bed, he immediately felt wide awake. 

Her scent from her stay the previous night had seeped its way into his bedsheets on an atomic scale, and it was doing unprecedented things to his freshly unhinged, hormonal brain. His accidental breakthrough had horrendous timing. 

I have had a massive crush on my rival for almost a year, and she's right next to me. 

It didn't matter that she was on the floor, in her sleeping bag. Suddenly, he became very acutely aware of her light breathing as a steady rhythm. If she woke up from another nightmare and asked for his hand, he wasn't sure if he wouldn't become a clammy, horrible mess. 

This was made further complicated by the fact that deep down, he knew he still felt some resentment towards her. None of this made sense to him. If she didn’t feel that it was important to tell him the truth about her encounter with Ogerpon—if she lied to him—then why did he still have these…feelings? Weren’t friendships—let alone relationships—forged on trust and communication? She knew how much Ogerpon meant to him. The story of the Ogre had boosted his morale during some of the lower points in his life. Then why did he feel this way? 

The more he thought about it, the more something wasn’t adding up. If he were to temporarily ignore what happened with Ogerpon (as absurd as this thought exercise felt), all signs seemed to point in the opposite direction. For some unfathomable reason, she actually appeared to genuinely enjoy his company. He didn’t consider himself to be a ray of sunshine by any means, but she almost appeared to be ebullient when they were discussing foods they missed back home over their shared sandwiches, or music artists over breakfast. She seemed relatively forthcoming, to an alarming extent (he still hadn't quite believed that she had really asked if there was a body in his room). His pokemon were also rather fond of her, when they were picnicking the other night. And, against all rational thought, she apparently liked how he really spoke. He had found that he had become proficient at sounding “normal” like the other kids at school, almost to the point of being at his sister’s level. But he hadn’t realized how liberating it was to just…let go and not have to try. It was one less thing he would have to keep track of, at least around her.

It felt as if he did not have the entire story, as if he were missing a crucial piece of the puzzle that was Juliana, that was that Arceus-forsaken field trip ages ago. However, he didn’t want to stir the proverbial pot when they were stuck together like this. Things would already be challenging enough as is, trying to navigate their arrangement without him slipping up or experiencing palpitations the moment she touched him. 

This would be a complete disaster if they didn’t resolve the curse soon. Being in close proximity to Juliana after his abrupt realization was a brand new kind of torment—torturous in part because he was reeling with the absurd hope that she reciprocated, and in part because he would have to conceal his feelings day in and day out, with barely any reprieve. It would be a different, more humiliating kind of torment if she didn’t return his feelings and spent the rest of their time together aiming pitying looks in his direction, or doing her best to ignore him altogether. He wasn't entirely sure if he would be able to endure that. 

To wile away the hours, he attempted to get ahead on his Battle Theory assignment regarding utility moves, specifically setup-moves when paired synergistically with a partner utilizing redirection and Protect. While this would normally be doable on any other night, his attention was continually drawn back to the girl in the sleeping bag by his bed. Her lingering scent kept evading his senses, tricking his brain into thinking that she was laying right next to him instead. He had an unusually keen sense of smell for as long as he could remember. This same ability was now backfiring tremendously. He honestly didn't know whether he would die on the spot or ascend into another dimensional plane if Juliana ever had to share his bed with him. He heavily suspected that he would have to write an obituary for himself in advance, before undergoing spontaneous combustion. 

Having finally given up on classwork, he overrode his initial feelings of guilt at “being a creep” before rolling on his side to gaze at her face. It was a rare opportunity to look at her without having to feign nonchalance or quickly glance away. Juliana had a smattering of freckles that dusted her cheeks, remnants of a life of sun exposure in Paldea. Her dark, downcast lashes matched the curtain of hair that spilled over an exposed clavicle, from the loose boat neck of her oversized sleep shirt sliding down her shoulder. He found himself automatically drawn to her slightly parted lips before he tore his gaze away, heat rapidly rushing to his face. He forced himself to stare at the cheerfully blank and mundane ceiling instead.

By the time that the artificial dawn lighting had begun to creep up on the LED windows, he knew that it was too late to get any meaningful, restful sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time that he had pulled an all-nighter by any means. He found that he could get by up to a certain point with sleep deprivation. It wasn’t anything that a cold shower and some caffeine couldn’t take care of.

“Oh wow, you look terrible.”

Juliana props herself up from her sleeping bag on the floor. Kieran lays on top of the duvet, staring at the ceiling. The bags around his eyes have gotten perceptibly worse. 

“Thanks,” he rasps, voice cracking in the process.

“What happened? When did you go to sleep last night?”

I…didn’t? “Maybe a quarter to one,” he says. At least, that’s when he had laid down.

“Geez…rough night?” she asks sympathetically.

You don’t know the half of it.

“Eh, yeah kinda. No nightmares for ya at least?”

She stretches her arms above her head, arching her back to initiate a small sequence of cracks down her spine. Kieran watches her in mute fascination. 

“Yeah, I actually had a good dream this time. Sorry to hear about your night though. Did you wanna talk about it?”

How I couldn't fall asleep because of my recent discovery that I have had a crush on you for at least several months now, so I decided to stare at your sleeping face instead? Pass. 

“It’s alright,” he mumbles, waving it off. “I'm glad one of us got some sleep at least.”

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, setting his feet down just past the sleeping bag. “Mind if I go first for the shower today?”

“Help yourself.” She gestures to the bathroom with an overly dramatic flourish and a bow. Arceus forbid she go a single day without some form of strange theatrics. 

Kieran rolls his eyes as he rummages through a drawer, his vision still bleary from exhaustion. He attempts to fight through the brain fog as he grabs what looks like a pair of sweatpants and boxers before he makes his way to the bathroom, Juliana obligatorily trailing behind him. As he closes the door, he catches a glimpse of her scrolling through her Rotom phone. 

As he tosses his previous clothes in the hamper, removes his hair tie, and cranks the dial of the shower, he has a nagging feeling that he has forgotten something important. The natural conclusion to this nagging feeling hits him as he washes out the last remnants of shampoo from his hair.

A shirt. Great.

He had only grabbed pants.

I guess I’m still kinda acclimating to living with someone, he thinks to himself, internally sighing. He had been accustomed to the privacy of his dorm room for too long. 

Kieran tiredly finishes the rest of his shower, toweling off his hair before throwing on the pair of pants. He admittedly feels somewhat self-conscious, but he could quickly grab a shirt from his dresser and anyway, it wasn’t quite as scandalous for guys to go shirtless, right? Male students would sometimes do that in the shared student gym anyway, although it was usually for the purpose of showboating and typical school tomfoolery.

He opens the door.

“Sorry, gotta grab a shirt, I forgot.”

He finds Juliana staring at him, doing an impressively accurate facial rendition of a Magikarp. 

“Uh…are you okay?” he asks tentatively, mildly spooked.

She starts, her brain blinking into wakefulness as she precariously reboots. “Oh…er, yeah, feeling pecha, thanks. Uh, proceed as you were.”

Well, that was weird.

He finds that it begins to only get weirder with each passing second. 

As he turns towards his dresser and approaches it, he hears a resounding thwump and the clattering of miscellaneous objects, followed by a muffled hiss. A warning twinge in his sternum indicates that Juliana has fallen behind.

“Are…ya sure you’re okay?”

He turns around to find her nursing a stubbed toe, along with an overturned box of empty wrappers and a package of chocolates knocked onto the floor. 

“Yeah! Uh, sorry, just being daft, don't mind me.”

A surge of guilt and embarrassment floods him. “I'm sorry, I shoulda cleaned that up yesterday. It's not fair for ya to put up with this. I'll take care of it after.”

“No no! This was totally me. Just not looking where I'm going.”

“Okay, well…uh, I just gotta get to the dresser…”

He makes the final steps over, only to hear the stumbling of feet followed by a large thump.

The subsequent, hair-raisingly vulgar epithet that issues from behind him would make Giratina weep. Kieran stops in his tracks, torn between mild horror and moderately impressed awe. He glances over his shoulder.

Juliana has fallen face first on the floor. 

“Wowzers I—are you okay??” He pivots to crouch by her. As she pushes herself upright, he instinctively reaches out to give her a boost out of panic, only to find that she is burning. Her face is tamato berry red up to the tips of her ears.

“Do y’have a fever?” he asks, alarmed.

“No!” she squeaks, voice strangled. She jolts upright, swaying in place unsteadily. 

“Are you sure? We can go to the nurse if ya need to.”

“Nonono I'm downright chuffed really. No need. I'm doing bloody great. Fantastic.”

“You…just fell on your face.”

“It's part of my charm.”

This is entirely too strange. 

“I…uh, okay,” Kieran says, getting the distinct feeling that they've veered into some bizarre, uncharted territory. “Well, uh. Let me just grab this for a sec.”

He leans over to open a drawer and take out a tank top, which he promptly pulls over his head.

To his marvelment, this action seems to cause her fever to abate. He can’t really fathom why. However, as they proceed with the rest of their routine, he notes that something is off. Juliana spends the rest of the morning with a vaguely haunted expression on her face, as if she has stumbled upon something profound. She misses her teacup twice when pouring, spilling boiling tea onto the kitchenette counter. When she is in the process of cautiously slapping together a classic bocadillo for their breakfast, there is no peculiar ragtime piano music issuing from Arceus knows where—only the resounding, deafening silence that comes with an existential crisis. 

Juliana belatedly realizes that she has tossed her bread frisbee onto a floor already festooned with empty wrappers, thanks to her brain deciding that it was mission critical for her to stare at her friend’s back rather than the floor in front of her. She absentmindedly summons her companion and lizard-shaped garbage disposal, only to realize that the close quarters of Kieran's dorm room isn’t really the best place to do so. Kieran yelps in surprise as she lets out a slightly undignified scream—from a situation of her own making, no less. In a split second, Koraidon gobbles up the bread without even chewing, before he is swiftly summoned back into his Poke Ball. She stares in silent horror at the disaster zone that is now his floor, before she reaches for her teacup without averting her gaze and chugs the entirety of its scalding, caffeinated contents down her throat. 

“You’re makin’ me worried,” Kieran says. He doesn’t quite understand why, but somehow he feels like he has broken her. 

Juliana doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

After breakfast, they spend the rest of the morning cleaning up the surrounding area, to the companionable, dulcet tones of Piers’ Go Suck a Wiglett Chairman Rose.

“Hey Juliana, you got any extra pads?”

Kieran thought that his day couldn’t get any weirder.

His sister is here, at his front door, asking for menstrual products.

Kieran isn’t a complete stranger to the concept. Living with a sister in a shared bathroom back home meant that there was a statistically high probability that at some point, one will run into a box of pads in a drawer or on the counter. It happens. He never had to talk about it, thankfully, but it was a reality. 

As far as he knew though, she had never had to ask another girl for some. It was one of those things that she was relatively on point about. Carmine could be incredibly pushy, but she usually had her Duckletts lined up in a row.

Why couldn’t she just ask Amarys or Lacey? Who were both on the girls’ floor?

“I…uh, yeah. I should?” Juliana says, bewildered. “I’ll be back.” She turns to walk over to her rucksack, Kieran walking behind her. His sister follows them further inside the room.

“Huh! This place is looking…better!” she observes with mild surprise. “You cleaned up a bit?” Carmine had only caught a glimpse of Kieran’s room a couple of times, when he had been deep into the beginning of his training phase. At the time, his response to her mortified shock at the state of his room had been to slam the door in her face.

“Ah…yeah, my pokemon got out,” Juliana says vaguely. “It was a good time to clean, anyway.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She digs into a rucksack pocket, brushing against one of the pads she keeps with her in case of emergencies. Juliana walks back to Carmine, while Kieran does his best to politely look away and mind his own business. He suddenly appears to be fascinated with the brown, decayed husk that used to be his houseplant. 

“Here you go.”

“Thanks Juliana, you’re a real one.” 

As Carmine receives the pad, she quickly shoves a crumpled note into Juliana’s proffered hand, making a peculiar face at her before waving and walking out the door. Before Kieran can notice, she quickly unfolds the paper, skims its contents, and crumples it further before casually sticking her hands in her pockets.

Text me when Kieran’s not looking at your phone, when you get the chance

“Well that was odd,” Juliana says to no one in particular.

“Yeah, agreed.”

One thing that Juliana had not accounted for was the rain. 

The Politoed on Kieran's team was new to her. She remembered him from the previous picnic, but she had recalled Kieran using a Poliwhirl with Water Absorb in the past. Juliana recalled that generally, Politoeds were either capable of restoring their health when hit with water-type moves, or they could dampen their surroundings to prevent self-destructing moves by their opponents. However, she had once overheard that in rare instances, they were also capable of summoning rain.

She had just forgotten, conveniently. Until now. 

When Juliana found out that Kieran wanted to train in the Savanna Biome today, she figured that dressing light was the best option. The League Club uniform was the most breathable school-approved attire for the hot, arid climate, so she figured that would do. An outing in the Terarium would also provide the perfect distraction: Kieran would be so preoccupied with training that it would give her the perfect opportunity to send some texts to Carmine, unnoticed. 

When Kieran settles for an open stretch of grassland and begins drills with his Politoed, the initial drizzle takes her by surprise. 

But what really takes her off guard is the subsequent, sudden downpour.

This isn't a drizzle. What the fuck.

It is dumping rain profusely. She suddenly realizes how lucky she was that Kieran had decided against utilizing Politoed's Drizzle during her picnic. Soggy sandwiches are a huge bummer. 

Out in the open, bleached grasslands, there isn't too much in the way of cover. Trees are few and far between. He's facing the opposite direction right now and part of her wants to draw his attention, but the other part of her stops herself in her tracks. This is her chance to finally text his sister. What was the harm in some rain? She had been through worse before. Sure, white is a frankly terrible choice to wear in this situation, but now she knows. Juliana foresees a future of shirts with dark colors.

She tucks her knees to her chest in an effort to make herself small, as she texts Carmine.

Juliana (13:32): hey, I'm free for now. He's training atm. What's up?

Carmine (13:33): oh, good! okay

Carmine (13:33): I've been meaning to ask

Carmine (13:34): what do you think about Kiki

Juliana (13:37): I think he needs to eat more real food

Juliana (13:37): and sleep

Carmine (13:37): true

Carmine (13:37): but also totally not what I mean!!!

Carmine (13:38): I mean, do you like Kiki

Carmine (13:38): as more than a friend, in case that wasn't obvious

Carmine (13:38): and don't you dare ghost me

Juliana (13:41): I can neither confirm nor deny

Carmine (13:41): is that a yes???

Carmine (13:41): look, how much BP

Juliana (13:42): are you…bribing me???

Carmine (13:42): 500 BP

Juliana (13:43): 2000 BP

Carmine (13:43): what??? Can you do that??

Carmine (13:43): why is this a negotiation now

Juliana (13:43): 2500 BP

Carmine (13:44): you don't go higher!!!

Juliana (13:44): Larry told me to research industry benchmarks and competing offers before asking for the top of your range

Carmine (13:44): who the fuck is Larry

Juliana (13:45): the exceptional everyman

Juliana (13:45): he also told me that a nice squeeze of lemon gives any dish a refreshing kick

Carmine (13:45): what

Carmine (13:46): okay wait no. BP salary is non-negotiable

Carmine (13:46): BACK TO THE POINT

Carmine (13:46): how are you even doing this

Juliana (13:46): doing what

Carmine (13:47): do you like Kiki

Juliana’s pulse thrums in her ears, drowning out all background noise. The rush of blood to her head sends her reeling, digging her nails into her palms to steady herself. 

I don't deserve it. Not after Ogerpon. Not after I dragged him into this. If I hadn't messed with the club room…

It's all my fault. 

Longing is an old friend to her, a friend that she repeatedly cancels lunch dates with due self-sabotage and a compulsion to put too many obligations on personal calendars. She knows that if she gives her longing so much as the time of day, she will lose any last vestige of her self control.

However, she also knows that Carmine has the stubbornness and tenacity of a pissed off Poochyena. She has the distinct feeling that she isn't getting out of this in one piece.

Juliana (13:49): it doesn't matter

Carmine (13:49): ???

Juliana (13:49): I already messed up

Carmine (13:49): what do you mean by that

Juliana (13:50): the whole Ogerpon thing?

Juliana (13:50): and if I hadn't changed the clubroom we wouldn't be in this situation

Carmine (13:50): how could you've known about that painting being haunted???

Carmine (13:50): that's not on you

Carmine (13:50): it's absurd to begin with

Carmine (13:51): don't feel bad about it

Carmine (13:51): also the Ogerpon situation became A Thing only because I said to keep her a secret

Juliana (13:51): still, I was an accomplice, an aider and abettor  

Carmine (13:51): girl, we didn't commit a crime

Juliana (13:52): I committed involuntary manslaughter of his dreams :(

Carmine (13:52): that doesn't make sense!!!

Carmine (13:52): look, Sugu needs to learn that sometimes, not everything goes your way. I know he can be a sore loser but

Carmine (13:52): wait

Carmine (13:53): when you say it doesn't matter, do you mean even if you do like him, it doesn't matter???

Carmine (13:53): so you do like him??? 

At this moment, as if through divine, Arcean intervention, Juliana's Rotom phone buzzes. The telltale sign of an incoming video call floods the screen before her, with an icon of a cheerful Sylveon in the middle. 

Penny?? 

You bloody Arceussend. I could kiss you right now

Juliana (13:53): sorry I gotta take this call, later

Carmine (13:53): huh???

Juliana deftly presses the answer call button.

Going through drills and strategies usually gave Kieran a much-needed reprieve. 

Things boiled down to basic heuristics: speed control, defensive pivoting, identifying opponents with the potential to redirect, having the right items on hand. It was a sort of clinical analysis that became a reassuring anchor, in the days where he became consumed by the tumultuous feelings that he was usually saddled with. His grandfather had once mentioned that he was rather sensitive, could intuit things with ease, and Kieran found this statement to be regrettably true in many ways. When left to his own devices, he felt things with an intensity that sometimes managed to startle himself. 

To his utmost reluctance, he could also be quite sentimental. He had once spent the excruciating entirety of a night attempting to throw away his Ogerpon mask that he had worn at the festival with Juliana. That night had ended with him in tears, relegating the mask to the corner of his room. He couldn't bring himself to do it. 

Focusing on the logistics of battling seemingly ignited another part of his brain altogether, redirecting his natural intensity to a different end result while providing a mercifully numbing balm to the side of him that felt untameable. He didn't have to linger on the painful “what-ifs” of his memories. He could hone and improve himself, he and his pokemon could get stronger. He would improve the League Club while he was at it. He would show them all. That he could be enough.

Better. Sharper. Stronger.

Like her.

But why? Why?

Because being nice never did you any favors.

Focus.

Politoed could set up rain so Dragonite could run with Hurricane and Thunder. Weather Ball would become a water-type move that doubles in power. Of course, an opponent could take advantage of the rain to fire off a Thunder of their own, but a wacan berry could reduce the damage from that. His own Grimmsnarl was capable of providing support with his Prankster ability and defensive screens, although he was deliberating whether to sacrifice a move for taunt or a form of speed control. There were still a few things he could adjust and tweak as needed. 

At any rate, with his weather strategy, he knew that he also had the advantage of surprise. Drizzle wasn't an ability that one came across on an average day. 

Speaking of.

His ears perk up as he hears the familiar ringing sound of a Rotom phone, followed by a cheery “Hey Pen! Long time no see.”

“Holy shite, you're drenched! Where the fuck are you??”

Kieran swivels in place to face the voices. 

Juliana is soaked.

He had forgotten that she had chosen to wear the League Club tank top today, which was primarily white. Politoed's ability had thoroughly doused her, plastering the thin fabric to her skin and rendering it translucent. She sits on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest as she looks sheepishly at her Rotom phone. It had mostly drenched her back, where he can clearly see the band and clasps of her bra, the definition of her shoulder blades. Residual rainwater drips from her braid onto the front of her tank top, which clings to the swell of her breasts in a way that is seared like a firebrand into the sluggish morass that has become Kieran's brain. He wants to scream while simultaneously thanking Arceus that he chose his baggiest set of sweatpants this morning.

He does the first thing he can think of.

He rips off his blazer and flings it at her at point-blank range. 

“Ow!! Why??”

“You didn't think to wear somethin’ else today??” Kieran exclaims hoarsely. 

“I thought your Politoed knew Water Absorb!” Juliana counters, flushed and wild-eyed. “Isn't he your Poliwhirl from before??”

“That was a different Poliwhirl, who's a Poliwrath now by the way! This is a different one, I used an ability patch on him!” 

She still remembers, after all this time??

Juliana scrambles to shove her arms into the inviting warmth of his blazer. “How was I supposed to know?? I didn't know you'd have a portable monsoon at your disposal!”

“Why don't ya try preparin’ for the unexpected next time? Isn't the League uniform a little too revealin’ anyway??”

“What?? Am I too distracting for you??”

Kieran flounders helplessly before fixing his gaze on the Terarium Core above them. “I—yes???”

During the entirety of this exchange, Penny sits in the comfort of her dimly-lit dorm room back in Naranja, frozen in stunned shock at the display before her, chopsticks poised at the ready with a steaming heap of cup ramen left forgotten. Giacomo sits further behind her, gaping silently. He had decided to burst into Penny's room earlier, with a modest amount of fanfare (“Momo, you can't keep busting in here playing the Vordt of the Boreal Valley OST just so you can hear me say ‘why do I hear boss music’ every time you come in here.” “I can and I will”).

Penny stares at the chaotic tableau on her screen. The frantic yelling, the furious blushing. Suddenly, she sees a lanky, male student with tied back hair and a soggy, red tank top crane forward to peer at the screen curiously. His brows seem to raise in recognition. Penny can safely say that she has never seen this person before, which further adds to the confusion. But she has a guess. 

Based on her friend's reaction to the guy, as well as his general description, there is a high likelihood that he is the one Juliana kept talking about. The guy she had met on her field trip, during a time before she had disbanded Team Star. Penny doesn't consider herself to be well-versed in the art of relations with 3D people by any means. She has never pretended to be. However, as an acutely self-aware introvert, she knows when she sees one of her own. She gets the nagging feeling that they have more in common than one would like to admit. It is difficult to see how this will factor in, but what Penny does know is that she knows how to proceed. 

“Uh…hey there. I'm Penny. Are you one of Juli's friends?”

This garners a particularly notable reaction. Penny had thought this to be a basic question. The conflicting maelstrom of expressions on his face suggests otherwise, with the overall weather forecast being “it's complicated with a chance of scattered showers.”

“He's the friend I met on that Kitakami trip some months back, along with Carmine,” Juliana replies in his stead.

This confirms Penny's initial suspicions.

If that's the case, then he has to be Juli's—

“I—sorry, yeah. What Juliana said. I'm Kieran.” 

Kieran recognizes Penny.

Not just from the various selfies that Juliana had shown him the night before, to verify Nemona’s and Arven’s identities. Sure, those had included the bespectacled girl who he now sees on the Rotom screen before him. Juliana had pointed out Penny to him, even though he hadn’t recalled seeing her in one of their shared memories. 

But the moment he spots her on the video call, he remembers.

H-hello…I’m Penny…from the supply unit.

I’m the big boss of Team Star. The name’s Cassiopeia—no…Penny!

They’re my greatest treasure.

Hasta la vistar... ☆

What?

He definitely hadn’t any recollection of this…Penny…from before. Of course, the memories generally came in the form of unconnected bits and pieces. This is still the case here. It does not feel new though. More as if he is stirring from some kind of dormant slumber. As if they had always been there. 

Still, it is nothing clear-cut. It feels more aggravating than anything, snapshots with no other data given, no timeframe, nothing. There is a vaguely nagging feeling. What even is Team Star? She’s the boss of some kind of team? All that comes to mind is what Juliana had debriefed him on—that she’s some kind of hacker who managed to steal Paldea’s equivalent of BP to fund Juliana’s endeavors, currently on volunteer engineer duty for the Paldean Pokemon League. Good with technology.

There are a lot of questions that Kieran could ask. Ones that could potentially bear fruitful conversations of an intellectual nature.

“What the fuck is hasta la vistar?” he asks instead.

Juliana stares at him. 

Penny’s chopsticks fall from her limp fingers to clatter uselessly on her desk.

“So…uh, you told him about Team Star then?” Giacomo asks, more confused than anything. 

Juliana attempts to say something, futilely opening and closing her mouth shut. She hadn’t told Kieran about Operation Starfall at all. With everything going on, there hadn’t really been enough time, and it had been low on the priority list.

“I’ll…explain in a bit,” she says lamely, her mind racing. A new memory? Or one he hadn't thought to mention before?

“And what is Team Star? That how you guys met?” Kieran continues to ask, baffled. Between Penny’s dual-toned, dyed locks and cybercrime history, and her companion’s streetwear and professional DJ-level Sennheiser headphones, the duo doesn't exactly strike Kieran as the crowd he initially imagined Juliana would hang out with. He had envisioned her as more of a prep, although he's beginning to think that it was more due to her “posh” accent and the aesthetic of her Naranja Academy uniform. 

Penny has the bewildered look of someone who is having a completely different conversation than the one that is at play. “I…what’s happening, Juli?” 

“Arceus on a turbocharged bike,” Juliana says with feeling. “Okay. If you fill him in, I’ll fill you in. It’s been a wild last few days, Pen.”

“I can help too,” Giacomo chimes in, curiosity apparent in his features. “Ah, the name’s Giacomo, by the way. At the deck, I go by DJ Vice. Call me whichever, it’s a vibe either way.”

Giacomo?

“You’re…you’re on Juliana’s Chatotify,” Kieran says. 

Giacomo looks pleased, like a Meowth who got the cream. “Oh yeah? The lofi beats are pretty chill, right? Been nice to have them while gettin’ back into studying. Anyway, any friend of Juli’s and Penny’s is a friend of mine. Nice to meet you, man.”

There’s something disarming about Giacomo, Kieran decides. His body language indicates a laid-back disposition. However, he can detect a hint of something sharp and calculating underneath it all. 

He nods back in acknowledgement.

“Ah yeah, as for ‘hasta la vistar’,” Penny interjects, “um, ‘hasta la vista’ is Paldean for ‘see you later.’ You add the star in as a pun. We thought of the catchphrase ourselves. It’s so cringe that it loops back around to perfection.”

“Hasta…la vistar…” Kieran sounds out, hesitantly. 

“Hey you got it!” Giacomo says. “One. Of. Us.”

Penny punches him in the shoulder.

“Don’t mess with STEM students!” he wails in mock agony as the girl beside him buries her face in her hands. 

“So yeah, this is Penny and Giacomo,” Juliana says offhandedly, as if this explains everything.

It does not.

“Ahem.” Penny clears her throat, attempting to re-rail their previously derailed conversation. “So you want to know about how we met and Team Star. I guess I’d have to start from the beginning, about…wow, two years ago now?”

Giacomo stares contemplatively at the ceiling. “Yeah, damn, you’re right. About two years now.”

“Basically, there used to be a lot of bullying going on in Naranja. What makes it worse is that students of all ages get accepted here, so there’s a huge power differential between older and younger, less experienced students, naturally. It’s sort of a strange mix.”

“Yeah. I thought I had it bad until I found out what Eri and Mela had to go through. Atticus, too.”

“What happened to you?” Kieran asks. He can’t imagine the composed upperclassman on the screen being bullied in any sense of the word.

“Hah, I may not look it, but I used to be president of the student council in Naranja.”

This guy used to be student council president?? 

He tries to imagine Giacomo and Amarys in the same room, pouring over agendas, and struggles to keep a straight face.

“Anyway, I got pretty ambitious and worked up about it,” Giacomo continues. “Wanted to write up some new student conduct policies, but everyone pretty much hated me after that. Said they were too ‘strict’ or ‘unintuitive.’ My ass got booted out of office faster than a Revaroom on high octane and they voted Nemona in.”

Nemona…as in Juliana’s friend Nemona?

Another feeling nags at him. Déjà vu. Kieran had initially faced similar backlash as League Club President when he had introduced new policies, with similar sentiments. That they were too strict. It hadn't exactly won him friends. He is well aware that membership numbers have dropped after their implementation. If anything, he had initially thought that the rules were relatively within rights in competitive battling and that he had been lenient. Ideally, one would need to have a team of six to cover for potential weaknesses, as well as giving more options for team-building modes or basic cores such as a fire-water-grass with good synergy. He had been letting League members build up gradually from a team of four, to a team of five, and so on. With deadlines of course. But Kieran hadn't been shunted from his position. It isn't a position determined by popular vote.

His is a position determined by brute strength. 

However, he does have to wonder. The parallel doesn't escape Kieran's notice. If he had been in a different school, with different regulations, he would have met the same fate. A brief, inexplicable feeling flits through his gut.

Am I doing the right thing?

Of course you are doing the right thing now. You are Champion. You were a pushover before, who had to have your sister do everything for you. You're better now. Stronger. You can finally meet Juliana at her level now…right?

I…wanna try to get stronger. So I can do things for myself, you know? I'm gonna become someone people can rely on.

Why is this coming back now?

Someone people can rely on? Was that what you had really wanted? 

What happened?

Kieran feels the doubt creeping in, insidious and gnawing.

“Anyway, I was in a pretty bad place after that all went down. The student body didn't want to be seen near me. But I found friends who accepted me, who were going through their own shit. Eri got some pretty bad hazing from Carmen's clique for a while, before it backfired. Mela was harassed ‘cause of her looks. Atticus got steamrolled for not towing the line of some toxic masculinity Tauros shit, with his interests. Ortega sort of got heckled for the same and his temper doesn't help his case. And Penny—”

Giacomo swivels to face Penny, pausing delicately.

“It's fine,” Penny sighs. “Well…for me, I'm the former Chairman Rose's niece.”

What.

Chairman Rose's niece???

Kieran knows that he comes from the countryside, but they still have TV. It was hard not to hear about what occurred in Galar a few years ago. 

Penny snorts at the look on his face. “Yeah, most people would probably hesitate to befriend the relative of the guy that almost single-handedly plunged Galar into a literal doomsday event. Staying inside was a huge boon to me. These guys don't give a shite though.”

Giacomo jabs a finger at her shoulder. “Because it shouldn't matter, it's not like you did it. You and your uncle are two different people.”

“Thank every lucky star for that. Anyway, Team Star became a safe haven for people who were bullied…social outcasts—”

But I’m pretty sure the ogre must’ve been lonely on its own. Left all alone like that…Treated like some kind of outcast…

“—people who didn’t fit in with traditional gender norms, those who were misunderstood by neurotypical types, those who just found it hard to interact with people in general. Everyone banded together into one unified force. Bases were established as part of our strategy. Eri put everyone through battle training, Ortie was the engineer for the Starmobiles while Mellie provided the literal firepower, Atticus made the outfits, Momo was the strategist. We told the bullies to meet us in the schoolyard one day for a confrontation.”

“Did any of the teachers ever do anything?” Kieran asks. Deep down, he already knows the answer.

Giacomo huffs, unamused. “Nada. Their usual responses were something along the lines of ‘ignore them’ or ‘don’t give them the satisfaction of an emotional response.’”

“‘They’ll get bored and move onto someone else if you ignore them.’”

“‘Just put your hands out in front of you and firmly tell them to stop.’”

“Utter gobshites.” 

“We confronted our bullies and they basically turned tail and fled for the hills. We scared the piss out of ‘em so badly that a lot of ‘em dropped out of the academy. Of course, that looked bad from a PR standpoint. Penny here took the L for all of us by taking all responsibility, so she went back home to Galar under the pretext of ‘overseas study.’ Meanwhile, the former deputy director deleted all traces of the incident from the academy servers, to save his own hide.”

Holy shit.

“Well, former Director Harrington found out and soon after, there was a whole slew of resignations from the teaching staff,” Penny says, slurping some of her ramen broth before continuing. “The current director and faculty are totally different from the ones we had before. But I didn't know a lot of what was going on, since my leave lasted eighteen months. I told them to disband and flew home after.”

Giacomo aims a sad look in Penny's direction. “We wanted to keep a place for Penny to come back to, so we kept the bases running. But our reputation kinda got soured…our little display in the schoolyard may have sent some mixed messages. Some students and the new staff thought that we were the bullies. Membership went up and our numbers might've been too much to handle. Even with our code, some new members would just ignore it.”

“That's where Juli here got involved. Two lackeys who I've never met before were pressuring me into joining my own damn team. My own team! Bloody wankers. Anyway, I watched Juli mop the floor with them and thought ‘she could do it, she could use our own code against us to disband Team Star and everyone could finally go back to school.’ I'm still sorry I had to do it…that way.” Penny grimaces. 

“Hey, it's all water under the bridge,” Giacomo waves off. “You were just worried about us, we get it.”

“Well, I acted as an anonymous source, contacting Juli from an untraceable line and wiring her LP for taking down the bases. I honestly still don't know how you did it so bloody fast.”

Juliana tilts her head to the side quizzically. “It didn't feel all that fast. I guess I camped out a lot?”

“Right outside the bases? You madwoman.”

“Instill the fear of Arceus in the lot of ‘em.”

“More like creeping them out.”

“Huh, I did think that was rather weird. I didn't want to say anything though.”

“Really? For fuck's sake…”

“Juli, we could tell when you were outside the bases,” Giacomo says patiently. “We'd always hear ragtime piano music outside our walls, like some kind of demented war horn sounding off before an invasion.”

She looks at him with profound embarrassment. “It was the bloody sandwiches—”

Kieran silently dies inside.

“Eri tells me that Carmen still has a piano-induced startle reflex to this day,” Giacomo continues mournfully.

Juliana drags Kieran's blazer over her head from mortification. “Sorry,” she replies, muffled under the layer of fabric. 

“Anyway,” Penny says dryly, “she took down our bases one by one. I didn't know at the time, but our school director was working in tandem with her at the time under the alias Clive.”

“Dressed up in a school uniform and a giant pompadour that looked like it was styled by a Quaxwell,” Giacomo adds, to Kieran's mounting confusion.

“I—what?”

What kind of school director do they have?

“Yeah just roll with it.”

“So after getting curb stomped by the pompadour piano situation that was Juli and Cli—Director Clavell, I told them to meet up with me in the schoolyard. I revealed that I was the last boss they'd need to defeat. I thought I was going to get in big trouble, but after seeing everything firsthand, he was pretty lenient. Made the Team Star bases into training centers, and let everyone come back to school. But Juli here was a big help.”

“I was glad to help!” Juliana says. “I'm sorry you guys had to go through all that before I went to Naranja.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Giacomo gestures. “We're all doing much better now. Feeling like you're a misfit, an outcast…it can be rough. That's why it's always good to find your people, y'know? Friends that will stick by you, that appreciate you for being yourself.”

Penny nods, before facing Kieran. “We never want people to feel left out because of who they are. And I don't wanna put the pressure on either! I know how that gets. I'm fine with taking friendships nice and slooow.”

Friends…?

Is she…?

“You wanna be friends…with me…?” 

“Whatever you're comfortable with! A friend of Juli's is a friend of mine, but definitely go at your own pace. If Nemona were here, her face would be taking up the entire screen, challenging you to a battle. She'd probably fly over there and everything too.”

Juliana groans. “She would.”

“Our group is kinda…eccentric,” Penny deadpans. “Just a heads up. Once you're pulled into orbit there's no escape. Buckle up.”

“You're making it sound so ominous.”

“Hey if he can survive you, he'll probably be fine.”

“Huhhhhhhh??”

“She's just as weird as all of us, don't let her looks deceive you,” Penny says to Kieran in a bland, conspiratorial manner. “Anyway Juli, so what was it you were going to tell me?”

Juliana recovers, before giving Penny a wary look, a universal sign for you're not going to fucking believe me. “You're not going to like this.”

“Try me.”

“It goes against your scientific sensibilities.”

“Okay, I’m admittedly dreading this already, but keep going.”

Juliana tells them about the painting.

Penny stares in mute horror at the duo.

“You…do know that curses are the stuff of horror movie tropes, right?”

Juliana nods.

“To ask me to believe in curses and…and supernatural stuff like haunted paintings? Stuff that defies scientific theories, rigorous testing, controlled trials, peer reviews…”

“I know.”

“Then…why??”

“I wish I knew,” Juliana sighs, blowing a wisp of hair out of her face. “Well, at any rate, Ryme sees something, so it’s not entirely nothing.”

Penny shudders. “That’s true, I suppose. I’ll leave all that stuff up to her. It’s all totally unscientific…but ugh, it’s still making my hair stand on end, worse than a Jolteon’s…”

Juliana aims a sympathetic look in her direction. Friday night had been an utter clusterfuck. She turns to face Kieran, who has opted to sit down at this point. “So the Team Star stuff…is that, well…a new…?” 

She points awkwardly to the side of her head. 

“I mean, kinda?” he replies. “It doesn’t feel like it’s ‘new,’ more like I just remembered it. There was somethin’ about a…Cassiopeia too?”

Penny blinks at him. She hadn’t mentioned her alias when she had recounted the backstory behind Team Star. “Juli, you didn’t—”

“Nope. Haven’t breathed a word to him about it.”

“Is this that, uh, memory thing you were mentioning too?” Penny asks.

“It looks like it,” Juliana replies. “But as far as I know, we haven’t had anything new come up since Friday. At least until…now, maybe.”

“Hmm…so taking this on a completely surface level and ignoring how bizarre this all is, you guys don’t really know how it works, if there’s criteria you have to meet to recall things, other abilities, anything.”

“Not really. We figured out about the memories…Friday night? The night before last. Then Saturday was relatively normal, we went to the League Club room, had lunch with Carmine, caught up on stuff we were going to do on Friday…”

Penny adjusts her frames, the light of her dual screens glinting off her lenses. “So nothing occurred until…now basically. Kieran, can you walk me through what happened right before you…remembered things?”

Kieran stares at the Terarium Core hanging above them, briefly recalling the haunting memory of a soaked Juliana before pushing past that thought process via brute force. “I guess…well, I was kinda worked up, and then I saw ya, and it just came back to me. Just like that.”

“...worked up.”

He silently vows to eat his boots in front of Drayton before elaborating that he had experienced the horniest jumpscare of his life. 

“I guess I was…surprised? Shocked? Actually, the time with the painting was pretty surprisin’ too.” Please just take this.

Penny chews at her lip. “So it maybe involves some kind of…heightened emotional state, combined with a visual trigger. Which I guess was me, in this case. We still don't have a lot to go on right now, but it's a start.”

From there, Penny proceeds to initiate a series of brief experiments, to eliminate other possibilities. Despite her firm belief in scientific principles, she acknowledges that there are some exceptions. For example, any self-respecting Galarian knows about feyfolk. People from Ballonlea are especially knowledgeable and have a particular air to them. The existence of psychics is also indisputable. Caitlin from the Unova Elite Four is the most apparent case, along with Sabrina from Kanto, Tate and Liza of Hoenn, even your average rank-and-file psychic trainer. 

She considers a mind-reading exercise at first, having Juliana and Kieran attempt to guess each other's thoughts. This devolves into unrepentant anarchy when Giacomo dares them to think of the “raunchiest shit possible” just to “know for sure.” Penny looks at their faces. She thinks that she should have sent for a poet. 

Her next experiment involves a sort of future prediction. Slap hands quickly becomes a no-go (Juliana melts into a puddle of shrieking laughter while Kieran's face begins to swiftly match the color of his tank top), while Kieran initially suggests a game of Janken (which quickly escalates into a blistering level of competition with BP and paid lunches at stake—forget the League Challenge, Penny realizes, this is the real Championship match). Neither game reveals any hint of either party being able to predict the other's actions, to a paranormal degree. 

Telekinesis with Poke Balls yields no results. Juliana briefly gets it into her head that if she stares at a nearby tree long enough, she will set it on fire. They spend an extensive amount of time attempting to dissuade her. 

They eventually settle into a futile attempt to trigger another influx of memories. This mainly consists of Giacomo blasting music at random in a bid to startle them into psychic competence. This, predictably, does nothing.

In the end, they agree to put a stop to the experiments. To preserve the dignity and integrity of science. 

Penny offers her services in regard to searching for more information on the Lumiose City ghost, before deciding to call it a night due to the time difference. 

“It's been real guys,” she says. “I gotta prep for a raid soon. Kieran, if you want, you can give me or Momo a call here. Juli has our numbers, you can just bum them off her.”

Kieran pauses. “Oh…uh, I don't have a smartphone.”

Penny stares at him in horror. As if this is the true, terrifying plot twist all along. The painting is small potatoes. 

“How…how are you even alive,” she chokes out.

“Reception where I live isn't great anyway,” he shrugs. “But it does seem pretty handy. I gotta get on that.”

“If I were still hacking LP, I'd hack you enough to get you one because…I'm in shock. I'm in actual shock.” 

Juliana gives her a guarded look. “Somewhere out there, La Primera is getting the sudden urge to extend your community service sentence and she doesn't know why.”

“Fuck, you're probably right.”

They bid each other a good night (or afternoon, dependent on the time zone), before a silence falls between them. As Kieran turns to face Juliana, he notes how much larger his blazer is on her small frame. A heated longing unfurls in his gut, slow and potent. 

“So…I noticed they call you Juli.”

This seems to catch Juliana off guard. An unexpected line of questioning. “I, uh…yeah. It kind of caught on in Naranja. Pen tends towards nicknames.”

“But you don't use it here?” he asks.

She frowns. “Yeah, I guess I never introduced myself that way here, now that you mention it.”

Do I have the right?

Do I deserve it…?

“I…is it okay if I call you Juli?”

The mirthful grin she aims at him evokes sunrises, beginnings, possibilities, solar resplendence. 

“I suppose that's only fair, Suguri.”

He's not sure how much more his heart can take.

Chapter Text

“So I texted her.”

Carmine sits at the cafeteria table, twirling her straw restlessly. They had picked the most isolated corner of the dining hall that they could find, but it still puts her on edge. There is always the chance that a student could overhear their conversation. 

Drayton languidly picks at his fries, seemingly not having a care in the world. “Okay. And…? What's the verdict?”

“I highly suspect it's a yes.”

“You suspect?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Carmine sighs, her frustration evident. “When I asked her, she said ‘it doesn't matter’ and that she ‘already messed up.'”

That’s interesting. “What was the exact question you asked her?”

“I literally asked her ‘do you like Kiki.' Word for word.”

“And she said ‘it doesn't matter?'”

“Yes, how many times—”

Do you like Kiki?

It doesn’t matter.

It becomes a simple matter of reading in-between the lines, really. In some cases, people reveal more when they are not actually saying anything. Sometimes it is a matter of body language. Other times, it is a matter of non-admission, of silence. The mind will fill it all in for you, if you just let it do so.

Even if I do like him, it doesn’t matter.

“Carmine. That's a yes by default. Holy shit it's on—”

“—but she's feeling too guilty to act on it. She was slippery as an Eelektross too when it came to questioning, it was a pain in the ass.”

“Feeling guilty about what?”

She grimaces. “The whole situation with Ogerpon. And the painting.”

“What about the painting?”

Carmine huffs a breath of exasperation before idly resting her chin on one hand. “She thinks she's responsible for the situation with her and Kiki, like if she hadn't changed anything with the club room they wouldn't be stuck in the situation they're in.”

“How was she supposed to know?”

“Exactly. That's what I told her,” Carmine sighs, before taking a sip of her shake.

So guilt definitely factors in, he thinks. And that really is one of the issues at hand, isn’t it? Kieran and Juliana have a history, and it’s so messy that even Crispin can tell. During that first Elite Four match, Crispin had called Juliana out on that, in front of a watching audience no less. Drayton could tell that it had initially thrown her off in the beginning of the match—she hadn’t been concentrating properly. A clever move on Crispin’s part, really—if he had actually intended to utilize such an underhanded tactic to begin with. He highly doubts it. Crispin isn’t that kind of guy. He just tends to blurt out whatever he’s thinking, for better or for worse, his only exception being his glaringly obvious crush on Lacey. 

Juliana had eventually recovered and won that match. But it also made Drayton realize that that was her weak spot. It still is, apparently. Now that Carmine had filled him in, it makes more sense. She still carries immense guilt about what happened during the field trip in Kitakami, while Kieran still carries a grudge, or some resentment at least. She also feels some responsibility about the curse, even though that was more a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But something doesn’t add up, in Drayton’s mind. When Carmine had told the story, Juliana’s place in it had almost seemed…passive. It didn’t seem like she had even had time to get a word in, edgewise, about what she had wanted to do. Maybe…

Drayton gazes ahead, lost in thought. “Carmine, about Ogerpon…I wanted to clarify something.”

“Yes?”

“When your grandfather told you and her the story about the Ogre—the true story—he made both of you keep quiet about it, right?”

“Uh…yeah? What about it?” Carmine isn't sure if she likes where this is going. 

“And during the night of the festival, you told Juliana to keep quiet about Ogerpon, right?”

She bristles. “Yes, but Kitakami is dangerous at night! You wouldn't understand, Kiki would've—”

Drayton raises his hands placatingly. “I'm sure you had a good reason. Let's just focus on something else for a sec. Do you know what Juliana was going to do?”

“I mean…it looked like she was going to tell him about our run in with Ogerpon, honestly. That's why I had to cut her off.”

“But Kieran doesn't know that, does he?”

Carmine stares at him. “What are you trying to say?”

Drayton jabs a fry pointedly in her direction. “I think you gotta take the L, here.”

“Look,” she says, a tad defensively, “I told Juliana way back in Kitakami that it all started ‘cause I said we should keep the whole Ogerpon thing a secret. She shouldn't feel like it's all on her.”

“This isn't about her though, not entirely. It's about Kieran. He doesn't know that she was going to tell him the truth to begin with. If he's still holding onto that grudge, it's going to be hard to move things forward.”

“So what do you expect me to do?” Carmine asks, somewhat vexed. “I tried to apologize to him once at Loyalty Plaza and that did a grand total sum of nothing! I'm not sure bringing it up again will help. He's closed himself off.”

“Here's the Drayster take. It'll suck for you, but if you or your grandfather—or, why not, both of you—talk to him and tell him the truth, it'll at least clear some of the air between him and Juliana. It's one less thing to worry about.”

“And how's that supposed to help in the vast scheme of things?” she scowls.

“Think…bigger picture.”

“Just spit it out, bozo.”

“I'm going to set them up.”

“You're going to what???”

“Nothing untoward! I'm just going to nudge along what's already there.”

Carmine beholds the figure before her. She has indulged in the occasional thought experiment that if a Synchro Machine were to undergo some catastrophic accident involving a Slaking and a bottle of Colgate toothpaste, Drayton would be the end result. She cannot even fathom the individual before her acting as a sort of matchmaker.

She groans, her head wearily sinking into her crossed arms on the table’s surface. “There’s probably going to be explosions involved, a car chase, something insane—”

He snorts. “I’m not making a Pokestar Studios movie, Carmine. I’m setting up a date.”

“I just feel like some sort of disaster is going to happen.”

“Give me some credit. Do you know if Juliana has ever visited Nimbasa? It’s pretty nice this time of year.”

Nimbasa? The reputed “bustling city of entertainment”? Admittedly, Carmine has never been to the big city before. In the past, she was usually kept busy with her research assistant duties for Ms. Briar, among other things. In addition, her bilingualism made her a necessary component of Ms. Briar's travels to Kantonian-speaking regions, effectively enlisting her as a translator. Her Principal Investigator was making her earn every single speck of currency for her scholarship. It could be aggravating at times. 

There is the additional matter of Nimbasa being the most populous city in the entire region. It is a study of contrasts, compared to Kitakami. She found herself homesick many times during her tenure in Blueberry. Sure, Mossui is a slow-paced, small town, but that is also why she likes it. Every time she came back to school from her hometown, she found herself overstimulated from how crowded it seemed at the academy. She can’t even imagine how overwhelming Nimbasa would be. Willingly going there for a good time seems absurd, but maybe Juliana would like it.

“I don’t think she has been there before,” she says. “I guess there would be a lot to do there, right? I heard there’s an amusement park, a musical theater, a Ferris Wheel—”

“And the Battle Subway.”

Carmine stares.

“Gear Station? Where there’s all those subway lines where trainers battle each other?”

“The very same,” he says, sounding pleased.

“Do you even have a romantic bone in your body, knucklehead?? What’s so romantic about battling and swinging around in a confined, metal car hurtling underground at what, anywhere between 30-50 miles per hour? I thought you’d suggest the Ferris Wheel or something. To think there was brief moment where I was impressed—”

“There has to be a lure for Kieran to be there, too. Can you imagine our battle-obsessed mighty Champion, patiently enduring a Ferris Wheel ride? He’d probably bitch about missed time training, or something.”

“I mean, he has to go wherever Juliana goes.”

“But Juliana is going to be miserable if he is miserable the whole time.”

Carmine concedes this point. Their efforts would come to nothing if he were sulking or fuming in silence the entire time. In a way, it would almost be worse than the typical botched date experience. You couldn’t ditch your date if the experience was going south, unless you consider falling unconscious a form of escape. 

“Okay, so you think he might be more inclined to check out the Battle Subway?”

“I don’t see why not. It can be framed as a training experience, learning to battle while adapting to unfamiliar conditions. I think there’s a lot of ways to reframe it to give it appeal.”

“Even so, they can’t separate, right? That's the whole brouhaha about why they can’t do the Championship Match right now. How's it going to work when the station attendants split them up?”

He grins. “Carmine, the orange line does Multi Battles.”

No fucking way.

“You're going to have them Multi Battle together,” she states, stunned.

“Yeah, I say why not. He gets his battle fix in, a Paldean Champion gets to see how Unovans blow off some steam, it's a win-win if you ask me. If they get a good win streak going, they might even be able to take the yellow line too.”

Carmine claws through the swirling sands of her mind, attempting to find a counterargument, anything that would prove that Drayton's idea is a fool's errand. 

“Wouldn't they be reluctant to reveal their hand before their Championship Match? Surprise is a valid strategy.”

“They could always use different pokemon from their normal teams,” he replies nonchalantly. “Anyway, if it goes according to plan, we might not even need to worry about the Championship Match.”

Carmine stares at him incredulously. "What."

He stretches with his arms raised to the ceiling, before settling into his usual slouch upon the cafeteria table, folded into a state of slovenly compose. “Kieran got this way because of what happened between them, right? If they're able to work it out…if they get together…what's going to happen?”

“You're banking on them not fighting then…” she says, stunned.

“It can go different ways. He can either be in a better headspace and call off his dumb rules or Juliana has a better chance of talking sense into him. Even if they do battle, they'd be on better terms and the match will be set on a more stable foundation. If Juliana wins, she takes over, but then his girlfriend is Champion. The dynamic is different.”

“You don't want to see him toppled off his throne? To rub it in his face?” she asks skeptically. “I would've thought this was all some ploy so you could eventually take over in a power vacuum or something.”

Drayton clutches at his chest dramatically. “Carmine, you wound me so. You think I'd want to be Champion again? To willingly take on more work and responsibilities as League Club President? Fuck that noise.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

In all honesty, Drayton still finds it rather tempting to dish Kieran a whopping serving of humble pie. It wasn't just about the absurd rules in place or his attitude—his whole “Ex-Champion” bit had been grating. But he does recognize that it is more for his personal satisfaction. If he is seeking end results, then "reverting to the old club rules while not inducing a hormonal cataclysm" wins out by a landslide. It's hard to see what Juliana sees in Kieran—maybe she's trying to bring him back too—but if it will make her happy, this plan will at least alleviate some of his own guilt for using her. She should really get to see some of what Unova has to offer, while she's here. Nimbasa—

Drayton pauses suddenly, his amber gaze honed in on Carmine. “Wait a sec, back when we were talking about Nimbasa…you said you heard there were things to do. Have you not been there before?”

“I—”

“No way, you haven't…not after all this time??”

“I just haven't had the time, okay? Ms. Briar keeps me insanely busy. She's a workaholic herself, all ‘there's no such thing as a day off in research.’ If it isn't bench work, data entry, quality control or running analyses, it's writing grants or papers.”

Drayton aims a pitying look in her direction. “And that's why the more useful you seem, the worse it gets. You gotta be more like me.”

“A walking toothpaste commercial wearing a skirt?”

“It's a cape. How else would I be able to curtsy like the proper lady I am?”

“I know it's a cape, dumbass!”

“Paint me like one of your Kalosian girls,” he sighs.

Carmine is one step away from becoming a localized extinction event. 

“Okay, please don't kill me,” he chortles. “Anyway, I think you'd have a good time. As the chief of operations for this mission, your presence would be appreciated.”

She stares. 

“Also, I just don't want to tail these two by myself. That would get boring.”

“Wait…you're going??” Carmine exclaims. “And what do you mean, chief of operations???”

“Of course I'm going,” he says. “This is Kieran's first time too, right? Who's going to show them where everything is? It's the biggest city in Unova, population-wise.”

And that's precisely why I don't want to go, Carmine thinks to herself. 

“Why not bring Lacey?” she asks. In Carmine's mind, it makes phenomenally more sense to bring someone who actually lives there. “She could really show you guys around. She's an actual Nimbasa resident. Lacey would know all the best hole-in-the-wall places to eat, too.”

Drayton gazes at her in thought. Carmine doesn't need to know his other reason. Not yet, at least. “Lacey isn't looped in with this…situation. Anyway, I told you that you'd be the one holding the reins in this op, so you gotta be the one to pull them in if you don't like where things are heading. But you gotta see what's happening to know that and make the call.”

Carmine desperately does not want Drayton to know about her dislike of crowds, or her tendency to be overstimulated. Admitting that is admitting that there is a weakness to be exploited, something that Drayton can use to his advantage. It would only be one day, presumably. She could handle one day in the most crowded city in the region. The fourth most populated city in the world, only behind the metropolises of Lumiose, Wyndon, and Mesagoza. No big deal.

The clamminess of her hands shakes her out of her reverie.

“Fine. This will be interesting if anything. What day are you thinking?”

Juliana's room is surprisingly bare.

It throws Kieran for a loop. The spartan interior of the dorm, with no embellishments whatsoever, is almost depressing. It's a stark contrast to her personality. He had forgotten what the dorms looked like by default. His room still had some rogue TMs and other items spread about his desk—along with the saddest houseplant in the academy—but it was his room. It looked lived in, at least. It had traditional calligraphy from home, various knick knacks, that…mask…

The only thing Juliana has going for her is that her houseplant is still among the living. 

“You can just throw your things wherever,” she says casually, heading to her dresser drawers with her rucksack. She makes a mental note to toss her used laundry in her hamper while she is here, only to pause. Icy dread clenches at her gut in realization. 

They would have to do laundry at some point. It would be highly likely that they would have to do so at the same time, to save time and trips. The probability that Kieran would, at some point, have to see her undergarments was a definite nonzero. If one were to include the inclement weather-induced catastrophe that occurred earlier, it was already a nonzero. 

She pinches herself. 

I can be reasonable about this. Everyone has to do laundry right? And people wear knickers, that's just life. 

It doesn't make it any better though. 

She crouches at her dresser drawers, pulling out some assorted uniforms. Juliana can sense Kieran behind her, glancing around her room. 

Letsee, the summer uniform has the blue top, which I can combine with the trousers for autumn…but isn't that a lot of blue? Go figure for the winter set. And the tracksuit is mostly white, but it has enough layers I suppose. 

She grabs a few more casual shirts, including some in black, before closing the drawer. 

“See? All dark colors this time, I promise,” Juliana says with a lopsided grin, in the hopes of smoothing out any tension. She is still wearing Kieran's blazer, which looks more like a tunic or shirt dress with her height. From her peripheral vision, she can't help but notice the strange, inscrutable looks he has been giving her ever since she donned his jacket. She hopes that he isn't too annoyed with her for wearing it this long. 

However, he doesn't seem particularly interested in the color of her wardrobe. Instead, his eyes wander over her barren desk space. Scratch that, there are a few notebooks and binders in the corner, with some pens and pencils. But no personal effects, as far as he can see.

“Didn't feel like decoratin’ your room?” he asks, deceptively casual. He isn't able to entirely mask the inquisitive note in his voice. 

Juliana seems somewhat blindsided by this question, but adjusts quickly. “I…this is a guest room lent to me by the academy. I'll only be allowed to stay here…what, a semester? Maybe a year at most, but that depends if La Primera needs me to do something for her. Either way I'll have to go back to Naranja to finish the rest of my years.”

His gut twists. He's been a fool this entire time, an utter fool. Of course she will eventually have to go back home, she's not going to be here forever. That's been apparent from the get-go. It's an exchange program, not a transfer. 

And yet it feels so stupid. He had been so focused on defeating her, on proving himself, it was as if he couldn't envision anything beyond their Championship Match. He's looking over the edge of his ambitions, only to find an abyss. 

What would happen if—when—he wins? Juliana would feel the same defeat, the same frustration and futility that he felt back then. She would learn what it was like to be in his shoes. She would admit that he is stronger than her. 

And…then what? He would continue reigning as Champion, she would continue taking classes, and then she would…head back to Paldea. That's it. 

They lived miles apart, oceans apart. She wouldn't have any reason to come back. Why would she ever visit Kitakami again? Sure, the natural sights could be breathtaking. He loves hiking Oni Mountain back home. It is an area rich in mythology. But it pales in comparison to Paldea, or at least what he's heard about it. 

I won't see her again.

He can feel himself clawing his way out again. His eyes burn, raw and searing with the threat of tears which fuck that, not here not now. He desperately goes through type advantages in his head, something extremely basic and clear-cut to distract himself from the lump forming in his throat. 

He still finds himself surprised at the dread pooling in his gut, his body revolting at the realization that this isn't going to last forever. Whatever this even is. What even are they? They are rivals, they are—they are friends, she said so herself—

It isn't enough.

Oh fuck. It isn't enough.

“Suguri!”

He's yanked out of his reverie with a jolt. He's heard that name called (or yelled) enough times back home that it becomes an instant reflex. 

“Sorry!” Juliana says sheepishly. “You were really zoning out there. I tried calling you by your Galarian name a bunch but you weren't answering. You okay?”

I don't know. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he says. I can't be like this right now. “So…ya don't actually know when you're goin’ back?”

She gazes off, concern evident on her features. “Not really…Director Cyrano didn't give me a clear timeline. But usually exchange programs are between six to twelve months. There's exceptions but that's what I've heard. Nemo let it slip that La Primera has been…antsy with my absence. She's worried that I might like Unova better.”

“Huh. Well…do ya?”

She laughs wryly, amused. “I haven't even been to the mainland here yet. I can safely say that I know nothing about Unova, outside this campus.”

This rings mostly true for him as well, at least as a shared sentiment. There had been a couple of field trips, along with a weird layover in Mistralton, but for the most part, he had stayed within school grounds. He doesn't consider himself well-acquainted with Unova by any means.

“Well…there's still time I guess, right? There's still the rest of the semester. That's enough time to get situated a little bit.” He glances around the room. He doesn't know why he's doing this. Maybe it's for an inkling of hope.

Seeing the room so barren gives him the chilling feeling that she could go off and leave at any time, quick as a flash. Enough that he would be thinking he had vividly hallucinated her presence at Blueberry this entire time.

If she had to spend time packing up, it would at least buy him time.

To do what, idiot?

“That's true, I guess,” she murmurs. “There's still time.”

There is still time. She tries to not get ahead of herself. There’s still tomorrow to deal with—her first day in Classroom 1-4—Kieran’s and Crispin’s homeroom. And also—

“Didja happen to get any info on when Unova’s resident ghost specialist is goin’ to arrive here tomorrow? Or where we’re s’posed to meet up with her?”

“Was just about to check, and…”

Sure enough, there is an email from Director Cyrano, specifying that Shauntal would arrive around ten in the morning, be briefly oriented around campus and appropriately debriefed, and then shown the painting in the Art Club storage room around ten thirty. They were expected to meet up with her around eleven, and any changes in time would be announced overhead. They would be granted an excused absence from class if their meeting time extended beyond their granted lunch break. 

“Well that’s a relief at least,” Kieran says dryly. “Homeroom’s at eight, an’ then lab at the Polar Biome at eight thirty for about two hours. That should give us enough time to get to the Art Club.”

Half an hour would be more than enough time, granted they would be let out according to schedule. 

“That's doable,” she agrees. In the worst case scenario, she could reduce their travel time on Koraidon. Her pokemon had elicited some…intrigued…reactions from students (one screamed, which was rather novel for her). She suspects that Geeta would not be super thrilled to find out that she is casually riding a government-classified paradox pokemon in front of multiple eyewitnesses in a different region, but Koraidon needs the exercise. Juliana tries to not do it too much, to not be a complete arse, but old habits die hard. None of the students had had the balls to ask her what Koraidon was, anyway. There is an ongoing betting pool back home based on when someone would ask. Penny is winning by a landslide, with Nemona being dead last.  

If someone asks her anyway, she would just say she is riding a modded-out Cyclizar with a R345C base coat and additional tassels. And then they would have to run a search on what a Cyclizar is. 

Not her problem.

“Hey, uh, Juli?”

She starts. For a brief moment, she is back home—Arven catching her in the cafeteria, Nemona purchasing pastries from the school store. She didn't know that it was physiologically possible to be surprised and more relaxed at the same time. 

“Oh! Uh, yeah? What's up?”

“Didja just wanna settle here for the night?”

This comes as a surprise to her. “Are you sure? What about your stuff?”

“I have my assignments for tomorrow with me here anyway, with a change of clothes just in case,” he says, nodding to his backpack. It is strange to see him using a bag that isn't his usual yellow satchel. “I figured you'd need to come here to repack after…today.”

He carefully makes sure to look at anywhere that isn't her face. 

Kieran also had an ulterior motive. He was genuinely curious about what her room would look like. The initial impression came with an unfortunate realization, but he subsequently finds out a few more things:

Her cabinet is stuffed with tea boxes: PG Tips, Earl Greys, Turffield Gold. He even spies a blend of Paldean coffee while she makes herself a cup of tea (she later has to explain that in Paldea, they actually prefer coffee and she's just a weird outlier). 

Her bathroom has more reassuring signs of life: face wash and lotions, a couple of bras that she has to hastily, frantically stuff in her hamper—she definitely had not been prepared for any guests, especially male guests; shampoo reminiscent of oranges and something floral, a cheerful citrus hand soap. He definitely recognizes a theme. Kieran belatedly realizes that the scent he had associated with her was some type of orange blossom hand cream with a Paldean label he can't read. Admittedly, the joke Dipplin glasses resting on the sink basin are perplexing. A Lokix helmet and some riding gloves are thrown haphazardly on top of some towels. 

Lastly, her fridge is stocked. In this context, she had been running on fumes the last couple of days. She needs to use up this food. He notes some apples in one drawer and feels a pang in his stomach. 

“Oh, the apples?” she asks from behind him. “They must be junk compared to the ones from back home, huh?”

She has no idea. He didn't realize imported apples could taste so mealy and…well, tasteless. Still, he always hoped. Buying apples with BP is like participating in a mildly disappointing game of fruit roulette. 

Juliana hums suddenly with a brief epiphany. “We're in my room now, which means…”

She digs through a different, lower cabinet, where he suddenly hears the resonant clang of a large pot being hoisted up. In another cabinet, she fishes out some curry roux cubes, along with a bag of rice and a rice cooker. “Hmm…I'm used to doing this with a campfire, so this might be a little weird. Do you have any…sweet berries?”

Kieran has a frankly impressive collection of wacan berries that he is reluctant to part with. They are part of his strategy for his Politoed. However, his curiosity gets the better of him and he decides to part with a couple of them, along with some pecha berries and a kasib berry. Juliana sets up a cutting board and knife with some of the apples from the refrigerator, which—to her utmost surprise—Kieran silently gets to rinsing and slicing as the carrots and potatoes cook in the pot. It looks a little different, but there’s a vague resemblance to the curry that his grandmother would make at home. The use of additional berries is rather strange, but he assumes it’s a Galarian thing he isn’t aware of. They fall into an unusual sort of companionable silence that does absolutely nothing to alleviate the sudden onset of Butterfree in his stomach. This is so fucking… domestic. Something foreign lodges in his chest and he prays that the knife doesn't slip out of his clammy hand only to ricochet into his face, to spite the laws of physics.

He watches as the curry roux melts in the pot and the sliced apples and berries are added, before she stirs. There’s a bizarre amount of concentration involved in her stirring that is all-consuming. And then it gets weirder. Her burning embarrassment is nigh palpable as she makes a heart shape with her hands in front of the curry pot, in some sort of ritualized gesture. She notes his look of complete bafflement.

“Yeah…we just had to do this all the time in Galar. I had Penny do it once out of solidarity. I thought she was going to sic her Sylveon on me.”

It still doesn’t explain anything, in his opinion. 

Eventually, they end up with two steaming plates of curry, laden with apples. He takes a bite of his curry rice and it is unholy levels of sweet. Was it the berries?

“Holy shit,” he says with feeling. 

“Right? Crazy how the berries change it.”

The idea of sweet curry seems unpalatable in theory but in reality it translates into an insatiable hunger. Suddenly, he's ravenous. The apples are a far cry from Kitakami apples but they're satisfactory. It transcends the flimsy boundaries of dinner and dessert. He has to stop himself from scraping residual curry from the plate, to at least hold on to a shred of dignity. There's an odd twinge of nostalgia, where the lingering scent of apples briefly transports him to a simpler time.

“Hey, uh…thanks for the meal,” he says. Curry with premade roux isn’t the most complicated meal to make by far, but it seems a little more labor intensive than the usual sandwiches she opts for. “What was the occasion?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I dunno…it just seemed like more work, I guess.”

Juliana gives him an enigmatic look that, for a fleeting moment, pins him to the spot with its intensity. It passes just as quickly. 

“Ah, um…I just thought it'd be something you like because, y'know, apples, right?” It comes out in an awkward, breathless rush, as if she just wants to get the words out and move on from this moment. She suddenly makes every effort to look busy, piling the plates and utensils, brisk and business-like. There's a silence that's only filled by an internal litany of fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck echoing in the caverns of her mind. 

“I…oh.” Kieran swallows. “Wowzers. Uh, thanks. You were…right about that.”

Oh Arceus she's gone off the deep end now, she's shot straight past “hmm maybe” territory and landed squarely in the fabled region of “look at the enormous monstrosity that is my thirst for you.” Juliana scrambles for something, anything, desperate to redirect. She could've made one of Galar's infamously blander dishes but no, she had to make something that reminded him of home. 

How obvious can you fucking be???

“Did you believe in ghosts, before all…this?” she suddenly asks, piling the dishes in the sink as he almost trips behind her out of shock. 

Kieran doesn't have any time to recover from the abrupt change in the conversation. The tentative, almost intimate atmosphere from before stops and looks around, confused, before walking away in exasperation that it's been anthropomorphized. 

“I…well, I mean, did you?” He doesn't even have time to process the question itself. 

“You first.” 

He considers it. Kieran is no stranger to the village rumors that one could meet people who have passed away at the Crystal Pool. He had grown up surrounded by such rumors. Spirits, kami, curses…he had heard such things brought up in the same, prosaic way that orchard workers would complain about the latest outbreak of Applin using up their crops. It was integrated—woven—into the tapestry of Kitakami life in such a way that such topics didn’t warrant a fuss. They just…were. He had never really thought about the implications of ghosts existing or what they entailed about a possible afterlife. 

Now that he thinks about it, it was growing up with this background that led him to accept the reality that there really was a curse. Ryme’s explanation had helped, but he had experienced less cognitive dissonance than expected. 

“There’ve always been rumors in the village about being able to see the deceased at the Crystal Pool,” he finally says. “I kinda just grew up with it, I guess. I accepted that spirits—ghosts exist, but my focus was more on the…Ogre.”

Juliana hums in thought as she rinses the suds off their dishes. “Carmine told me something similar when I was in Kitakami,” she replies, hoping to brush past the potential awkwardness that the topic of Ogerpon elicits. “I’d imagine it’s common knowledge there?”

She abruptly hands him a dish towel and a clean, damp plate, startling him as he fumbles to accept them. 

“Yeah…I’d say so. Never saw ghosts, myself. Not at the Crystal Pool or anywhere. Nothin’ supernatural. How ‘bout you?” 

“Mmm...I’d say that before, I accepted the possibility. Did you ever hear about the encounter Champion Gloria had? It was all over the internet for a while.”

He pauses on drying the second plate. “The Champion of Galar met a ghost?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“Yeah. Here, let’s go over there. I wanna sit down for this one, like a proper spooky camp story.”

Kieran admits that he is curious. He follows Juliana to the bed and sits beside her, all too aware of the body heat radiating from her, the sensation of pounding against his sternum, every nerve in his body on high alert. 

“So back when Champion Gloria was just…well, Gloria…she apparently ran into a little girl in Hammerlocke who introduced herself as Paula. Super unobtrusive, small little thing, tucked away in the shadow of a pillar. She said that this Paula mentioned she fancied someone and had written a love letter. Insisted that it be delivered to a boy named Frank in Ballonlea. She gives the letter to her and it looks really old, weatherworn.”

Kieran nods, a feeling of dread crawling up his spine.

Juliana grips the edge of her bed, clearly into the tale. “So Gloria gets to Ballonlea eventually, right? During all her gym challenges. She asks a nearby kid if he knows a boy named Frank. Could be his friend, for all she knows. He tells her that the only Frank in Ballonlea is his grandad.”

“No…no way.”

“Yeah way. She enters Frank’s house and finds an elderly man, not a boy. She’s a little weirded out, since he doesn’t match the description, but she gives him the letter anyway, and wouldn’t you know. Paula was his childhood friend. They would hang out a lot, but she had a sort of fatal, debilitating illness that she had hidden from him. The two had a great row about it, and the guy moved away not long after that.”

“Wowzers…so she really was…” 

“Yeah…So the guy asks if Paula is doing okay, how her health is holding up, and what can Gloria say, right? So he gives her a choice scarf. Tells her to ‘treasure those dear to you while you have them close.’ She heads back to Hammerlocke to deliver the news, and she finds a reaper cloth instead.”

He stares back in mute terror. He's heard about reaper cloths…reputedly imbued with horrifyingly strong spiritual energy. Absolutely loved by Dusclops. Back home, they were called reikai no nuno—spirit world cloth. For their connection to the spirit world—the place that Dusknoir guided lost souls to. “Soul escorts,” in a way. 

He knows the implications, perhaps in a way even more so than the girl by his side. The Duskull line is highly prevalent in Kitakami. His homeland is no stranger to dark folklore. 

Paula's spirit had been taken to…wherever spirits go in the end.

“So…that's what opened ya up to the possibility of ghosts?” he asks quietly.

“It was always there before, but I guess even more so after that. I don't think the Galar League Champion would make stuff up like that.” Juliana pauses. “I wonder…if Paula's the one in the painting. Or…I dunno, if she's still around.”

“It's not possible. She's not here anymore.”

Juliana stares at him. It's the way he said it. 

Like there was no doubt in his mind.

“You're absolutely sure about that,” she says. It's not a question or a request for confirmation. It's a statement. 

Kieran exhales slowly. “Not many pokemon from the Duskull line in Paldea, I take it?”

“None, really. I know we had them in Galar, but I never got around to catching one.”

He fiddles with the strand of hair framing his face, his unease apparent. “Back home, Dusknoir are known to ferry lost spirits to the afterlife. The reaper cloth that’s known to evolve Dusclops is called spirit world cloth, reikai no nuno. From the spirit world—reikai. Lotsa older folks believe in it. It’s a sign that she was taken there, probably.”

Her blood runs cold. “So that’s what it really meant? It was creepy that that’s all that was left there…and I know about it being used for evolution, but…I didn’t know about that.”

Kieran gives her a wan smile. “I get it. Only reason I know is ‘cause there’s a lot of ‘em back home. Duskull, I mean—Yomawaru. An’ Litwick, Phantump, Poltchageist, Gastly…I've heard Annihilape, too. The wilds an’ mountains can get dangerous at night, Arceus knows I got a real earful from the elders. I never really ran into trouble myself.”

Juliana aims an appraising look at him. His childhood experience had been quite different from hers. She had spent her fair share of time in the wild areas of Galar, but it never felt quite so…rural or isolated as Kitakami. 

She could only think how strange it was that they were in the same room, sharing the same space, after the different lives they had led in vastly different regions. There is a real chance that in some alternate universe, she had never met him. A universe where she hadn’t been chosen in the lottery for the Kitakami field trip (and really, would he have been better off if she hadn't been there to begin with? She tries to shove that thought process aside). After all, it was only later that Juliana had found out that Carmine had recommended her to Director Cyrano. And if she hadn’t met Carmine…

She would probably be at Naranja right now. 

Juliana didn’t really believe in things like fate. Ghosts were one thing, but terms bandied around such as “destiny” or “providence” felt heavy-handed to her. She was just a hapless, awkward foreign exchange student that happened to be next door neighbors to the most extroverted girl she has ever met in her entire life. If she hadn’t met Nemona that day, she doesn’t know how she would have adjusted to her new life at school. Would she have still found Koraidon, or run into Arven like she had? Would she have encountered Penny at that exact moment, when she was being harassed by those Team Star lackeys? The only certainty would have been the inevitable climb up the worst staircase in the world. 

She had always been a sort of “yes” person. Going with the flow, agreeing to things. Some would say a people pleaser, which wasn’t entirely out of the question. She liked helping people, in the sense that it was something she could do, that she was capable of. Juliana loves her friends and considers herself lucky, but admits that even she may have stretched herself a bit too thin during her Treasure Hunt. And now she found herself saying yes, yet again, to Drayton’s schemes. 

In a way, one could argue that Juliana’s first, entirely selfish desire since moving to Paldea is the boy sitting next to her.

There is a fragility to the way things happen in life. Nothing is guaranteed. 

Treasure those dear to you while you have them close.

Juliana settles further into the bed, leaning against the wall to make herself more comfortable. “Sounds pretty different from where I grew up. I’d like to hear more about life back home…if that’s okay.”

She will savor these moments, while she still has the chance. 

Chapter Text

Shauntal is not an exorcist.

She is, first and foremost, a novelist. A collector of stories, by trade. Always on the lookout for new tales, new rumors. In all honesty, she is not sure exactly how she came to be called upon as a contractor. There were others who were more proficient in communicating with the deceased or dealing with curses, if that was indeed what was happening—although these individuals are located in far off regions. Phoebe of Hoenn, the mediums of Johto, among others. Ryme of Paldea is an exorcist and has the additional infamy of being the first to resurrect her own pokemon. However, the allure of the story behind this “haunted painting” had drawn her in. That makes the trip more than worthwhile, in her opinion. 

While being considered an expert with Ghost-type pokemon, her dealings with the spirits of humans were few and far between. However, she knows that what she can offer is information. She had collected an impressive number of eyewitness reports of paranormal activity over the years. Shauntal also has the sort of innate sensitivity common among specialists of her particular “cohort.” She should be able to sense something within or around the painting, to varying degrees. She supposes that if she were desperate, she could “politely request” a spirit to go away. She isn't beneath ghost bribery. Her Chandelure would also be able to assist her. But in all honesty, she would rather befriend ghosts and will-o’-wisps than be rid of them. 

Unova really needs more ghost specialists, she thinks.

Shauntal has, in the course of her dealings with people and observations of trainers, gleaned much information about humans and pokemon alike. When you obtain enough data, you begin to recognize patterns. You begin to suspect when things dwell outside the expected norm.

Immediately off the bat, she notices how batty Director Cyrano is. He has the lighthearted, mischievous air of a Whimsicott, with the memory capacity of a Pidove. This throws her off from what she does know, which is that he has access to a ghastly amount of cash and that, if he wanted to, he could give the Elite Four a serious run for their money. She's not even sure she could take him on. The disjointed school tour she is led on is a bewildering whirlwind and only results in more questions. 

He gives her access to the appropriate student files which she feels might be outside protocol at best and illegal at worst. She gets the feeling that he probably doesn't even remember school protocols or doesn't particularly care. For a brief moment that is uncannily guided by razor sharp intuition and fueled by ghostly discernment, she is flooded with concern regarding the safety and administrative regulations of the school. Were the other faculty this…off-kilter? Who guides the students? How much power did the students have?

She tries to move past this feeling. It's just a feeling, right? Not quite grounded in anything solid. Just a hunch. Shauntal moves on to the tablets in front of her, with the student files for…the BB League Champion and the foreign exchange student. 

She starts with the resident school Champion, first. When she had first heard about the school's League Club and replica Elite Four, she had found it rather cute. A high school's way of playing pretend. But then she dug deeper. Pokemon teams and levels, trainer backgrounds. Clay's very own daughter. Drayden's grandson. The intent is clear. She highly suspects that a few years down the road, she will be seeing them at annual League conferences, complaining about dues and fees over lackluster continental breakfasts.

However, she could find almost nothing about their Champion. His social media presence is literally non-existent, a rarity for the times. Nothing about his family, his origins. 

She opens up her reliable, signature pink notebook, her pen at the ready to take notes. 

Kieran.

Regional place of birth: Kitakami

Current place of residence: Mossui Town. Kitakami.

Languages: Kantonian (primary), Galarian (secondary)

Emergency contact…

Isn't Kitakami the remote, countryside region closer to Sinnoh? Known for…exports of apples, rice…a budding tourism industry early in the works. Recently discovered to also have the Terastal phenomenon, similar to Paldea. She is surprised that he ended up coming here all the way to Unova. 

Ah, here on scholarship it looks like. Same with his sister, whose name is Carmine.

Practically nonexistent on the records too: stellar attendance but average to above-average grades overall, just enough to meet his scholarship requirements. Is a League Club member but was initially middling in the rankings. Not the worst by far but not the best by a long shot. 

That all changed at a point several months ago. He shoots up the rankings like a rocket. His grades become solid As, his GPA a pristine 4.0. The composition of his team shifts dramatically. No type specialties. League Club President. 

If Shauntal were here in the capacity of an Unovan League representative, she knows that he would be prime scouting material. But that is not what she is here for today.

She turns to the other tablet. 

Juliana.

Regional place of birth: Galar

Current place of residence: Cabo Poco. Paldea.

Languages: Galarian (primary), Paldean (intermediate level)

Goodness, her file is interesting.

She's never seen so much red tape on any file before, and these are supposed to be the records for a high school student, not the dossier of an intelligence agency spook. The red tape is courtesy of the Paldean League, regarding some incident report about an…Area Zero. A solid amount of redacted nonsense. Most of the file has been carried over from Naranja Academy records—her original school. Overall good grades but nothing to bat an eye at. Had completed the Paldean League gym challenge…challenged the Paldean Elite Four…

She is a Paldean Champion??? 

The file could have led with that important fact.

It's the first similarity that she has run across on both of their files. It's something at least. 

Otherwise, so far there has been no overlap between them. Their pokemon teams are different. Their places of origin were almost as far apart as one could possibly be. Their lives were a study of contrasts. Shauntal really isn't being given much to work with.

Is the curse targeting…Champions? People with the power and potential of Champions? Looking for strength?

Usually that would be more along the lines of a possession though. Unless it is a curse of spite because they are both powerful trainers?

Or perhaps it is related to the Terastal phenomenon, somehow? They did both hail from regions that naturally have Terastallization. She's not entirely sure how a curse would be involved with that. Related to…environmental factors that may have impacted both students?

She continues to write in her notebook.

Both Champions. Pertaining to trainer strength?

Terastal phenomenon in Paldea and Kitakami?

Same age??

She gets the uncanny feeling that she is missing something, some crucial detail. 

Shauntal had gleaned all she could from the tablets. It is time to take a look at this fabled painting. 

The Polar Biome is freezing, as usual.

Juliana had anticipated this, knowing the course schedule, and had opted for the more appropriate winter uniform. She told herself that blue was her lucky color (will be, from now on, since she can hardly wear white anymore if Kieran is going to continue his portable raincloud battle strategy) as she got dressed for the morning. She couldn’t help but think of Carmine as she looked at herself in the mirror earlier that morning—Kieran's sister always seemed to be wearing the winter set. The Paldean Champion doesn’t think that Carmine would make her change. It’s not as if it were that Unovan tradition that involves...dances? ...Prom. 

Earlier in her room, she had looked at Kieran as if he had grown a second head when she saw him step out of the bathroom, also in the winter uniform. That must have been the spare change of clothes he mentioned, probably thinking along the same lines as her. But now they match, and she knows it’s stupid as all get out since they’re school uniforms, they have to wear them—and they both apparently didn’t feel like freezing their collective asses off. It didn’t make it any less jarring, though. He had come to the realization around the same time as her, if the sudden, flushed expression on his face was anything to go by. Kieran had quickly thrown his hoodie on top, in an attempt to not think about the dumb things he had seen in his sister’s magazines about osoroi coordination or pair looks. 

During homeroom, Juliana had looked at Crispin as if he had grown a third head when she saw that he wasn’t wearing any extra layers at all, beyond his usual chef’s coat. 

“You’re an idiot,” said Kieran. 

“I hope you plan to have your Magmortar out the entire time,” said Juliana.

“It’s good to see you guys too,” replied Crispin, cheerfully, not one to be put off by scathing logic.

She stared at him. “Aren’t you going to be freezing?” 

“I just gotta get pumped for class today! It’s nothing one of my super-spicy sandwiches can’t help with!”

“Remind me in two hours when the frostbite starts kicking in,” said Kieran, sounding somewhat unimpressed.

Juliana’s Rotom phone suddenly chirped, a notification flashing across her screen.

“Remind me in two hours when the frostbite starts kicking in.”

Here’s your reminder for today at 10:05 am:

Frostbite starts kicking in

“What.”

Juliana quickly swiped the notification off of her screen, abashed. “Sorry about that, one of those Rotom features.”

Kieran glanced at her, horrified at this blatant invasion of privacy. “It’s just…always listenin’ to you?” He did suppose there was a Rotom in there. He just hadn’t thought of the implications before.

Crispin swiftly jumped into the fray. “Rotom, where do you hide a body?”

There was a pause.

“Bzzt-zzt! There’s an ocean right outside. You figure it out!”

“Sorry, my Rotom phone can be an arse sometimes.”

Sure enough, two hours had passed. The notification goes off with impeccable timing in the middle of class. Crispin is doing his best impression of a Snorunt, which is relatively on point with the shivering. They are huddled within the second polar outdoor classroom, a gazebo further up the slopes. Apparently, jalapeños and chili oil aren’t a prophylactic for incipient hypothermia.

Bzzt frostbite starts kicking in

“We did try to tell you,” Juliana whispers. 

The instructor continues. “—lastly, we will discuss Hisuian variants and the advantages they can present in the context of battle. As you all may know, Hisuian variants used to be prolific in what we now know as the Sinnoh region. Most simply adapted with the advent of industrialization, changing typings and becoming the pokemon that we know today. One example is the Hisuian Voltorb, which had a secondary Grass typing relevant to the use of apricorns when crafting ancient Poke Balls. A form of camouflage.”

He gestures to the slide on the screen next to him. “However, as you can see, we do have some Hisuian pokemon with us in the modern day, thanks to conservation efforts. Sometimes, this requires rehabilitation and climate controlled environments, which are possible in our Terarium thanks to temperature regulation technologies and acquisition of certain mineral deposits. This is how we have the Hisuian Qwilfish, as well as Kleavor in the Canyon Biome. Since we are here, let us discuss Qwilfish. Johtonian Qwilfish are the ones we are most familiar with. Quite prolific, found in seas and bodies of water across the world. However, a Hisuian Qwilfish is adapted to much colder waters. Can someone tell me another significant difference?”

“It’s a dark and poison dual type, instead of water,” one student pipes up.

“Very good. Any others?”

“They can evolve into another form—Overqwil—if you teach them Barb Barrage and level them up.”

“Precisely, Kieran. Good. And with that, we will segway into how this can help us in battle. Trainers that you encounter may not necessarily know about the types and abilities of different regional variants, and you can use this to your advantage. It isn’t illegal to use pokemon that another trainer is unfamiliar with. It is on the trainer to accrue that knowledge. Even more so with Hisuian variants, which are extremely rare due to modern-day conditions. Utilizing an Overqwil or Kleavor that have been caught here in our Terarium can confer advantages when battling in regions that are unfamiliar with these pokemon. Out of curiosity, does anyone happen to have pokemon that could be historically found in the Hisui region?”

Juliana and Kieran raise their hands simultaneously, before staring at each other.

“Uh—”

“I, uh—what?”

“Um, you can go—”

“No no it’s okay—”

“Same time, go,” Crispin says suddenly, clapping them both on the back with a resounding thud. 

They respectively fumble through their Rotom phone and bag in a flustered haze, before the sound of Poke Balls releasing echoes through the gazebo.

A Hisuian Arcanine and a red-accented Basculegion stare back at them. 

There is a bewildered stir amongst the gathered students. 

The instructor gapes at them, rendered somewhat speechless. He hadn’t expected any students to actually pull off his request. 

“I—hmm, okay. Well. Hrm. Who wants to go first?”

Please explain yourselves.

Juliana starts. “Well…I’m afraid I don’t know much about where to find more, but I was given a Hisuian Growlithe by a Sinnohan photographer, as thanks for helping her out. She has one of her own too, from the same litter I think. Brothers. She didn’t really explain if there were more out there or if it is some kind of conservation effort going on. But he’s a dual rock and fire type. Evolves with a fire stone, same as our usual ones. I think the fur has some kind of igneous rock component?”

“That's fascinating,” the instructor says, genuinely intrigued (in the background, Crispin says an indignant, “Juliana, you hid this beauty from me? I thought we were friends!”). “I’d certainly like to know more about current population numbers or habitat if any. If you’re able to obtain such information.”

She has Perrin’s number. Juliana hadn’t contacted her in awhile, but it is doable. She hopes that it isn’t some sort of Hisuian puppy mill situation. “Sure, I can try.”

“And how about you, Kieran?”

“This used to be a White-Striped Basculin. Can’t really find them anywhere else besides the woods in Kitakami, but I’ve heard that they used to be in Hisui. They’re not really like other Basculin—they share food with each other and they’re more chill than the other types. They travel upstream and a lotta them don’t make it, but if an injured one survives, supposedly the souls of the others join to become Basculegion, which is part Ghost. For mine, it evolved after I used Wave Crash a number of times. Could be the recoil damage, if the story’s true.”

Most of the people in the gazebo hadn’t even heard of a White-Striped Basculin before. There are plenty of red and blue ones in Unova—in fact, they are considered invasive—but white? And they could apparently evolve?

The instructor leans back, rubbing at his temples.

These guys are on another level. They don’t pay me enough to deal with this.

Shauntal had never had a staring contest with a painting before. 

She supposes there’s a first time for everything. The damn thing hadn’t blinked at her since she had entered the room. But she is determined. She is no fool. 

Not with the obvious aura surrounding it.

The aura hangs heavy, almost as if it had been amplified. This thing had passed through multiple hands in the course of its life, and it had almost seemed to accrue despair as it went. There is a history. It is aware, reactive, but not the same as a corporeal spirit. It couldn't suddenly sprout ectoplasmic legs and walk away. 

She looks off to the corner of the storage room with an expression of rapt fascination. Just wait for it…

There. Fucking finally.

From her peripheral vision, she could see it blink. It had been observing her movements, tracking her eyes. Devious little shit. Forget befriending it, not with that attitude.

Is it a humanoid spirit that has lingering regrets and is essentially hitching a ride on the painting? Is it the unresolved issue or regret itself lingering, like a sort of postmortem memory residue? It doesn’t feel like a pokemon, at least. 

Is it the subject of the painting? She looks at her notebook.

Portrait painting, about ¾ or ⅔ length. Subject is a young girl, appears to be younger than 10 years of age—possibly seven? Eight? Blond, wavy hair, middle part. Gray eyes. Clothing suggestive of upper-class upbringing. Pink shirt with lace detailing at the collar and sleeves. Dark, eggplant dress. Mostly monochromatic background, magenta upholstered chair. Hugging a Banette, which is in a strange posture, leaning back. Frame is antique, weather damage apparent. 

“Is it okay if I touch the painting? Or take a look at the back of it?”

“Help yourself! Please!” Filbert shifts his weight with apparent unease. Once the Art Club had taken the painting back to their storage room, no one had wanted to touch it with a ten foot pole. Why risk it? They already consider themselves being in hot water, after the events that had unfolded a few days ago. 

She slowly approaches the painting. Nothing. 

The flames of her Chandelure flare slightly with apprehension, but not outright hostility. Not an immediate threat then. Just recognizing that there is a presence there.

She tentatively brushes her fingertips against the edges of the gilt frame, which is on the floor and propped against the wall. A flare of energy that quickly burbles away. Not interested in her, then. Lucky her.

Shauntal slowly, carefully turns the painting to face the wall. On the bottom corners, wedged between the canvas and the frame edge, she can see scraps of paper tucked away, brown with age. It gets more interesting when she pulls the scraps from their previous housing. There is writing—different handwriting, indicating different writers—in Kantonian, Kalosian, Galarian. She can’t read the Kantonian for shit, ditto for the Kalosian other than bits and pieces. The Galarian is at least recognizable. It’s the least-weathered scrap of them all. An address in Nimbasa City and a name. She could possibly text a screenshot of the Kantonian and Kalosian to her colleagues. 

Shauntal turns to Filbert. “Do you happen to have a list of previous Art Club members on hand? Or records?”

“We do, I just don’t know how far back it goes, though. We have everyone put down their name and contact information when they first join.”

“It’s worth a shot,” she says. “If you can bring that here, that would be great.”

He nods and hastily scurries away, relieved for any excuse to be away from the painting. She can’t see why he would bother. She has the suspect feeling that once it latches onto someone (in this case, someones), it would stick with them, at least until whatever it wants is resolved or the terms are met. 

*bing-bong-bong-bing*

“This is an announcement for the following students: 

BB League Champion Kieran. Elite Four members Drayton, Lacey, Amarys, Crispin. Juliana, our exchange student. 

Director Cyrano and a guest would like to see you. 

Please proceed to the Art Club room as soon as possible.

*bong-bing-bing-bong*

Juliana stares at her Rotom phone. 

10:23. 

Did the director even give her a proper tour???

“Damn, isn’t it kinda early?” Crispin asks.

“Yeah, it is early,” she replies, bemused. She quickly opens up her Rotom app for calling a Flying Taxi to the Terarium entrance, where they can take the necessary elevators to the club and administrative building. 

Current wait time: 25 minutes. 

Seriously? Are there that many students suddenly needing a ride around the Terarium? Are there cabbies that are out sick? She hopes that it is just an error on her phone, or that the wait times just haven't updated yet. 

“Sorry, is it okay if we can leave early?” she asks their instructor. 

“Of course! I think we can wrap it up here for today anyway. Wouldn't want to keep the director himself waiting.”

The guy who pays you? Definitely not.

As the assorted students gather their belongings, Juliana turns to face Crispin. He has a phone of his own.

“Hey, what wait times is your Rotom giving you?”

He makes a face. “25 minutes.”

So the same, then. It is probably an accurate ETA. She doesn't really want to have to do this, not when there's still lingering students and a moderately shell-shocked instructor around as witnesses. But Koraidon could use a little stretch anyway. 

When her reptilian companion bursts forth from his Poke Ball, she can hear muted sounds of surprise and the prominent yelp of someone whose spirit has temporarily left their body from sheer shock. Koraidon rumbles good-naturedly as he bumps Juliana's hand with his head for more scritches. 

“Yeah sorry bud, I know you haven't been out much lately.”

The kitchenette calamity from the previous day doesn't count, she thinks. Not if she wants to retain her dignity.

The sound of another Poke Ball releasing startles her back into the present. Who—

Kieran has released his Dragonite.

Her Koraidon and his Dragonite stare at each other, mildly confused. They had met one another at the picnic a few days ago and they were on fairly amenable terms. Both of them recognize the cues of their trainers, their body language. They're ready to fly off.

Kieran and Juliana look at each other, the confusion of their pokemon equally reflected in their expressions. 

“I was thinking Koraidon—”

“Dragonite can take me—”

“—we gotta make sure Crispin can fit too—”

They pause.

They simultaneously eyeball the distance between them. Right now they're at about three feet. Two more feet would be their limit before things go downhill. 

Juliana chews at her lip in thought. Okay. Maybe this could work?

She sidles as far as she possibly can before the dizziness can fully set in. 

“Koraidon, can you get right in front of me?”

“Dragonite, try to stand right about…here.”

While there are variations in height and weight among any pokemon species, measurements for Dragonite average at about 7 feet, 3 inches. 463 pounds. Koraidon is 8 feet, 2 inches, weighing in at about 668 pounds.

Standing beside each other is a stretch. Flying in tandem would be a joke with a lethal punchline. Koraidon's unfurled wings would gouge Dragonite's eye out, or—more likely—give him a particularly nasty case of conjunctivitis. 

It wouldn't work.

“We gotta buddy up then,” she says. “It's one or the other.”

Kieran gives his Dragonite a scrutinizing look, before eyeballing Crispin. 

“Dragonite can probably fit three people…max.” It would be a tight fit. Two people could work easily. But three is cutting it close. He'd never had additional passengers before, but his pokemon could fly and was fast.

Juliana can sense the uncertainty in his tone. “Hmm…I know for a fact that Koraidon can fit four people. He's done it before. There’d be a little more room.”

“You told me he can only glide, though. Dragonite can fly us all the way there.”

This is true. Without Amarys’ supplement, they would be spending a fair amount of time on the ground. But—

“Koraidon is pretty fast on the ground, you haven't seen him sprint before.”

“He'd have to avoid obstacles on the ground and there's changes in terrain to deal with. That adds to travel time.” 

“Okay, um, we can try this I guess?”

What proceeds next is truly a testament to Dragonite's patience. The pokemon crouches down on his haunches, leveling out as much as he possibly can. Kieran is pretty adept at mounts and dismounts, but the two other trainers are unknown factors and one could see him weighing the possibilities. His trainer kicks over first, before he offers a hand to the girl. The girl mounts surprisingly easily, to his relief. 

And then it boils down to the red-headed boy. 

The girl offers her hand in turn and despite her aid, the boy still half-scrambles onto his back. Dragonite can feel him sliding down his back towards his tail, so the pokemon tries to help by leaning so that they are at a less gravity prone level. What ends up happening instead is that they all shunt forward with a grunt like beads on an abacus, slamming into the person in front of them. Kieran locks his legs tightly in place along Dragonite's shoulders to keep them from collectively pitching face-first into the snow.

“Crispin, you gotta hold yourself in place with your legs too,” Kieran says, realizing that his friend has probably never rode a flying pokemon in his life. Swapping his Talonflame for a Charizard could be a quality-of-life boon for him. Kieran also suddenly realizes the mistake he has made when he can feel Juliana's body firmly pressed against his backside, more so because Crispin's weight has been added to the mix and now his friend is accidentally spooning his other friend, clinging to her for dear life like a Komala while Kieran is agonizingly aware of the sensation of her breasts against his back, her arms clutching his waist. The form-fitting winter uniform pants are not helping in the slightest. Terrible idea. Horrendous idea. Abort mission.  

They all end up awkwardly scrambling off, to the consternation of the leftover students watching this display of buffoonery. 

“Maybe Dragonite can carry you in his arms,” Kieran says, aiming a deadpan look at Crispin.

“I'll walk, thanks.”

“Um, let's try Koraidon?” Juliana suggests, her breath coming out in stuttering puffs of steam. Her winter uniform suddenly feels too warm, too constricting.

Mounting Koraidon is somewhat more beginner friendly, it turns out. It could be due to the genetic connection to the Cyclizar line, which has been used for human transportation dating back at least 10,000 years ago. Koraidon makes his preparations, inflating his gular sac, tucking his tail, splaying his clawed feet for maximum traction. The plumes at the base of his tail streamline to form the back crest of a seat. His additional height gives a little more leeway as they mount. 

Maybe this would work. 

If Penny could float her way down the Great Crater riding Koraidon backwards, then Crispin could easily manage a normal ride on him. 

Juliana shifts on Koraidon's back, rolling her shoulders before fishing a set of riding gloves from her pocket and pulling one on with her teeth in a practiced motion. It ignites something feral in Kieran's brain. He can feel Crispin settling in behind him, oblivious to his internal strife. At least they aren't sandwiched together this time. 

She reaches for the crested tendrils of Koraidon's shoulders, in the shape of perfect handlebars. 

“This should be a little easier, but hold on tight anyway,” she says, as she angles Koraidon towards the jutting overhang of blocks adjacent to the gazebo. A launchpad.

Koraidon gets a running start. Kieran can feel the pokemon's muscles churning as he plunges through a drift, snow flying everywhere. He's never seen Juliana use him in a fight, ever. But he imagines that if she did, he would be fucking terrifying. Just like how terrifying it is that he's now lunging in a dead sprint towards the edge of the platform with no wing structures apparent whatsoever. Nothing that would remotely suggest flying capabilities. 

“Uh, Juli—”

“Wait for it.”

At the very edge of the launchpad, Koraidon digs into the luminescent floor, his haunches coiled springs of primordial strength, and launches roughly sixty feet into the air. Kieran feels his stomach plummet down to the icy ground below him whilst the rest of his body continues to merrily fly off without it. Juliana hadn't mentally prepared him for the substantial amount of G forces he would be exposed to. He vaguely contemplates if she is really a cyborg in disguise.

Suddenly, the tendrils crowning Koraidon's head unfurl with the snapping sound of sails catching a gust of wind, and they stabilize. It feels the same and yet different to riding his Dragonite, Kieran thinks. Riding his pokemon feels like being one with them. You adapt to how your pokemon flies, making yourself more streamline, leaning when your pokemon leans. You feel the sensations of their wings beating, the bumps and jolts when they are buffeted by air currents. On Koraidon, it almost feels like being on a plane. He can feel the wind blowing into his face, his eyes searing and dry, but barely any turbulence. His hands grasp some nearby feathers as a safety precaution, but there's almost hardly any need to do so. 

“This is lit as fuck!” Crispin yells over the sound of the ambient wind whistling around them. 

To Crispin, who doesn't use pokemon to fly around, this has to be mind blowing. To Kieran, who does, it's still mind blowing. The view is amazing. They had departed from one of the higher vantage points in the Terarium, enabling them to see all four biomes along with the Central Plaza. Juliana banks slightly to the right, steering Koraidon towards the direction of the Savanna Biome.

“Oh by the way, since we're not with everyone else yet, do you have some time Kieran?” Crispin asks. “I keep meaning to ask if you're down to watch that movie I told you about. The last several months, it's been hard to find a time where you're free dude.”

Kieran hesitates. He had been pretty guilty of that. Sure, he and Crispin are in the same classes, but that doesn't mean that he had really spent much time hanging out with him after. Kieran had devoted his entire schedule to either training or extra supplementary studies to augment his coursework. He admits to himself that he hasn't exactly been stellar friend material lately. 

He thinks over the last few days. He is behind in terms of his self-imposed schedule and readings. Usually, he would be ahead of the curve for assignments by at least a couple of weeks by now. He would be asking his teachers for extra credit options, or spending time on a school computer to look up the latest competitive strategies, ones that he could test out with his pokemon. While he did get some studying done with Juliana, it was paltry, pathetic compared to what he used to do. 

And yet…

Kieran can feel the difference. He has more energy today than he has in the past several months. His head feels somewhat clearer, which is strange considering he hadn't even realized that his head wasn't clear to begin with. Is it the fact that he has been eating more the past few days? Would that really make that much of a difference? He's—they're—bound by a curse, so why does he feel better than he has felt in a long time?

“I dunno, Crispin. Juli and I have to stick together now, remember? It wouldn't be…uh…bro time?”

“Oh, it's Juli now is it?” he says, which sends heat rushing to Kieran's face. “Well Juli, I now hereby induct you as an honorary bro. What are your thoughts on the Big Monster Series?”

“Titanic Tyranitar is classic, it's hard to beat the OG movies. Mysterious Beach was weird as fuck but Return of Mecha Tyranitar wasn't half bad.”

Kieran stares. 

Juliana watches kaiju movies???

“Mecha Tyranitar Strikes Back finally came out on streaming services a couple of weeks ago.”

“Shut up.”

“No, for real. You down??”

“I'm down!”

“We're going down.”

“Okay, weird way to put it dude, but I'm all fired up!”

“No really, we're going down.”

They're going down.

It's slow, but the decline of their gliding flight path has been dipping slightly more steeply with each passing second. 

“Uh, is this normal?” Crispin asks.

“Hmm…I guess it has been awhile since he’s carried more than just me,” Juliana says, seemingly unbothered by this new development.

“Now you think to tell us this??”

“Or it could be the cold climate of the Polar Biome? He is an ectotherm…” she hums. “Well, either way, I’ll just change tack. We should be touching down right about…”

They brace for impact as Koraidon slams down on all fours onto the battle court of Central Plaza. A few students look up with a start at the sudden intrusion. 

The moment that Koraidon begins to start trotting down the ramp leading to the Savanna Biome, Kieran realizes that the situation has changed. This is absolutely nothing like the flight they had just experienced. Koraidon's gait is rough and jarring, and Kieran finds himself tightening his hold both on the makeshift, feathered saddle and with his legs along the pokemon's sides. He has a bad feeling about this. Juliana’s posture changes too, more alert, leaning forward. 

“Wait, is that you Lace?” she asks.

Kieran can hear Crispin sputtering behind him in dismay.

Lacey is off to the side of the Savanna Biome entrance, glancing at her Rotom phone. She looks up with surprise at the three of them. 

“What are you all doing here? Didn’t you hear the overhead announcement?”

“I should ask the same of you. Is it the wait time for the Flying Taxi?”

Lacey makes a discontented sound. “Yeah, it’s been awhile. I honestly should have just started walking over myself, I would have been at the entrance by now. I don’t really have any ride pokemon of my own either…”

“Do you want a lift?” Juliana asks.

Crispin makes a muted sound of despair and anguish.

“Keep it together, man,” Kieran hisses under his breath.

“I’m gonna die. I’m gonna combust into flames.”

“Combust when we get to the entrance then, not here!”

Lacey gives all three of them a curious look, before scrutinizing the red lizard before her. 

“Are you sure it’s okay?” she asks. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

Juliana waves it off. “It’s fine! Four people is the max capacity here. I’d feel bad if I left you here and then had to explain to the director that I ditched you. Amarys and Drayton have pokemon that can fly, so they should be fine anyway.”

“Okay! Well, thank you!”

As Lacey approaches them, Crispin offers a slightly trembling hand to her. “Uh, welcome aboard!”

She gives him an amused smile, dipping into a small curtsy before taking his proffered hand. “Why thank you, what a gentleman!”

Kieran thinks that his friend could have forgone his frying pan today. If he wanted to, Crispin could just as easily whip up some fresh scrambled eggs on his own face instead, no stove necessary. This is going to be a disaster.

Juliana looks over her shoulder. “Alright guys. So the faster way involves a brief bout of rock climbing. The slower way involves cutting through the edge of the Coastal Biome and crossing over. Thoughts?”

“Rock climbing??” 

“That sounds…ominous, but we also shouldn’t keep our visitor waiting, either. It wouldn’t be right…”

“What does this involve, exactly?”

“Just hold on to something or someone like your life depends on it.”

Kieran was right. This would be a disaster.

Koraidon begins a slow, steady trot out of the plaza, before they encounter a rock face of about thirty feet, with embedded block formations at largely spaced intervals leading upward. They carefully skirt a confused Vibrava and a Sawsbuck, before making their way to the bottom of the rock wall. Juliana cranes her head upward, assessing the rock formation for holds, edges, signs of erosion or crumbling. 

“Attention all passengers, lean forward and hold on.”

The world flips suddenly, and all Kieran can see is the artificial sky of the Terarium dome beaming into his face. He jolts forward in a panic to wrap his arms around Juliana and clings to her out of pure self-preservation and adrenaline, as he feels Crispin latch desperately onto him with a yelp and a muffled shout of surprise coming from Lacey. Kieran can feel their collective weight dragging him back into oblivion. He has to shift forward even more so, tightening his grip with his arms and thighs. He can feel the girl in front of him inhaling sharply from surprise, the solid lunges of power beneath him as Koraidon digs his claws into the rock face before launching himself further up in spurts. It’s not a smooth ride in the slightest. 

When they reach the top, the sunlight of the Savanna Biome greets them.

Juliana lets out a cathartic wheeze as Kieran loosens his grip. “Okay...are we still alive back there?”

“I'm still figurin' that out.”

“In one piece, I think?”

“I’m giving you a one star rating on every ride share app in existence,” Crispin says with feeling.

“Yeah, that was probably the worst of it,” Juliana says sheepishly.

“Probably??”

“Last stretch. Hold on again.” Juliana rolls her shoulders, before leaning forward and gripping Koraidon’s feathered handlebars. Kieran is beginning to recognize this cue and bunkers down. He tentatively snakes his arms around her waist, his hands hovering briefly and awkwardly. Now that they weren’t in an adrenaline-fueled crisis, everything comes rushing back to him. She told them to hold on, it isn’t personal, but—

He feels small, warm hands gently grasping his own, wrapping them tenderly around her waist. She gives one of his arms a squeeze of reassurance. 

“Sorry, I know it’s a lot for the first time,” she murmurs softly, apologetically as she tilts her head slightly back over her shoulder. Only Kieran can hear her—can feel the wisps of her breath with each word. He would think that she is all confidence and poise with her riding gloves and posture, but up this close against her, he can feel her rapid heartbeat hammering, reverberating into his own chest. “You want to hug securely but not too tightly…it’s because you have to flex your core with Koraidon’s motions or you’ll find yourself worked out of your seat. I have a feeling you’ll catch on pretty quick, though.” 

The vibration of her voice against his sternum initiates an unprecedented series of acrobatics within his internal organs. “I—you’re doin’ fine, don’t worry,” he says quietly.

She smiles a small, personal smile that only he can see and it sends him reeling.

“Alright everyone, just remember to hold on and sorta tense your abdomen with Koraidon's movements, and we’ll be there quick as a flash.”

Juliana leans forward, performs a light tap with her heels on Koraidon’s sides, and suddenly the world is a blur. 

It feels like riding the unholy amalgamation of a flailing Tauros and Mossdeep's rocket ship, with all the enthusiasm of a Lillipup chasing a frisbee.

Sun-bleached grass and clods of soil are flying behind them, from the sheer force of Koraidon gripping into the ground for leverage. Wind rushes in Kieran's ears as the world blurs into streaks of color. A nearby Dodrio shrieks in confusion while an irritated Tauros attempts to keep up and fails miserably, taking a projectile lump of dirt to the face instead. Crispin's and Lacey's words of—elation? terror? both?—are drowned out by whistling air currents. He can feel Crispin's arms latching onto him in a vice grip, but it falls into the background compared to the sensations in front of him. 

Juliana is his anchor, his North. He can feel the minute shifts in her body as she leans forward, tilts to the side to avoid an outbreak of Trapinch. He begins to learn her cues, adjusting his posture in tandem. It is an expanded awareness of the body, similar to riding his Dragonite. He can tell that she has been riding Koraidon for a while—the tiniest micro-movement of a muscle or tendon would influence each other's movements. They are in sync with each other. 

And in the same way, it could happen with people too. Pressed up against her, Kieran can feel the tiniest shifts of her lats and shoulder blades, the thundering of her heartbeat against his ribs, the receding and oncoming tides of her breath, the sensation of his arms around her waist, her core flexing in time with Koraidon's gait. Her warmth is his warmth and vice versa. It's hard to untangle where one person ends and the other begins. He's ascending, his gut doing somersaults in this exhilarating arrangement of mutual trust and vulnerability at frankly terrifyingly high speeds. His pulse thrums in his veins, his skin is an electrical conflagration. He wants to curl into her, feel everything, make countless excuses to do this again, just the two of them. Everything else fades away.

“This feels amazing, right?” she says to him, breathlessly. She's positively glowing. 

He can only bring himself to look at her, transfixed. “Yeah…amazing.”

“Did you guys hitch a ride in a tornado?” Drayton asks.

A bit of an over exaggeration, although it is far from being their best hair day. Crispin, Lacey, Juliana, and Kieran stand at the Art Club door, in various states of dishevelment.

“There was a delay in available taxis, so we had to make do with a…shortcut,” Lacey breathes, with the vague expression of one who's envisioned her imminent demise multiple times in the past ten minutes. 

“Did this shortcut happen to look like a big red lizard with feathers?”

“You've seen him?” Juliana asks, perplexed.

“Who hasn't. It sets off all my Dragon Tamer senses buuuut it's none of my Combeeswax, as the saying goes.”

Amarys coolly raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Is she…amused? “Director Cyrano had to leave on ‘an errand that he suddenly remembered,’ so only the contractor is currently inside, along with some Art Club members who are assisting her.” 

“The director had to leave already?” Lacey asks in exasperation. “He didn’t even stick around to introduce us? That’s just not right!”

“You know how he gets,” Drayton says. 

Lacey knows all too well.

She sighs. “I suppose we will just have to introduce ourselves then. Are you two ready?”

She turns to face Kieran and Juliana.

Not really, Juliana thinks. She hasn't seen the painting since the night of the incident a few days ago, and in an ideal world, she would keep it that way. There were so many unknown factors involved—would their presence trigger something else to happen? Is it safe? All that comes to mind are those gray eyes blinking in the darkness. 

She eyes Kieran from her peripheral vision. He seems okay, other than his somewhat disheveled appearance, a few bangs having slipped out of his makeshift hair tie. He appears cautious, vigilant, but not visibly shaken by any definition of the word. Maybe she could take his lead on this. His discussion of his life back home the previous night has led her to believe that his passive knowledge from years of village gossip is more extensive than her own, at least in matters pertaining to ghosts, curses and myths. 

Juliana nods.

We'll be alright.

They step into the room together.

Chapter Text

According to Unovan custom, it's usually generally accepted etiquette to make polite eye contact with an individual or individuals upon meeting them for the first time. Perhaps a firm, non-personal handshake to go with it that involves the occasional bout of over-thinking (is my grip too weak? Too strong? How long am I supposed to do this?). The imaginings of a million perceived faux pas and microaggressions assault the mind. 

What is not typically custom is staring at a particular space between two people whom you've never met in your life, in the way that one's eyes tend to flicker naturally towards a piece of vegetative matter stuck between another's front teeth, or an unzipped fly. 

It's brief, in the way that one could almost only imagine that they saw such a glance. But it was there. 

The bespectacled woman before them had clearly seen something but had opted to not say anything about the matter. 

Kieran knew of Shauntal, from the standpoint of one who collects information on reputedly strong trainers in order to further bolster their own strengths and defenses, picking and choosing strategies. Potentially the strongest Ghost type trainer with League credentialing among all regions, although she loathes to refer to herself as a competitive battler. Her team has a breadth of secondary type coverages along with bulky heavy hitters such as Cofagrigus, Golurk, Drifblim, Jellicent. Her infamous ace, Chandelure, has exceptionally high offensive capabilities and is known to wield a Choice Scarf. He doesn't quite understand why she wouldn't take pride in her own prowess. Why just refer to herself as a novelist?

For someone so strong, she has all the air of a put-upon, waifish goth librarian who's pulled one too many all-nighters due to poor impulse control and an extreme proclivity to hoard books ranging from Gothic horror to tragic Galarian prose to the most obscure, avant-garde erotica known to undergo publication. 

This is who they sent as a contractor.

She couldn't be more than her mid twenties. 

Her eyes snap between the two of them, clearly making some kind of analysis. 

Lacey runs through the necessary, proper introductions, but what really draws Kieran’s attention is the painting propped up against the wall of the opened up storage room. It is currently facing the wall, exposing the back of the canvas and frame. The rest of the Art Club consists of tables, easels, canvases, the smell of drying acrylics. Some charcoal sketches are pinned to the walls. 

“My apologies for the change in time,” Shauntal says. “My flight arrived a little early, so I took the opportunity to catch one of the earlier ferries. The tour was also rather…concise?”

“I'm sorry about that,” Lacey replies, embarrassed. “Sometimes the Director can be a bit abstracted.”

Shauntal laughs. “I could see that. It's fine, I'm here on assignment anyway. You've acquired quite the interesting artifact here. We have a couple of leads already, although I'm only able to follow up on one of them at the moment.”

“Leads?”

“One is a name and address, somewhere in Nimbasa,” she says. Given the previous Unovan ghost stories she has heard, she would have thought it would be Lentimas rather than Nimbasa, but perhaps they are still related. “The others might be as well, but it's too early to tell. Some…linguistic barriers. None of you happen to know how to read Kalosian or Kantonian, do you?”

Kieran blinks. “I…I actually do. Uh, Kantonian only.” 

There is a noteworthy pause as the others in the room turn to face him. Shauntal looks at him appraisingly. “Ah yes, you're from Kitakami…mm, the director told me as such.” She refrains from mentioning that Cyrano had given her Kieran's entire file, at the look of surprise on his face. She walks over to him, scrap of paper in hand. “Then you might be able to help me a great deal here. If you could just—”

Her Rotom phone goes off. 

She hands him the paper as she fumbles with the phone screen before her. “I'm so sorry, let me just decline the ca—wait.”

Change of plans.

As Shauntal answers the call, the students crane forward to attempt to get a good look at her Rotom phone screen. They can see a woman who appears to be in her early forties. Platinum blonde hair, gray eyes, partially obscured by side swept bangs. Collared shirt. A lanyard of some sort. There are some chairs and a buffet table in the background, with the accompanying murmur of miscellaneous chatter in the background.

“Pardon me, I hope now is a good time? They sadly neglected to schedule regular bathroom breaks at this archaeology conference. Never again.”

“Cynthia! Goodness, anytime is a good time. It's been awhile. You got my text I assume?”

Kieran gapes at the woman displayed on the Rotom phone screen.

Cynthia???

“Yes! I admit I was intrigued about this painting when you mentioned it. I am more familiar with ruins, but I do run into myths and unusual stories during my travels. We can compare notes if anything.”

“Mmm! Yes! Actually, I had just found a few older scraps of paper with possibly relevant information. Some of them are written in languages that I'm not quite up to snuff with. I was actually going to ask you about some Kantonian, but one of the students here is from Kitakami. That's close to where you are, right?”

“Ah yes! I'm not in Sinnoh right now but they're very close regions,” she says. This statement is true both in regards to physical proximity as neighbors and in terms of relations. She scans the curious, young faces peering at her. They clearly recognize her. Cynthia imagines that there is a high likelihood that at least some of them know her from the context of the renowned world tournaments hosted in Driftveil. These days, she chooses to focus more on her research, but her history as Champion seemed to follow her relentlessly. Now, which one of them…

“Which one…”

“Uh…that would be me.”

She looks off to the left. Young man, black and purple hair mostly swept back, yellow eyes. Awestruck expression on his face. So he knew, too. In a way, he may know even more than his classmates. She tentatively asks him a question in Kantonian, that he in turns answers in a polite, wavering tone. Nervous then. She attempts to diffuse the tension, her posture relaxing minutely, her tone more casual. Switching to her native Sinnoh-ben aids in this—there is some overlap with his Kitakami dialect in terms of loan words. A twinge of homesickness sets in. She thinks of Celestica Town. The food, too—Sinnohan ice cream, soup curry, butter ramen. Butter ramen. Arceus’ gift to man.

Sure enough, he slowly relaxes. His intonation becomes softer, the vowels neutralized with a murmuring quality. Snippets of recognizable words can be heard here and there—Kitakami, Hisui, Champion. She gestures to herself, something about a Shirona, and then oh, he says Suguri and suddenly Juliana realizes that they're reintroducing each other by their real names. She's not even sure if anyone else in the room even knows what is occurring in front of them. 

The woman then looks at her, standing close by his side, and gives a curious look. She inquires something in Kantonian about a koibito that sets Kieran's face on fire. He's flushed up to the tips of his ears and stammering something , before the woman says some words along with gestures that appear to suggest an apology. Juliana is rabidly curious as to what she asked him. She's not sure Kieran would ever admit what that particular exchange was about. Maybe she could ask Carmine, if she remembers.

Cynthia blinks, quickly scanning the rest of the room with its current occupants. “My apologies! It appears I got carried away. Anyway I would definitely be curious to visit Kitakami to investigate the local myths there as well. To get back on track, can you tell me what's on the paper?”

Kieran looks at the paper that the ghost specialist had given him. The writing is almost faded, but he can still make out the characters. 

“Uh…it says—”

He reads a few words, something about a…hakutai …mori…yōkan. He scrunches up his face as he shuffles the Galarian equivalent in his mind.

“Eternity…forest…Eterna Forest…old…uh, gateau?”

Cynthia makes a sound of simultaneous amusement and surprise. 

“Eterna Forest…probably the Old Chateau, although I see why you thought that…”

She pauses.

“That's not good.”

The air in the room seems to shift suddenly. It almost feels frigid, thick as molasses. 

Oh fuck, it is frigid. Juliana catches Kieran staring at her from her peripheral vision and she realizes that she can see condensation vapor wisping out of his lips with each exhalation, while simultaneously realizing that she can see her own breath. That's not right. 

She wildly scans the room around them. Their friends. The contractor. The club members.

No one else is. It's just them.

Drayton, Lacey, and Crispin are staring at them in sheer horror. Amarys’ eyes widen slightly as she seems to snap out of the collective stupor that has gripped everyone else, quickly going to find one of the Art Club members. Shauntal almost immediately whips her head to face the painting. 

The painting is facing them now. When did that happen? No one had moved it, she hadn't sensed anything. I must have been distracted by the call, she thinks, frustrated by her own lack of awareness, her complacency. 

The painting notably blinks and a susurration of consternation and terror can be heard behind her. Muted gasps, the shuffling of feet. Cynthia is right, this is bad, she has to do something. 

Chandelure is released again and this time her flames surge in hostility. Fuck, why did it have to be in an art classroom, where everything is flammable?? Her Rotom phone crackles with static as a scratching sound emanates from somewhere near the painting. Cynthia is saying something but it is indiscernible with the electronic interference. The lights in the room flicker faintly. 

“Water pokemon?”

Kieran immediately leaps to the same conclusion. They're on the same wavelength. “A Politoed.”

Drayton makes an amused sound, quickly catching on. “Kingdra, at your service.”

“Fantastic. What are your feelings on arson?”

Chandelure immediately gets the cue, snapping into action and igniting the painting with her Fire Blast. Flickering flames seemingly consume the painting at first, before they realize that there is no telltale crackling of canvas, no smell of charred paint emanating from it. The painting sits there, consumed by fire, undamaged, almost mockingly so, as the flames begin to spread to the walls and various supplies surrounding it. This isn't going to work.

The sound of a Poke Ball releasing echoes throughout the room. Rain seems to issue from out of nowhere.

“Politoed, Weather Ball!”

“Kingdra, use Hydro Pump!”

A ball of water slams into the painting with a substantial amount of force, while a powerful geyser blasts into the surrounding area, dousing the flames until nothing but steam and scorch marks remain. Filbert, who has just arrived on scene, lets loose a warbling scream of dismay at the property damage unfolding before him. 

The painting remains blissfully unharmed, un-singed, unsoaked. 

Despite the initial flames, the room seems to get colder, darker. Everything fades out of Juliana's vision. 

You're next.

     —however—

            —it may end with you—

a fluke, why was he—

                   —a chance—

—fulfill—

             —your wish.

She cannot see anything, feel anything. She's drowning.

In the background she can hear the muffled sound of Shauntal asking for salt, any salt. Someone replies, something about salt and watercolors. Juliana hears a quick pattering of feet. She catches the sound of something small and abrasive sifting from a container and pelting the hard floor beneath her, in front of her, behind her, to her sides. Light and sound floods back and she gasps for air.

“Fuck it was touch and go, a fucking salt circle like some kinda movie—”

“What the fuck was that???”

“—damn it, can you hear me now? What happened?”

“We're figuring it out right now—”

“Juli!”

“Are you okay??”

Everyone is looking at her. 

She's on the storage room floor, surrounded by…is that salt?

Juliana can see one Art Club member draping some old velvet cloth on top of the painting before quickly stepping away, as Shauntal and another Art Club member hoist the painting and hastily remove it to a more remote corner of the Art Club room. It is debatable whether distance would have any effect, but it's better than nothing. 

“Where's Kieran?” She tries to boost herself further up from the floor, her arms having the resiliency of limp noodles.

“Hey, take it easy bud.” A reassuring, firm hand on the shoulder. Drayton. “He's next to you. You both went down for the count but I'd say he's in better shape than you right now.”

“Juli.”

She starts, looking sharply to her right. Kieran stares back at her, wide-eyed and sprawled on the floor. He still appears to be slightly disheveled from their ride on Koraidon earlier. Their ride together—Arceus, she tries not to think about that now. She had been so handsy with him. What if he had been uncomfortable? It was a miracle already that he hadn't detected her nervousness, her racing heartbeat. Their contact—the press of their bodies—had made her heady, alarmed, and desperate with the realization that now she knows what it could be like. She's cursed with that knowledge. Rather than satisfying some wayward curiosity, she's ignited a pyre housing the remains of her former dignity. She wants to touch him and be touched, and she burns with shame at the thought. Juliana quickly fights off the urge to tuck one of his errant, tousled strands behind one ear. 

Focus. Don't spiral. Is he okay? A cursory once-over confirms Drayton's general assessment: he seems mostly okay. Maybe concerned, but not drained or sickly in the same way that she feels. Kieran tentatively reaches out for her before his eyes flicker briefly around the room and its occupants. He falters, letting his arm drop uselessly by his side. 

She wonders.

“Did you…hear it too?”

He sucks in his breath sharply. “So you—”

“Yeah.”

Kieran had heard mentions of something ending, fulfilling a…wish? He didn't know what the voice had meant about a fluke, exactly. Was he the fluke? What did that even mean? However, what he does know is that the voice hadn't quite been directed at him.

The voice was talking to Juliana.

You're next.

Whatever that meant, it didn't sound good. It didn't exactly sound like she was next in winning, say, a grand prize or a free vacation to Alola.

It almost felt like he had wiretapped an ongoing phone conversation similar to one of those spy movies he used to watch. As if he wasn't supposed to be there, listening in. 

He scoots a little closer to her—she looks so pale, so wan. She's not okay. He can tell from her eyes, glassy and far, far away—and she needs him but he can't, with all these eyes on them he—

“Did you hear what?”

Shauntal is back in the storage room, her Rotom phone and her Chandelure floating by her side. 

Juliana blinks back into existence, shifts uncomfortably. “No one else heard then, huh.”

“Other than him, I suppose, judging from that reaction,” she says, nodding at Kieran. “I'd like to know, so I can take some further precautions if necessary. I still cannot believe I had to use Nacli salt, that's old school.”

“Why is there salt here, anyway?” Crispin asks hesitantly. “We are in the Art Club, right?”

“I have heard that there is a technique that utilizes salt for watercolor pieces,” Amarys says. “Salt will absorb the pigment of a wet wash and will pull it to create an abstract or mottling effect.”

A nearby Art Club student exuding anxious body language nods nervously, hovering near the storage room doorway. “Yeah, I used it to create the effect of fur for my pieces with pokemon. I'm afraid you used up all the salt we got though, so I hope you don't need anymore.”

“We…should be okay,” Shauntal says, hesitating briefly. She doesn't want to jinx them into the Dimension World with her hubris. “Thank you for acting so quickly.” 

She turns to face Juliana. “So what did—”

“You're next.” Juliana wavers slightly before continuing. “...and that it could end. Something about fulfilling a…wish? It was all broken sentences, nothing complete.”

You're next. Shauntal doesn't like that sound of that. She doesn't quite know what to make of it, but anything she says now wouldn't be the reassurance that the girl before her needs to hear. Speaking for the sake of filling empty space alone will not help in the slightest. 

After a pause, she continues. “Sometimes…some spirits are more…intact…than others,” she treads carefully. “It can be difficult for some to communicate with the other side.”

“There was also something about a fluke?” Kieran says, uncertainly. “It was almost like the voice was confused.”

“Huh…what were the exact words?”

“Said something like…’a fluke, why was he?’ It cut off there.”

Very strange, Shauntal thinks. He? As in…referring to Kieran?

Why would Kieran be a proverbial spanner in the works?

“The Old Chateau huh…”

They turn their heads towards the Rotom phone.

Cynthia continues. “…it is possible that there could be some sort of connection to the Old Chateau. It's an abandoned manor deep within Eterna Forest, close to Eterna City in Sinnoh. It is difficult to reach due to the surrounding overgrowth and it has had the dubious reputation of being haunted for many decades now. Natane-san—hm, Gardenia—is the nearby gym leader but she refuses to go near it. It hasn't stopped some looters from coming in over the years to pillage valuables, of course. There have been eyewitness reports from trespassers regarding ghosts. A girl and an aged butler, I believe.” 

A chill runs down Juliana's spine. The ghost of a girl…the Old Chateau…

Is it her?

“Do you think that's the same girl then?”

“It's a possibility. There were reports of statues, books, paintings. Some of the trappings suggested that the previous occupants came from old money, possible foreign ties. Likely Kalosian.”

“Why the Kantonian then?”

Cynthia hums in thought, somewhat displeased. “I couldn't say. Possibly bilingual? Perhaps the artist who was commissioned to complete the painting was Sinnohan? Or it was written by a different individual postmortem?”

There are too many what-ifs. Shauntal sighs in exasperation. “You mentioned paintings. So it's possible this is one of them?”

“I definitely wouldn't rule it out. There have even been reports of paintings—portraits—whose eyes have followed intruders around. Whatever it was, it worked. A lot of people left in a hurry.”

Juliana raises her hand weakly. “Um…I hate to bring up the Copperajah in the room, but if this painting is from Sinnoh, then why is it here in Unova?”

“That's really the question, isn't it?” Cynthia says. “I could text Diantha with a photo of the Kalosian scrap, if you want. I think the key is connecting the pieces of information we have been given, ironically by the painting itself. It could give us more insight about what hands it has passed through over the years or if there have been others who have ever been…affected.”

It hadn't even occurred to Juliana before, that there could be others who have also been cursed as well. What happened to them? Are they alive and well now?

“That could help, actually, if you are okay with that,” Shauntal replies. “I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all!”

Shauntal pauses, glancing cautiously at the gathered teens behind her. They are young, she doesn’t want to scare them more than necessary, but she has to ask—

“Cynthia…have you happened to hear any rumors or urban legends about what occurred at the Old Chateau? About the girl or the butler?”

“There have been a couple of theories, nothing concrete though. A trainer digging through the dining area swore that they found an antidote and stories about potential poisonings had spread. No one has reported any remains, that I’m aware of at least.”

A chill spreads through the room. Old money? Poisonings? It sounded like some sort of old Galarian mystery novel rooted in inheritances and scandals. If it had indeed been murder, there could definitely be enough of a grudge that would essentially keep a spirit in this plane—especially if they were not ready to move on yet. Spite is a powerful thing. 

If the girl in the painting and the girl from the Old Chateau are one and the same, it would be reasonable to assume some kind of regret is keeping her here. And Shauntal is fully aware of the fact that children have the capacity to be mean-spirited. That kind of intent, coupled with the power of a ghost and the emotional maturity of a prepubescent child, could spell trouble. 

“Thank you for your help, Cynthia. I’ll catch you later then? I hope they at least have good food at the conference over there.”

“It’s slightly lackluster, but thank you anyway.” Cynthia turns to look at Juliana. 

“You remind me of a trainer I know well. I hope you take care and find your way.”

Lastly, Cynthia gives Kieran a knowing look and says something in Kantonian that leaves him a spluttering, flustered mess. She flashes a wry smile at her friend before the call signs off.

“Oi, what did the renowned Cynthia tell you?” Drayton asks, stooping down to elbow Kieran in the ribs. “I’m absolutely dying to know.”

“Shut up.”

“It had to be good to make you this ornery. Shit, I wish Carmine had been here.”

“To what, give you free translated entertainment like one of your poorly dubbed anime?”

“The translations would’ve helped. She would also be the world's angriest peanut gallery—so double the fun.”

Shauntal crouches down to Juliana’s level. “Are you good to stand up?”

“I think so…”

“Then how would you feel about some lunch?”

“So, why just…us?”

Juliana has to wonder. Shauntal had explicitly requested lunch between just the three of them. In a private place as well—which meant that the cafeteria was out of the question. The bleachers outside have a lovely view and a nice ocean breeze, but are usually filled with students on break around this time. Instead, they had ended up in Juliana's room. When Shauntal had realized that the school only accepted their own form of currency and that even purchasing food to takeout would not be an option for her, Juliana had offered to make sandwiches instead. Now that Kieran is more familiarized with her fridge layout, Juliana finds that he is also starting to take a proactive approach, even if he is eerily quiet about it. Smoked fillets, watercress, basil, red onions, vinegar, olive oil, salt. He makes a muted noise of surprise at the tofu and gawks at the Klawf sticks, when and where had she even gotten those—

Weren't they only from Paldea?

“An ultra decadent ensemble! For your ghostly needs!” Juliana says. She seems to be in better health since leaving the Art Club room, color flooding back to her cheeks. 

Shauntal boggles at the sandwich. 

“Ghostly needs?”

“Your team would get more experience points when battling if they shared this sandwich with us. Specifically Ghost-types! I just thought it would be thematic.”

“Fascinating! That sounds lovely, thank you!”

It is at this point, while they are in the midst of consuming their lunch, that Juliana asks her question.

Shauntal hums in acknowledgement. “I'm afraid my notoriety precedes me. It would've been hard to find the necessary privacy to ask some more questions.”

“You have more questions?” Kieran asks.

“Mainly for you two. I figured that it would be easier to answer them without a lingering audience. I'm sure you appreciate your friends, but there are times for confidentiality as well.”

To her credit, she had thought this through. 

“First, I want to let you know that myself and my colleague will do whatever we can to help you with this situation. I know it seems rather daunting, but we will figure this out together, okay?”

Juliana swallows, nods. What the voice had told her had been pretty ominous. She doesn’t want to be next for whatever it is that the spirit or curse has in mind. 

“Next, I will just ask the prerequisite questions to get them out of the way. Has anyone ever told you if you've had a sudden change in your personality? Out of the blue?”

Juliana shakes her head but Kieran pauses. Shit, he had had people ask him about his sudden 180 when he had come back from Kitakami to the academy. His sister had asked him as such, demanding to know why, before he made it one of his life objectives to avoid her like the plague. Lacey had asked kindly, in a way that was a little too on the nose for his liking (is it about power? Fame? A person? Kieran had clammed up after that). Amarys had asked him in a caring albeit clinical way, mentioning that Carmine was worried about him. Drayton had poked and prodded in his usual obscure, jocular way that somehow managed to obtain an obscene amount of information, Kieran doesn't know how in Arceus’ name he does it—

Crispin had stood by his side, trying to lighten the mood the entire time, offering figurative olive branches while everything around him burned to the ground. 

How is he supposed to answer this?

“I…have.”

Shauntal starts, peering over her lenses at him. 

Juliana gives him the saddest look he's ever seen. He feels like he has just kicked a Lillipup live on Poketube. 

“Would you care to elaborate?”

“Maybe…not now.”

Shauntal doesn't miss the quick look that he thinks is discreet, aimed at Juliana. She seems even more uncomfortable than he does, shifting in her seat. So they have a history of some kind. She has to tread carefully, but she doesn't even know what minefields—what triggers—to avoid in the first place. 

She tries to sally forth. More questions for now, to shift the uneasy air that's settled in the dorm room. 

“How about any displays of superhuman strength? Like wrestling a Beartic? Lifting a car?”

“I, what—no??”

“Huh?”

“I presume that's a no. How about anyone telling you that you've lapsed into strange speech, tongues, languages you've never learned or studied?”

“I don't think so?”

“Define strange.”

“I don't she means your kind of strange, Juli.”

“Okay. How about knowledge of events or facts that you couldn't have possibly ever known before?”

Now they're both staring at her in slight horror and she's hit with the unfortunate feeling that she's fallen ass first into the paranormal equivalent of a grimy ball pit. 

They're exchanging glances with each other with the telltale expressions of two people deliberating who has to be the unlucky one to go first and spill the bad news beans. 

Kieran succumbs first.

“There was a…moment…where we could see memories that the other person had experienced. Things only they could know. It happened again for me later. I saw Juli's friend and it triggered…her memory, like I was rememberin’ it.”

They explain the memory exchange, tactfully skipping over mentions of Area Zero due to its restricted nature. 

Shauntal pauses, looking genuinely stumped. “I’ll be honest. I haven’t quite heard of this situation before. There have been reported cases of people who have had ‘their lives flash before their eyes,’ which sounds somewhat similar to your case. But I haven’t heard of situations where people can see another’s memories, outside of instances related to psychics. You don’t really hear about other people’s lives flashing before your eyes…”

“We had a friend who considered the possibility of some kind of psychic awakening,” Juliana says wryly. “She ran us through a gauntlet of weird tests but nothing came up.”

“Such as?”

“Mind reading. Prediction. That cool telekinesis thing that psychic trainers can do with their Poke Balls—serious flex, by the way. What else, setting trees on fire—”

“Pardon me?”

“Juli, that was just you. We tried talkin’ you outta it because it doesn’t make any sense.”

“So, just to clarify,” Shauntal bravely pushes on, “you briefly saw each other’s memories flash through your minds, it has only reoccurred once after experiencing a visual trigger or an emotional stimulus, and you have no known other abilities that you are aware of at this time. You also heard a voice briefly when this all first occurred on Friday.”

They nod.

“And you said this voice you heard, said…‘link established?’”

“That's what we heard.” 

Link established. As in…a soul link? Hypothetically, it is a bunch of nonsense. However, in reality there were a few documented cases among trainers. A working theory begins to form in her mind. 

“Here is my guess,” she starts. “First of all, all those questions earlier pertain to possessions. They can happen with ghost pokemon as well as with the spirits of humans. Many stories exist. I wanted to cover my bases and while I am a little bit caught off guard by the fact that you didn’t quite pass with flying colors, I highly doubt it is a possession.” Shauntal is rather curious about the residual aura lingering around Kieran’s right hand, but she can tell that it is not quite relevant to the current case. The residue…miasma?...is faint, probably several months old judging from how weak it is. An indication that he had, at some point a while back, had contact with an object or area with cursed energy. People sometimes carry traces of strong energy back with them, unintentionally. It is nothing that time couldn’t fix. 

That aura is different from the aura that she had first seen—and currently sees—between the two students before her. This one is much stronger, more active. Usually, this type of energy is drawn to individuals who have intense wants or desires, whether good or bad. The mention of a “wish” appears to fall along those lines.

“Secondly, I wanted to bring up the presence of the Banette in the painting. I am not sure if you are familiar with corresponding lore, but old stories believed that Banette would arise from abandoned plush dolls that eventually develop a grudge and come back to seek the original owner to be with them forever. I did know of one case that turned out to be a benign and heartfelt reunion, actually. But anyway, Banette are known for generating the energy for laying strong curses by sticking pins into their own bodies. They have been used in symbolism for portraying curses or cursing someone. It’s possible that the girl either owned a Banette who would have contributed its own curse energy, or the Banette is symbolic and was added to the painting.”

Juliana had heard about some of the lore as she was completing her Pokedex entries. She hadn’t even considered the implications of Banette's presence in the painting.

“Another thing I want to bring up is the Nimbasa contact information that we found. We compared the name on the paper to the people in the Art Club roster records and found matching addresses and last names. The Art Club student graduated about four years ago, which would make him about twenty-two now. It’s possible that the painting was brought here by him. We tried reaching out to him by Rotom phone but he hasn’t answered yet. There is always the possibility of contacting him or his family in person in Nimbasa as well, although I understand that that is a little out of the way.”

Nimbasa is pretty far for them. It would be a stretch to attempt to find them in person, although it could possibly be done as a weekend trip. As far as Juliana knows, neither of them had ever been to Nimbasa before. She wouldn’t even know where to start. She asks for the Art Club student’s Rotom phone number, which Shauntal readily gives her.

“Lastly,” Shauntal continues, “I have a working theory about your memory situation. It’s a little—if you will excuse the terrible pun—Farfetch’d. When you first had that moment, you could only see, smell, hear some select experiences, correct? But consider the very limits of the human mind: the average adult can usually only hold about four items in their mind at one time. Short term memory can only latch onto information for a limited amount of time, as well…about twenty seconds. And while we do have an impressive memory capacity, our ability to retrieve such memories can be faulty. I believe that you actually managed to see everything but simply cannot recall it all. It’s too much information to retrieve in a single instance in time—it’s beyond our ability.”

She turns to face Kieran. “That is why, when you saw Juliana’s friend, it felt more as if you were remembering her. It is actually because you were remembering it. You were retrieving the memory.”

Kieran gazes at her in horror. If what she is implying is true, then…

Juliana could—in theory, with the right trigger—remember everything he could ever recall in his life. Every damn humiliating moment he has ever had: bawling during certain scenes in movies, crying over a Sentret that was too small, every embarrassing argument with his sister, the various times he had fallen out of trees, every inopportune boner in existence. Arceus, he had actually thought about her once while he—

Fuck.

This is terrible news. 

He looks at Juliana from his peripheral vision and to his utter befuddlement, she looks equally alarmed and panicked. What does she have to worry about?? What possibly embarrassing things could she have done, as the Champion of Paldea?? He can practically feel the heat radiating from her, a notable flush creeping up her neck. Kieran accidentally catches her gaze and she bites back a strangled noise of dismay as her eyes dart away. 

Shauntal is watching this entire exchange and realizes with a start that she really needs to get her lens prescription renewed if she’s been this damn blind the entire time.

Yes, they are Champion-ranked trainers in their respective schools.

And yes, they both hailed from places with native Terastal energy. 

But in the end, that isn’t what this is about. This isn’t a story about might or strength.

This is a love story.

The tells, the body language. She has been a fool. 

It had to be their shared history then. 

“I only want to talk about it if you’re comfortable,” she starts cautiously, “but I would be curious to know how you two met.”

This snaps them both back into the present.

Juliana chews at her lip, quickly glancing at the boy next to her with uncertainty. “It was a field trip to Kitakami, several months back. It was a little bit after I had started my year at Naranja. I got randomly selected from a lottery to go.”

So a while ago, then. Strangely lining up with how old the residual miasma on Kieran’s hand is. Perhaps related? He did hail from Kitakami too…

“And I presume you were home visiting then?”

“Yes and no,” Kieran says. “The school trip is a collaboration we do with Naranja every year. Sis and I went to visit Grandpa and Grandma, but Ms. Briar was also partially there on business about gettin’ some of our water for the Terarium Core. My sis is Ms. Briar’s research assistant, so she was kinda pullin’ double duty.” 

The Ghost-specialist pulls out her notebook, jotting down a few thoughts before continuing. “So you met during a school field trip. That must’ve been nice for both of you, right? You get to return home and see family, while you get to explore a whole new region.”

Mixed reactions. Genuine happiness, fondness, the faraway look of someone recalling an enchanting night, elation. Regret, guilt, resentment…grief. Anger. Quick as lightning, it gets smothered by the layer of polite detachment typical of interviewees in an uncomfortable situation. 

“It was good to spend some time at home I guess.”

Why did you lie to me? I had these feelings—

I have these feelings and I—

“It was really pretty there! I liked all the natural beauty and the myths of the region…the pokemon there are unlike anything we have back home, too.”

I keep thinking about that night and if I’d only just…

I ruined everything and I kept ruining everything

I—

It falls apart.

The air shifts and Shauntal quickly realizes that she has to backpedal, fast. She found the proverbial landmine and practically belly flopped on it with zero abandon. The answer is looming closer but there’s not enough details for her to go off of. She would have to find another source for this particular angle. What she does realize is that she needs to salvage their rapport as quickly as possible.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she says hastily. She attempts to approach it from another angle. Their similarities. “I am curious about something else. You two are both Champions at your respective schools. As a member of the Elite Four in this region, I always like to hear stories from powerful trainers. It’s an added boon for me, as a writer. Tell me…in your opinion, what makes a Champion-ranked trainer? What makes a pokemon trainer strong?”

It sounds like an interview question for a job. The tone is different. Kieran shifts slightly, relieved to discuss something that isn’t the field trip. “I think a lot of it is puttin’ in the hard work, studying, and effort. You give it everything you’ve got, and there’s sacrifices that you’ve gotta make. You have to learn a lot to make the necessary predictions and strategies, figurin’ out the right team, makin’ your team stronger…” He looks at Shauntal, noticing that her expression hasn’t really changed. He can’t tell whether his answer is good or bad. 

He flounders. “I mean…it’s all that effort that makes it worth it in the end, right? That’s how Champions are able to win battles as much as they do.”

“And is winning important to you?” she asks.

This stumps Kieran. “I…would think so, right? That’s what we all aim for when we train to get stronger.”

She hums in thought. “It’s important to be tough and resilient when you battle, don’t you think? You have to accept that both sides will get hurt. You have to understand that the pain of losing is a natural outcome. If you just focus on winning, you can forget that the bond between you and your pokemon is the most important thing. I try to focus on that bond in my novels. I’ve seen a lot of trainers during times when I’ve looked for inspiration, and that is the main thing that I have learned.”

Kieran tries to process what he has just heard. 

Back when he was weaker, before he became Champion, his bonds with his pokemon had always been the most important thing to him. He enjoyed battling, he loved his team (he thinks of his Poliwrath, his Yanmega, his Gliscor. His Furret…something twinges in his chest)…and he still wasn’t good enough. It was only when he actively strove to become stronger that he actually did become stronger, enough to push Drayton out of power. He had to put an insane amount of effort into studying and strategizing, while everyone else around him seemed to skate by on pure innate talent and luck. It was infuriating.

So why is she telling him this now?

“What if the bonds between your pokemon aren’t enough? Like…” 

He’s never thought to talk to anyone about this. None of the adults in his life had ever brought anything up. None of the teachers. None of the students. It feels stupid, it—

“Like what if you really cared for your pokemon and kept tryin’ but nothin’ worked? And everyone around you just kept gettin’ stronger and left you behind? They could go anywhere they wanted to, be friends with anyone they wanted to, and then there’s no one left because you’re just…”

He swallows.

“...you’re just never good enough.”

Shauntal stops.

The Blueberry Academy Champion, he—

There’s been a misunderstanding. 

His pursuit of power happened because there was a misunderstanding. Kieran had associated losing pokemon battles with not being worthy, with experiencing loss in other aspects of his life. He sought strength, the need to win when what he really desired was…

Support. Friendship. Validation of his feelings. Someone who recognized his own innate strengths and talents. Shauntal had learned over time that everyone has their own story to tell. He is caught up in someone else’s story, or what he thinks is someone else’s story. The truth is often more complicated. 

“It sounds like you’ve had a rough time of it. I honestly think that everyone has their own unique qualities and strengths. Are there things out there that make you feel…happy? Fulfilled?”

Kieran pauses. He has to think.

He remembers the thrill and exhilaration of battling. The joy he would get when he could cheer on his pokemon’s growth and success, and experience their elation as his. But he hasn’t felt that in a while, at least since he has gained his title as Champion. He felt…satisfaction, he supposes, in being good at something. But it is a different feeling. 

He tries to recall memories where he was ‘happy.’ Basking with his Furret on a lazy day, battling during break with Crispin, sneaking into the sweets jar at home, eating some candy apples at the stall back home with Juliana…

With Juliana…

He had been giddy at the time, it had almost felt like a date. He had let himself pretend, for that night—

Wait.

Juli.

Kieran suddenly remembers that Juliana is still there, in the room. She had heard everything, his pathetic spiel—

He turns to look at her with a wince and instead finds her gazing at him, glassy-eyed, profound realization writ on her features. 

That’s not pity in her eyes. That’s fondness. 

Oh.

Shauntal had just got her answer.

When the two of them leave her room for class, bidding Shauntal goodbye after having received her contact information, Juliana catches him by the wrist. 

“Juli, wha—”

She leans forward, craning her head up, standing on the tips of her toes. Her breath ghosts past the shell of his ear, eliciting an uncontrollable shiver down his spine. 

“For the record, I've always thought you were cool.”

She lets go and steps back, smiling tenderly. 

“If you ever want to talk, I'm here. Now where's your Battle Theory class again?”

Chapter Text

The rest of the day is relatively mundane.

Despite the ordeal that they had undergone in the Art Club room, they are still obligated to attend their afternoon classes. Kieran proves himself to be an adept student in their Battle Theory course, despite the somewhat abstracted look on his face. Possibly mulling over the discussion they had with Shauntal earlier, Juliana thinks. The theories she had presented had proved to be concerning, if they are true. What is worse is that it would be difficult to predict what could possibly trigger anything. Everything could potentially be laid out in the open, bare and exposed for either one of them to see. Everyone has their fair share of skeletons in the closet, to be sure. Everyone has been through compromising situations before. But it just had to be him.

She attempts to focus on the class before her instead. Arceus on high, this school is obsessed with battling. Double battles in particular. Juliana can’t help but think of how much Nemona would love it here. In Naranja, there isn’t really much focus on that sort of style. Ms. Dendra’s Battle Studies classes discussed topics in more broad strokes—physical and special moves, Tera Raid battles, TM machines. Battling out on the field. But at Blueberry, it is an entirely different beast. With doubles, you had to read and predict your opponents more, craft synergistic teams that could play off each other with weather or terrain setting abilities, using Protect, Tailwind, Fake Out…

It felt strange to her though. There is something almost…detached about their methodology. The way that pokemon were discussed during these didactic lessons was almost…soulless. Like they were reduced to functional components—chess pieces on a board, tools, instruments of combat. Juliana had spent countless times picnicking in Paldea with her team, bonding with them, taking care of them because it was fun. And in return, she had seen them pull some inexplicable stunts that had no basis in logic. They had used sheer willpower to fight off paralysis or poisoning, or to hold on to their very last bit of strength to pull through a battle. Just so she wouldn’t feel sad for their sake. 

There is something off here.

The Biology and Terastal Phenomena seminar with Ms. Briar is not much better. It is more technical than the classes back home and has less to do with the more practical aspects of Tera Types and Tera Raids. On the other hand, Ms. Briar seems utterly delighted that a resident of Paldea—the region where Terastallization was discovered—is present in her class, and proceeds to bombard Juliana with questions about how Terastallization is incorporated into everyday life, as well as the frequency and density of Tera Raid crystal outcroppings on the Paldean landscape. Ms. Briar’s surprise, public interrogation inevitably gravitates towards the Great Crater—the true intention behind her line of questioning—and she attempts to awkwardly probe for any possible amount of information that Juliana knows. In front of everyone in class, no less. She fights down the queasiness that stirs in her gut, the lump in her throat. 

To her surprise, Kieran interrupts Ms. Briar’s slew of inquiries, asking some inane question about an assignment due next week. The annoyance on her features is plain as day, but it works and she proceeds to discuss the upcoming readings and reports. 

“Are you okay?” he murmurs under his breath. His eyes flicker to the girl beside him briefly, before continuing to gaze at the projector ahead of them. 

Juliana looks at him from the corner of her eye. 

“I am now. Thanks for the save.” She gives him a small, lopsided smile that renders him into a human construct of jangled nerves. Kieran impulsively finds himself fiddling with the loose strands of hair framing his face to divest himself of restless energy before he finds the willpower to stop. 

Once the seminar finally concludes, amongst the cacophony of students shuffling notebooks and bags, Crispin turns to them. 

“Hey, so for real, Mecha Tyranitar Strikes Back? My room, at like, six?”

Kieran hesitates. He is backlogged on his training plans, the supplemental readings that he had penciled in for himself. But he remembers that Juliana had wanted to see the latest Daikaijū movie. After everything that had happened in the Art Club room, would she be okay? Is she still mulling over the words that they had both heard resound in their heads? Is she worried? Scared? He doesn’t know what would be the best or the safest thing to do.

He looks at Juliana from his peripheral vision. She seems to be doing better than she had been earlier in the Art Club room, if somewhat more subdued due to Ms. Briar’s ceaseless questions.  Maybe a distraction would be helpful to take her mind off of things. 

“Come on, I’ll even throw in dinner for you guys. I want to cook anyway. Whaddaya say?”

“I…sure. We’ll see you then.”

“Hey, ready to turn up the heat??”

As Juliana enters Crispin's dorm, the first thing she notices is how eerily similar it is to stepping into Arven's dorm in Naranja. The assorted cookware next to the sink, cutting boards, racks filled with seasonings and oils. Bins of produce line the walls while an extra refrigerator has been added to the side. The only differences are the signature Blueberry shade of cobalt, as well as a few movie posters adorning the walls. 

The room is also notably warmer than the other rooms Juliana had been to at the academy. She can’t tell if it’s due to the frequent use of his kitchen or a possible space heater that he has lying around. Or his contagious energy. She is relieved that she had decided to change into her summer uniform, while Kieran had opted for his usual League tank, shorts, and blazer. 

Juliana approaches Crispin, who is currently prepping some cookware on the counter of his kitchenette. 

“Hey Crispin, do you wanna take this off my hands?”

“Is this…Paldean Extra Virgin Smoliv Oil? Straight from Cortondo?? Are you sure??”

Juliana aims an amused grin in his direction. “I have two more bottles in my dorm. My mum sent me way too much in my care package. I definitely won't be able to go through it all in a…semester? Year?”

Kieran attempts to ignore the pang in his chest. As if he needs any more reminders that if—no, when—the curse is dispelled, she will finish the rest of her stay and return to Paldea. 

“Well, don't mind if I do then! Thanks!!”

As they seat themselves at a nearby table by the kitchenette, it occurs to Kieran that Crispin lives in a relatively straightforward culinary world of black and white—spicy or not spicy. There is usually no in-between. He hasn't actually asked his friend what he has in mind.

“Where on the Scoville scale are we goin’ to be tonight, anyway? Should I get the nurse to come here on standby?”

“Have some faith in me. I'll make a boring batch on the side just for you.”

Kieran gives him a pointed look. “Should I tell Lacey what you did in class last week? Involvin’ the spork and the contained explosion?”

Crispin stares at Kieran in mortification, betrayal written on his features. “You wouldn't.”

“You're right, I wouldn't. You wouldn't think I'd—”

Crispin shrugs, a gesture made all the more peculiar while holding a frying pan. “I dunno man, the vibes in the club are all off, everything is weird, it's hard to know these days. You and Drayton have been kinda intense…”

That stings a little bit. Has he really changed that much? To the point where it troubled Crispin? “I—look, my taste in food doesn't extend to masochism, that's all I'm sayin’.”

Crispin looks at him with pity. “You just don't have a spicy soul, dude.”

“What’s that even s'posed to mean?”

“It's all about the experience, the burning you feel inside. It makes you feel alive.”

“That just sounds like pain to me.”

“Exactly. ”

“I wanna be able to taste my food, thanks.”

“C'mon, Juliana, back me up. Back in Paldea they gotta have some spicy souls over there, right? Your sandwich during my trial really brought the pain.”

She makes a strange face. “You can definitely find spicy food there, don't get me wrong. You can get picante chorizo based on the type of pimentón—paprika—used. There's also patatas bravas with Scovillain sauce. But overall, spicy isn’t, like, traditional Paldean cuisine. There are spices like paprika, a lot of saffron, garlic…sometimes cayenne pepper but it's all more for flavor. The food is delicious—I would suplex someone over some paella right now—but it’s not really the kick you're looking for.”

“For real?” Crispin says, somewhat put out. “Man, that kinda doused my flames a bit. I was kinda hoping that I could incorporate some stuff from where you come from. Change it up.”

Juliana grins viciously. Kieran has a terrible feeling about this. 

“What are your thoughts on masala?”

“Galar masala?” Crispin asks. “It's not necessarily spicy though, right?”

It depends. With the right ingredients…

“I have a proposal,” she says.

“Bet.”

“Oh no.”

“I haven't even said anything yet!” Juliana exclaims.

“Ya don't need to,” Kieran says. “I already know this’ll be a bad idea.”

“Presumptuous, it could be bloody brilliant.”

“It's the way you said it. And the look.”

“What look??”

“That look. Right now.”

“Ignore this unspicy soul, he doesn't understand,” Crispin says mournfully. “What do you propose?”

“Spicy sausage curry, Galarian style. Five or six tamato berries should give it a decent kick.”

Crispin's eyes light up. “The berries that literally turn your mouth red from how scorchingly hot they are? I'm getting all fired up now!”

“You guys are gonna die.”

“You're missing out man, just saying.”

“You game?”

Crispin pauses, contemplating. A bad sign. “...how many berries are usually considered the maximum amount for curry in Galar?”

“I’d say ten,” Juliana replies. “I don’t hear about people using any more than that.”

“Then I say we do ten tamato berries. The max amount.”

“Have you gone bloody mad?”

“Are you saying you can’t handle the heat? Hard to believe that from the trainer who passed my trial in a blaze of glory.”

It is the way he says it. It’s aggravating. She finds herself making half-hearted rationales on the fly—it would only be one time, she has handled spicy curries plenty of times in the past, Kieran would be watching…

“Fine. Let’s do it.”

This would be a terrible idea. 

“Is there some kinda…end game to this?” Kieran asks, baffled. “Like some kinda weird stakes ridin’ on this?” 

“Now that's a great idea!”

Kieran stares at them, perplexed. “You were goin’ to do this for fun?”

Juliana scratches at the back of her neck sheepishly. “I guess my competitiveness is coming out.”

“Ya don't wanna save that for what's left of the League Competition?” Kieran deadpans. “Or our Championship Match?”

“There's plenty to go around. It's a matter of dignity.”

“Is it, though?”

Crispin rubs his hands together. “So, what are the stakes then?”

They debate over possible betting terms. BP is the first suggestion that comes up readily, haggling amounts ranging anywhere from 500 BP up to, at one point, a succulent 10,000 BP. They consider homework (Juliana declines, due to potential concerns of letting Crispin anywhere near her assignments) and meal prep for the week (Crispin loves cooking as is, therefore not conferring much in the way of benefits to him). They then consider potential dares, where their ideas slow to a trickle. Juliana is in the midst of suggesting a dare that Crispin give up spicy condiments for an entire week, rendering him a babbling, horrified mess when the telltale ring of a Rotom phone resounds throughout the room. Crispin jumps with a start as he answers the call.   

“Yo. Mind giving the Drayster a helping hand? I forgot what Lacey told us to do on Saturday and I don’t want her to rake me over the coals again.”

“And I’m guessing you didn’t want to ask Amarys?” Kieran asks blandly, hunching next to Crispin.

“Huh! If it isn’t our Mighty Champion himself! Are you and Crispin having some good ol’ bro time without me? I feel so left out.”

Kieran ignores that last part. “Let me guess. She would chew you out too.”

“She wouldn’t chew me out so much as tell me exactly what I haven’t done yet and how overdue these tasks are, down to the very second, before asking me why I don’t stick to schedules or write reminders for myself. Then I would tell her about my long game to stick it to the man. I refuse to be bound by the constructs of society.”

“So in other words she would chew you out. Constructs of society my ass, you just love sitting in that damn chair too much.”

“You’re right, you got me. It must be that Champion insight of yours. I’m…having an illicit affair with my chair. We might even elope one day. You musn’t tell the others. It’ll be our little secret.”

Crispin does his best to restrain Kieran. “Please don’t punch my screen out,” he says. He turns to Drayton. “I think we gotta do safety inspections of the courts by the end of the week and send up Form B to the admin offices. And something about increasing recruitment numbers…? Ah! Sending out flyers.”

“Thanks, you’re a real one buddy. The Drayster owes you one.”

“Actually, you could help us out if you got the time? We’re in a bit of a pinch.”

Drayton’s eyes crinkle in amusement. In what some may consider an extraneous movement, he turns his chair to face the opposite direction, straddling it while leisurely resting his chin on his folded arms along the chair’s top rail. “The Drayster is in. Copay will be 100 BP upfront.”

“What?”

“Ignore him Crispin.”

Drayton laughs. “Alright, so what do you need from little ol’ me?”

“We’re trying to figure out dares, if we lose a bet.”

“Oh, that’s an easy one. Streaking in Central Plaza is a time-tested classic, trust me. Or skinny dipping in the Coastal Plaza is a good one for newbies, if you want to be nice.”

“Huh???” Kieran’s face turns several different shades of red. 

“No need to get your britches in a twist, Champ. There’s practically no one there after eleven at night…or no one is supposed to be there, at least. Lacey would probably say something about ‘abusing privileges,’ but there’s a time and a place for everything, right?”

Kieran splutters. Juliana…running around naked. Swimming naked.

And he would have to be within five feet of her the entire time.

He would die. He would actually die.

“N-no! No! Absolutely not!”

“Why not?”

Crispin raises his hand sheepishly. “Um…well, it’s not…the bet isn’t between me and Kieran. It’s between me and Juliana.”

Drayton’s eyebrows fly to his hairline as she timidly creeps into the background behind Kieran, giving a slight wave.

“Oh! Well, then—”

“I…I think it’s fine. I mean, I think streaking would be kind of difficult because…well, with our current situation, I really don’t want Kieran to get, uh, hurt by accident—”

Arceus, she actually thought of that—

“—but, well, if I were to remove a swimsuit underwater and then proceed, that would still count, right?”

“Huh. I mean, I don’t see why it wouldn’t. But, look, you don't—”

“Then I can agree to that, I think.”

Kieran spins to face Juliana, wild-eyed. “Juli, you don’t have to—”

He finds her staring at the ceiling resolutely, in a feeble attempt to not make eye contact with anyone. “Well…as long as it’s at night and I stay well submerged…I’ll be fine, right?”

“Remind me to never play Combusken with Paldeans,” Drayton says. “They don’t fuck around.”

“Oh Arceus,” Kieran groans.

Drayton grins. “You better get your boardshorts ready, oh Mighty Champion. If she goes for a dip, you’re going in too.”

“Who says I’m going to lose?” Juliana says, somewhat indignant. “Maybe it’ll be Crispin who has to walk the plank.”

“Wait—do we need proof or something that we’re doing this?” Crispin asks, worry creeping into his voice. If he loses, all it would take is an unexpected, late night Biome inspection by Lacey and he would never hear the end of it. “And when are we doing this?”

“Maybe a photo. But nothing indecent, mind you! I’ll take it on a poke scout’s honor. Tomorrow night might be good, I hear some students are taking early leave this week for the upcoming holiday anyway…speaking of…”

Drayton turns to face Kieran and Juliana.

“Has Carmine spoken to either of you guys yet today?”

Juliana frowns. “Nah, I haven’t heard from her since yesterday afternoon. Why, what’s up?”

“Hmm…I’ll have to talk to her then. You’ll see soon enough.”

In the beginning, it seems rather innocent enough. 

Crispin insists on doing it the “real way,” in his words. No premade roux cubes—it would be an insult to his pride as the heir apparent to his parents’ notably successful restaurant business. The potatoes and carrots are appropriately, immaculately diced and cooked. The rice is prepped and set aside. Juliana’s Galar masala is combined with various spices from Crispin’s larder—turmeric, cardamom, paprika, coriander, cinnamon. He then adds a frankly outrageous amount of chili pepper while looking Juliana dead in the eye. She doesn’t blink. Kieran doesn’t know whether he should physically intervene or not. They’re proverbially gunning it full throttle towards the edge of a cliff without so much as flinching. The spice mix is an absurd shade of red as it gets dumped in with the simmering onions and garlic. 

As the paste, broth and sausages are added in, Juliana lays out all ten tamato berries on the counter. Reputedly some of the most lip-bendingly spiciest berries around. Red, spiny, and angry in appearance. There would be ten of these monstrosities in their food. 

Well, not in Kieran’s food. Crispin had taken the liberty of cooking and setting aside some for his friend. The additional chili powder had been a mistake that Kieran would have to live with, but some sacrifices had to be made.

Juliana preps and slowly adds each tamato berry individually into the pot, staring down Crispin without batting an eye. Sweat begins to bead at their temples as each berry gets thrown in, turning the concoction a more furious shade of crimson with each addition. What lays before them now is not so much food as it is the culinary equivalent of molten lava. With each stir of the ladle comes the bewildering realization that they will have to eat this. They are the witting instigators of their own demise. 

When they sit around at the kitchenette table with their steaming plates, there is a brief silence of one contemplating their mortality and intact digestive tracts. A warrior’s silence before going into battle. 

Even the very steam emanating from the plates sets their nostrils ablaze.

Kieran looks down at his plate, noticeably less angry-looking than his friends’ respective plates, ten shades removed from gastrointestinal armageddon. He can still smell the potency of the chili powder that his friend had liberally dumped in, to his consternation. But he’s resigned to it. At least he wasn’t involved in their strange gastronomic game. 

“Are ya sure you guys wanna go through with this?” he asks, giving his friends one last chance to back down.

Crispin looks at him as if he has grown a second head and joined an evolutionary branch of the Doduo family. “I’ve never been more fired up in my life!! Giving up now would be like reaching the top of a rollercoaster ride and then calling it quits.”

Juliana looks somewhat less certain. She has made spicy curries with tamato berries before, back when she used to live in Galar. Usually they were helpful for warming up in drab weather. But she has never used ten of them before. 

But she can’t back down now.

She attempts to put on her best Champion face.

“I’m ready.”

It begins slowly. It isn’t too bad—the light tingle of the lips, the radiant heat, the flavorful kick to the palate. The seasonings round each other out, an interplay of earthy, fragrant, spicy, savory. 

“Piquant,” Juliana says with her best poker face. Let him lose confidence early on.

If anything, this has the opposite effect on Crispin. He is more bolstered than ever, a fire in his eyes. “Hmm…it could be a little bit spicier…”

Around the tenth spoonful, it begins. A flush begins to creep up Juliana’s neck. A light sniffle. A slight sheen of sweat apparent with the reflection of the kitchenette lights. Crispin’s skin tone begins to slowly match the shade of his hair. 

Kieran—whose palate leans heavily towards sweet and whose experience with spices is generally limited to sparing amounts of wasabi or shichimi—is steadily gaining a heady flush of his own. To his embarrassment, it sets on faster for him in a noticeable way. He can feel the tips of his ears burning. He succumbs to the sudden increase in ambient heat and shucks off his blazer, looking away. 

When he glances back at the table, the situation has devolved further. His gaze lingers over Juliana’s flushed complexion, the disheveled strands of hair around her face and her mussed up braid. She’s starting to huff out breaths unevenly, raggedly. Watching the unfolding situation is doing strange things to Kieran’s brain. 

“Are you ready to give up yet?” Crispin wheezes, not faring much better than her. His face is one pantone shade away from the tamato berries they are devouring.

“Not even close,” she rasps. 

They continue to eat. 

Crispin has to take pauses in between bites to catch his breath. 

Juliana is fanning herself, tears glistening in her eyes. To Kieran’s fascination, she slowly pulls off one glove, and then the other, before slapping them on the table and rubbing her palms dry on the fabric of her shorts. She fumbles to loosen and undo the necktie of her school uniform with desperate fingers, tossing it aside and rolling her head back in slight relief, before she unfastens the top two buttons of her shirt collar. He can see the sheen of perspiration, the flush creeping past the dip of her neck.

He can’t look away.

“I hate you guys,” Kieran groans, grasping the front of his tank top to fan himself. He shifts in his seat awkwardly as he pushes the remainder of his curry away. 

“Bzzt! Wrong!” Juliana laughs, imitating Lacey’s signature negating motion with her arms. Kieran looks at her again with a start at this sudden mood shift and realizes that she's giddy. She's becoming undone. The subsequent endorphin release from the pain of consuming the curry has sent her reeling from abject misery straight into a bout of hysterics. 

The gastronomic agony of their dinner is making them delirious.

“Uh…Juli, are ya sure you don’t wanna tap out?” he asks, concerned. 

“Never,” she breathes, sounding for all the world like a weary, grizzled general on the losing end of a battle rather than a teenager making horrendous decisions for her repast. 

Kieran can hear Crispin blowing his nose in the background. Several times. He makes brief, fleeting eye contact with him, only for Crispin to give him a pained thumbs up in response. 

At this point, the general adjective that could be used to describe Juliana is “unwell.” Her queasiness is apparent in her features, a symphony of snorts, sniffles, and ragged wheezing issuing from her body. Kieran doesn’t think he has ever seen her this disheveled in his life. Crispin seems to be faring slightly better, although not by much. It is the first time he has seen someone’s facial complexion match their hair in the exact same shade. Kieran decides that it looks too surreal, too uncanny valley. There is sweat liberally pouring down his friend’s face, which is fixed into a grimace of determination. 

He has known Crispin for a while at this point, and what he does know is that Crispin doesn’t give up easily. He is as stubborn as they come, in regards to spicy cuisine. Juliana might be a close second, which is saying something, but he knows he stands a better chance of talking her out of it than Crispin. 

Which would also mean that she would officially lose the bet. He would be condemning her. 

However, he would also be putting an end to this dietary debacle once and for all.

He makes the calculations in his head. There’s Moomoo Milk in the fridge. Some cups on the counter. They’re too far from where he is at the moment, so he would somehow have to coerce Juliana to come with him, or physically drag her. Or both. He has to save these idiots from themselves. 

Kieran readies himself before getting up from his chair and crouching next to Juliana. 

“Hey…I think we’re good here,” he says. He glances at her plate and is surprised to find that she has managed to consume almost three fourths of her curry. Crispin is a little bit ahead of her, but not by much. 

“I can’t let’m beat me,” she mumbles through flushed lips, swollen from the meteoric amounts of tamato berry that she has consumed. 

His eyes dart to her mouth before smoothly tearing away to perform an eye roll. Well done. Subtle. “I know…I don’t want ya to lose anymore than you do, but…I don’t want you guys to throw up either. I dunno if it’s worth gettin’ sick over…maybe we can renegotiate the terms?”

She attempts to collect another spoonful of curry out of sheer stubbornness, only for a hand to gently pin her wrist to the table. The sensation jolts them both, the point of contact an electrical flare. 

Juliana looks at him, really looks at him through her haze of spice-induced tears. The dark, full taper of his furrowed eyebrows. His piercing yellow eyes. His exposed shoulders and collarbones, flushed. The slope of his neck with his distinctive mole. She had always thought it ridiculous whenever she had read about everything in a room stopping—time freezing when looking at someone. But now she gets it. Her eyes are running, her nose is running, she knows she looks like a downright mess. But she doesn’t miss the look of concern he is giving her.

Fuck it.

She looks at him and nods. Juliana stands up and wow, her gut is on fire. She knows that she will definitely be paying for that in the morning. This is tragically stupid. She bursts into laughter at how absurd this all is, how stupid she looks, and she feels someone helping her to the counter, stabilizing her with their body and oh, it’s Kieran—she realizes that he has an arm around her shoulder and they’re collectively walking to the kitchenette counter to get a glass. He’s helping her. 

Something in her gives and she leans into him, shaking in silent, delirious mirth while simultaneously wanting to phase through the school floors and sink into the abyssal depths of the ocean. She can briefly feel him stiffen and she waits for a recoil before he adjusts with a shaky breath and minutely holds her tighter to him. Something, some wall has been breached but she doesn’t quite know what yet and her mind scrambles to catch up. Juliana doesn’t know how but suddenly they’re already at the refrigerator, retrieving milk. He uses his free hand to pour the milk into her glass and she pounds it. Game over.

“WHOO! That really brought the heat!” Crispin hollers. “Good game Juli! Straight up, searing PAIN. 10/10, 5 stars.”

She gives Crispin a wan smile before filling the glass with some more milk and chugging it. They walk back to the table and Kieran manages an awkward half-lean, half-crouch to help her sit down. The moment he pulls away, Juliana tries to push down the strangely bereft feeling that’s left behind.

“So I guess that's it, huh,” she says, scrubbing at her face. She turns to face Kieran, briefly making eye contact before she can’t bear it anymore, her eyes flying to one of Crispin's movie posters instead. “I hope you're in the mood for a swim tomorrow night.”

Kieran buries his face in his hands.

“So…let me get this straight,” Juliana says, her eyes boring holes into Crispin's TV screen. “When they seized Serizawa’s assets, they didn’t know he had offshore accounts that funneled everything into this…Apex Corp? That was able to build a Mecha Tyranitar 3?” She leans back in exasperation against the side of the mattress, shifting on the floor to hug her knees to her chest.

Kieran shrugs, making his best effort to not look at her. He is still reeling from the implications of her lost bet. “That’s what it looks like.”

“C’mon.”

“Hey, don’t blame me. I’m not Takeshi Pokemi. Or Suguru Nakatsui.”

“Huh, it kinda sounds close to your name…”

Crispin blinks, confused. “How do either of those sound close to Kieran?”

Juliana starts, looking apologetic. She had forgotten that no one outside of her or Carmine really knew about his real name. At least at Blueberry Academy. She doesn’t know how comfortable Kieran would be with revealing that information to other people just yet, even if Crispin is his classmate and friend.

After a pause, Kieran huffs a sigh, exasperated and amused. “I see what ya mean, but they have different meanings. Suguru is like…when you write it, it means…excellence. Like to excel or surpass. And then it depends how you write it too.”

“And…?”

Crispin looks on, intrigued. The movie continues to play in the background.

“Suguri is…it’s a currant. A gooseberry. Like the plant.”

Juliana looks at him speculatively, intrigued. “Huh, currant—blackcurrant—is popular in Galar. The flavor, I mean. I'd like to taste currant again soon.”

Crispin tries to not snicker over the impressive flush that blooms on his friend’s face in response.

“Okay that’s over the top,” Crispin says. “It’s four hundred feet tall, it’s being telepathically piloted by Serizawa through some cybernetic whatsit that I have no idea about, it has missiles, jet boosters, buzzsaws on its claws, and some spinning spikes of death on its tail?”

“Don’t forget the EMP harpoons to take out electronics,” Kieran helpfully points out.

“So they can once again cut off radio help from the UDF Captain? So PM1 is on his own, again?”

“How useful is the UDF Captain, anyway? Why isn’t he helping out?”

Juliana hums in disapproval. “Yeah, the Unova Defense Force really needs to do a thorough audit. Hot take from a foreigner, so what do I know?”

Crispin laughs. “Go back home and eat your paella.”

“Rude, maybe I will then, right now. This very minute. Hey Director Clavell, I’m coming back.”

“Kieran is still stuck with you though right? Because of the curse?”

“Yep. Guess I’ll have to drag him over there with me. Bummer, sorry Director Cyrano, I’m taking your Champion with me. Hasta la vistar.”

Kieran feels heat consuming him, radiating off his body. “Wowzers, I…don’t get a say in this?” his voice cracks. Even when playing along with this ridiculous scenario, he is rendered hopeless.

“Nope. You're my hostage now,” she says cheerily. 

Arceus.

“See, that's what I don't get,” she huffs.

“What?”

“The Titanic Tyranitar King. I'm guessing his spirit is possessing that woman, but what is his backstory?”

“True…yeah, they never really explain it, huh?”

“Was he some sorta protector or guardian before? Like the Titanic Tyranitar is some kinda guardian of the natural order and Mecha Tyranitar is about the folly of man?”

“No clue. At least the Titanic Tyranitar is actually helping out this time. PM1 had to bring out his entire team this time to fight.”

“The king gave out hints too, I guess that's what the three weak points on that poster were all about.”

“Kind of a weird name that Serizawa gave MT3 this time…Iron Thorns? What's that about?”

A strange feeling itches at Juliana's brain. Something akin to possibilities, chances, something familiar and next to her but out of reach. Iron Thorns…she had never heard of it, but then why…

No, she had never seen anything like that before, not in the Great Crater or anywhere else. 

“Yeah, that whole crazy speech about how all pokemon are going to be mechanized in the future and that's the way forward for the world…kinda chilling, right?”

Juliana shudders. The supposedly prehistoric, ancient pokemon in the Great Crater are already bad enough as is…she supposes the environment where they came from made their brutality necessary for survival. She can't even imagine a future of fully mechanized pokemon—it sounds nearly dystopian, to her.

She doesn't agree with Sada, but that also doesn't mean that she agrees with the opposite outcome—mechanized pokemon could present an equal if not greater threat to the ecosystem. 

“Well, hopefully it won't ever come to that,” she says quietly, knowing full well that somewhere deep within an ancient crater, there is a well of energy that could fully enable such technology—such pokemon—to exist. If they could come from the past, then…

“That would be ridiculous, right?” Crispin laughs weakly. 

“Yeah…”

The far-off look on her face doesn't escape Kieran's notice. 

“Seriously, another cliffhanger?”

“They gotta make more Pokedollars somehow, right?” Kieran shrugs, shifting the mattress behind them in the process. He feels and hears some slight movement to his right, before he senses a weight and warmth on his shoulder.

Juliana had fallen asleep.

He hadn't quite realized she had dozed off, although he belatedly recalls that she had fallen silent at some point towards the epilogue portion, where citizens were having emotional reunions at evacuation centers and the Unova Defense Force was holding a commendation ceremony and a well-deserved promotion for PM1. 

Her body is slumped against his side, her head tilted into the crook of his neck. His stomach does a brief flip and he has to quell the surge of sudden nerves, to keep completely still for her sake. He's surprised that she hadn't woken up from her shift in positions. She had probably been more exhausted then she had let on. 

“She's goin’ to get a crick in her neck,” Kieran murmurs with feigned resignation. It definitely doesn't look as comfortable as they make it appear in the movies. 

Crispin glances at the two of them. “I guess she's wiped out from everything that happened today, huh?”

That had been Kieran's guess as well. 

“Yeah, it was…a lot.”

“Are you okay? I mean, all that stuff happening was kinda scary and to be honest I still don’t know what’s really going on.”

It was. The words echoing in his head, the sudden cold spots, the illogical invulnerability of the painting. The fact that something is going to happen to Juliana, but they have no clue what that something is or how they could prevent it from happening. 

Something is going to happen to Juliana, and he doesn’t know how to stop it. 

The entire situation is preposterous, ludicrous. Ghosts, curses…he had grown up with such things. But he had been possessed with a sort of youthful invincibility—that nothing could happen to him, further bolstered by the fact that he had made the journey up Oni Mountain countless times without any ill repercussions (other than being chewed out by village elders on numerous occasions). And now he is caught up in the middle of a curse that has caught the attention of the Elite Four, the director, an actual Elite Four member— 

And he doesn’t know what to do.

“I’m…” 

He swallows.

“I’m worried. I…I dunno what I'm s'posed to do next.” Kieran hates how weak he sounds. He’s a Champion, he’s worked hard to get this far, to be this strong, and yet he feels useless. It isn’t as if he can challenge the curse to a Double Battle and then hope that it would leave politely upon defeat. He tilts his head slightly, gazing at the girl leaning on his shoulder. “To be honest, I’m more worried about Juli…”

He doesn’t know why he’s telling Crispin this. It won’t help anything, it won’t change anything. He’s supposed to be stronger, but…

“You guys always make things so complicated,” Crispin groans.

This jolts Kieran out of his reverie.

“I…what?”

Crispin ruffles his hair in frustration. Kieran can practically hear the cogs turning in his brain, the overworked tea kettle of his mind shrieking at a boiling pitch. “If you wanna say something, just say it. If you wanna do something, just do it. I gotta ask…”

He angles himself to face Kieran.

“Do you like her?”

Kieran sucks a sharp intake of breath, his heart briefly stuttering to a stop from the audacity. He boggles at Crispin. 

“She’s right here,” he mouths silently in horror at the blatant disregard for bro propriety that Crispin has just displayed, before stupidly realizing that saying such a thing in and of itself is an admission of guilt.  

“She’s asleep though,” Crispin stage-whispers.

“You don’t know that!” Kieran continues to mouth, bewildered. He stumbles, grasping for an example to point out his hypocrisy. “Look, you like Lacey, right?”

“I…well—”

“And have you told her?” Kieran hisses.

“Uh—”

“Exactly.”

“You know who her dad is, right?”

Crispin has a point there. 

“Still though, you can’t just—”

“Look, I can just tell that you care about her. About Juli. And…I think she’s good for you. I dunno what it is but it’s like she lit a fire in you or something.”

Kieran fumbles. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about…”

“Like what was all that about your ‘name?’”

“Ah, uh, my Kantonian name.” Suguri.

“You must’ve told her right? But not me,” Crispin states simply, with no hint of resentment.

“Oh…uh, sorry. I just never got around to—”

“It’s fine! I don’t mind that kinda thing or sweat the small stuff. It just means she’s special to you, right?”

It’s the way he says it. Special. So blunt, so straightforward in his usual manner. Something tightens in Kieran’s chest. It hurts—that clarity of thought, that conciseness.

It strikes him that he has not exactly been prime friend material lately. Crispin had been there for him the whole time. Has been there.

Kieran could ask him. He would give him honest feedback.

“Crispin, about the League Club…”

He had been mulling over his conversation with Giacomo the previous day. How he had been student council president, had created new policies that were considered vastly unpopular. Strict. His subsequent fall from power. The ostracization. The only reason Kieran is still in power is due to the strength of his team.

There was another difference too.

While Team Star had sought out others—companionship, strength in numbers—he had taken the solitary path. 

What was right? Had he done the right thing?

Would Juliana have done what he did?

“...what are your thoughts on the club right now? With the current rules?”

Crispin looks at him, bemused. “Huh? Where did this come from?”

“I've…talked to some people recently and…it's just been on my mind.” A vague answer, but not an incorrect one. 

He watches his friend pause with consideration. There's an edge of discomfort present that's hard to ignore. Crispin has never been good at hiding anything, his feelings included. 

“Look, I dunno what it is…but I'll be honest. The mood in the League Club just feels…off? I can't say why, I'm not good at sussing that stuff out. But…gah, it's frustrating.”

“Crispin, what does that even—”

“I wish we could go back to being the fun club we were before, I guess is what I'm trying to say.”

Oh. 

So he…

His own friend said he didn't like it.

Kieran tries to fight down the lump in his throat. “So the rules…”

“They’re way too complicated for me. Lacey tried explaining them to me but I already forgot what she said, to be honest.”

“They're not…” That difficult? That complex? 

“Gah, I just don't like to overthink things. The only reason I'm able to be here in the academy is ‘cause the director recruited me! I'm not an ace student. And…I'm sorry, but all the drama, and Drayton cooking up something fishy and Juli being all depressed and getting dragged into his weird plans, it's just…can't you all just get over yourselves??” It comes out in a torrent, despite his hushed tone.

Kieran sits in stunned shock, trying to absorb everything. 

Crispin starts, looking somewhat taken aback at his own outburst. “Hey, sorry I didn't mean to be a wet blanket, I meant this to be a fun night where we can hang out again like we used to—”

Kieran raises his hand up, conciliatory.

“No, it's…it's fine, I'm just…”

Hold on. He had said—

“Wait…Juli was depressed?” Kieran asks quietly.

Crispin stares at him, as if he had suddenly transmogrified into a Diglett before his eyes. “Um…yeah? The first couple of weeks she was here, she was all moping around, wouldn't eat much, nothing. Carmine had to drag her out and then things started getting better when she hung out in the club room. You didn't know?”

He hadn't. 

He had been ramping up the intensity of his training, now that she was here. There had been an urgency, an admittedly self-imposed one. He had wanted to be ready when she would face him in the final match…

“Do…y'know why she was depressed?”

“I…I dunno. But I thought it was ‘cause of you. She would kinda be looking around sometimes in the club room or she'd look at the door but you never showed up.”

Oh fuck.

Crispin looks at his face in dawning horror. 

“I'm not saying it's all you or anything! I'm sure there's other reasons! And it seems like you guys are getting along like a house on fire lately so I don't think you should worry.”

Kieran gazes at the girl leaning against him. Still sound asleep. At peace, for now. His stomach lurches at the thought of what had happened, his unwitting contribution to her rough transition here. And now she has to deal with the repercussions of the curse, to boot. What should have been a fun experience studying abroad had been a dramatic clusterfuck instead. 

A dramatic clusterfuck that he had partially instigated. 

Drayton certainly isn't helping in the slightest. But…maybe for starters…

“Hey, Crispin?”

“What's up?”

“I…sorry if I've been a lousy friend lately.”

Crispin starts. “Huh? What do you mean by that? I don't get it.”

“For…not bein’ around, I guess. Makin’ things weird at the club, too.”

“Hey, you were busy, it's fine! And for the club stuff, I think everyone could stand being a little more straightforward with each other. We'll all work on it, alright?”

It’s a start. There are other steps he needs to consider, too, but it will do for now. 

Kieran nods tentatively.

He feels a stirring by his shoulder. A muted murmuring of incoherent syllables. 

“Juli, are you…?”

There is a pause.

“No, no, no…these Lechonk aren't for eating,” she protests drowsily. “These are my guests.” The sentence is punctuated with a light snore. 

Crispin wheezes into his pillow. 

“I can’t. Did you guys need to stay here? I can give you a blanket or something.”

Kieran shakes his head. “I think I can carry her back if I need to.”

“Carry her?”

Carry her? Have I lost my mind? 

He couldn't jump to the logical conclusion of trying to wake her up first? 

Crispin is staring at him and he feels as if he has dug a hole that he has fully committed to Swanna-diving into, headfirst. He hasn't actually ever carried a person before. His own Furret—whom he has occasionally hauled around as a furry, emotional support noodle—weighs about 72 pounds, give or take. Carrying Juliana would be radically different in multiple ways. 

He gives her a chance, jostling her lightly with his shoulder, calling her name. A small huff of breath, but otherwise nothing. Kieran readies his dorm key card in one hand before shifting to his side, getting into a crouching stance. He tucks one of his arms underneath the crook of her knees, the other arm along her back. Juliana shifts in response, mumbling something before lapsing into silence. He slowly stands up with a muted wheeze of exertion. 

The weight itself isn't so bad, so much as the distribution of said weight. Her feet are dangling off on one side, while her unsupported head lolls back. It feels ungainly and awkward at best. He has to adjust, shifting his arm further up her back to cradle her, supporting the full weight of her body firmly against his, her head pressed to his chest. His pulse thunders in his ears, heat searing through him like an unchecked inferno. He finds himself genuinely surprised that she hasn't stirred from the disruptive conflagration of his own body betraying him. 

“You didn't want to do the fireman's carry? Wouldn't that have been easier?”

Kieran contemplates it. “True, I guess,” he mumbles. “But it mighta woken her up more. ‘Sides, she weighs about…maybe two and a half bushels of apples at the most.”

“The life you live is something else.”

“And what's that s'posed to mean?”

“Nothing, farmer John.”

Kieran rolls his eyes. “Just get the door for me.” 

The journey back proves to be much more awkward than anticipated.

It looked much easier in the movies, admittedly. It might’ve been the fact that she is relaxed and limp, making her feel much heavier than she should be, in reality. That also worries him too—he is genuinely surprised that she hasn’t woken up by now, on some level. She is sleeping way too deeply. Is the curse taking more of a toll on her than she is letting on?

She stirs briefly. Kieran didn’t know it was possible to be relieved and panicked simultaneously. 

She is mumbling something. 

“What?” he asks quietly, before quickly snapping his mouth shut. 

“Su…gu…”

She nuzzles into his chest as his face burns in response. 

Kieran is grateful when he reaches his dorm room, just down the hall from Crispin’s. He angles himself to tap the keycard on the card reader above the handle, before he hears the accompanying click of the locks releasing and nudges the door open with his foot. To his dismay, he hears Juliana’s feet smack loudly into the doorframe on the way in, at which point she does begin to stir awake. Oh shit.

He slows to a petrified halt, in the midst of his room, frozen in horror. 

“Mmm…mm…hmm?”

Juliana slowly, fuzzily blinks at him, seemingly looking through him rather than at him. 

And then the fog slowly lifts from her eyes.

“Kier—” she shrieks in astonishment before cutting off midway, her arms latching around his neck in a panic. It’s nearly a stranglehold. He grunts at the sudden disruption to his circulation.

His skin is on fire. 

“Juli, it’s…it’s fine, just let me—let me put ya down, you fell asleep—”

He attempts to lean down to let her feet touch the ground, but her hold around his neck doesn’t relent. She’s clinging for dear life. 

“Waitwaitwait hold on give me a—Arceus, you scared me, I’m—”

“Juli you’re chokin’ me, just—”

“What's your safeword?”

His grip falters from sheer surprise. He almost drops her then and there. “I—wh-what???”

“Sorry sorry I just felt like saying that, I just…I just blurt things out sometimes okay? It seemed like it would be, I dunno, funny?? I—”

“I—I almost dropped you!!”

“Please don’t.”

This is a disaster. 

It is definitely not panning out in the way that Kieran had imagined. A simple laying her down on his bed while he could wile away the hours studying. Things just really could never go the way he intended them to.

If she isn’t going to let go, then…

He hustles as quickly as possible to the bed before attempting to dump her onto it unceremoniously, hoping to resolve this situation at warp speed. Her legs flop onto the mattress as he leans forward and unhooks his left arm from her knees, but—

“You gotta let go Juli—”

“What?? Oh shi—”

They tumble forward. 

The weight of her arms around his neck pitches him off balance, forward and down. He manages to throw out one arm to partially brace himself, stopping abruptly inches from her face. 

Too close. Way too close.

They freeze.

Kieran's brain short circuits. The only accompanying sensations are the ringing silence of the room, the warmth of their intermingling breaths, his racing heartbeat, every nerve in his body flared and raw. He feels alive, inside the dilapidated physical construct that makes him him, and it renders him helpless and wanting. The clockwork, automaton trainer metamorphosed into a flesh and blood human boy.

They do not speak or move. 

He wants to claw at himself, yell himself hoarse—she had lied to him about Ogerpon, she obviously doesn't respect him—and yet he cannot bring himself to despise her in the slightest, or to muster up any hostility towards her. He isn’t sure if he ever really could, to begin with. In the dark and deep he feels loathing towards himself, frustration. Desire is an endless well that once sampled is difficult to refuse and this holds true. She's ridiculous, he's out of his mind, she thinks he's cool of all things, she cares—it’s in her eyes, every time he looks at her like he is right now—her half-lidded gaze flickering to his lips—

what

“Juli…”

should I—

A Rotom phone screams into existence, tearing into the silence. 

They collectively start with surprise. Juliana sucks in a breath sharply, reflexively attempting to get up to answer, only to result in a resounding collision of foreheads and noses that sends them hissing through their teeth in pain and flustered despair. They scramble as she fruitlessly flounders for her phone, Kieran sliding off the bed in a pile of boneless limbs bereft of adrenaline.

Drayton (22:45): about tomorrow don't worry, the Drayster's going to pull a few strings for your sake

“What,” Kieran croaks hoarsely, after reading the text on the screen.

Juliana stares at her phone, willing the pounding against her sternum to subside, her forehead still smarting from the impact earlier. Was…

Was Kieran going to kiss me?

“I'm gonna pull that toothpaste hair tuft straight outta his head and ship it back to Colgate for a refund.”

I just had to be imagining that…right? After everything I did…after Kitakami…it couldn't be…

“Maybe…maybe wait until he helps first?” Juliana says weakly, still breathless and dazed. “Or does…whatever he's going to do.”

There's no way…right?

“How is he gonna help, exactly?” he asks, his voice cracking in the process.

What was he going to say to me?

“I…I don't know. But…”

Juliana tries to collect herself, to get her bearings.

“...anyway, um, I wanted to thank you? And to apologize…”

Kieran looks at her suddenly, flummoxed. “What? Why? What for?”

“Well…if I'd continued eating the curry I'd probably be worse off tomorrow morning, or even tonight. And…I wanted to say sorry about our, uh, swim tomorrow.”

He can feel the blush creeping up his neck. “I'm more worried ‘bout you, to be honest,” he murmurs, adamantly looking at his desk instead of the girl in front of him. Even the slimmest, most remote possibility of someone seeing Juliana exposed sets him on edge. 

She aims a soft look in his direction. “I…well, I kinda did this to myself. To look on the bright side, once I take the ‘proof,’ we can just go for a regular ol’ swim, just you and me. How does that sound?” A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

Swimming? Just the two of them? 

Kieran shivers at the thought, exhilaration and trepidation setting his nerves ablaze. He supposes that if it were late at night, that would pretty much be the case by default. It had been awhile since he swam—mainly lakes and rivers back home during the summer season, when it was too hot and humid to function. If he thought about it that way…

“Wowzers, I—uh, that sounds good to me,” he says, hoping to conceal the jitters evident in his voice. “Maybe we stick to less…fiery foods tomorrow too?”

“Agreed.”

Chapter Text

When Juliana wakes up in the foyer of a mansion she has never seen before, she knows that she is in for a bad time.

It’s not the first time she has woken up disoriented, in an unfamiliar place. Out of context, this might seem alarming at first glance. In reality, she had become accustomed to the spontaneity of it all, during her travels in Paldea. Falling asleep in Cascarrafa to the soundscape of the windswept sands of the Asado Desert was a very different feeling than huddling for warmth in Montenevera. During her Treasure Hunt, she had hardly stayed in the same place for more than a couple of days, even more so when she set up camp outside of established towns. 

However, falling asleep in a Blueberry Academy dorm room and waking up in a simulacrum of a wealthy estate with all the trappings of a different century is another story. 

The first words that come to her mind are…decadent. Spacious. A refined marble statue of a pokemon unknown to her. Two grand staircases with mahogany banisters polished to a sheen, with plush, crimson rugs displayed at their feet. The checkered floor before her shines, spotless. A crystal chandelier above her, pristine and glowing. Oil paintings of rolling landscapes line the walls. 

“Good. We can finally discuss matters.”

Juliana whips around in alarm. That voice…

A girl. Blonde waves. Dark dress. Gray eyes. A plush doll hanging limply from her arms. 

It’s her.

Alive? But…

“You’re wondering how you can see me, yes? You just had to satisfy your curiosity and visit me again, didn’t you? You only ended up exacerbating things in the process.”

The words sound strange, coming out of a little girl, Juliana thinks.

“That would be because I have been around for quite a long time.”

But how—

“We are in your mind. This is but a dream. You cannot hide anything from me here, I’m afraid.”

The girl walks sedately, leisurely, her buckled shoes making a satisfactory click with each step on the cold, hard tiles of the floor. “See,” she continues mildly, “the world of dreams is closer to the world beyond. The barrier is more…tenuous. Dreams of visions, loved ones…it’s not just a coincidence as some might think. It really is a bother in the waking world, though.”

She comes to a stop in front of Juliana, who tenses automatically. She can’t move her lips to speak. 

She’s rooted in place.

“Oh, there’s no need to worry. I won’t do anything to you. What’s done has already been done. You’re only the next link in a chain, only one of many to come. You are not as special as you’ve been told you are.”

But…why me…

“Wrong place at the wrong time. Right requirements,” she says clinically. “It’s a pity, really. I don’t personally hold any grudge against you. But I’m afraid the original intent and energy have been amplified by the…other links, after so many years. What you have been calling a…curse, I believe? It’s beyond my control at this point.”

Links?

“Links. Souls. Victimes de la malédiction, if you look at it from a more…somber perspective.”

The room flickers briefly. An elevator tucked away in an office building. An ancient building made of stone whose architecture looks uncomfortably familiar. A bridge. 

So…there were others then.

“Indeed. As there will be, long after you.”

Behind the girl, Juliana can see the outline of an elderly man sporting a silver, mutton chop beard, adorned in fine livery—something she had once seen in a Galarian period drama on TV. He is setting some fine porcelain cups upon a tray.

“Oh, the butler? James. That’s not really him that you are seeing, just a memory. He had come all the way from Hammerlocke just to assist my father with his estate here. Only one of many, really.”

Hammerlocke…? Why did that seem so…

Your…father?

“Yes. We hailed from Kalos but spread our roots far. Galar, Sinnoh, Unova. He was business associates with Mr. Backlot and had many dealings with him.”

Juliana has no idea who this Mr. Backlot is. 

“You needn't concern yourself with a man such as him, besotted by wealth and fame.”

Juliana tries to focus. Her mind feels sluggish and hazy. She still finds her limbs frozen to the spot, a mere spectator. The girl before her holds all the cards. She tries to not be rattled by this fact. This is her chance, she has to ask—

You said…requirements?

“A girl or a young woman—one with plenty of potential. Unresolved wishes or desires. Proximity. I was merely an initial archetype.”

Archetype?

“A foundation. An origin. I was never gifted the opportunity to grow into adulthood, to experience the world. To experience love. It is true that a partner would have been arranged for me, given my station, but the chance would have still existed. I suppose that what I had truly wished for was a father that would come home. James had been more of a caretaker to me than my own flesh and blood. There was also that unusual companion...that loved to play with me. That something so peculiar should make off with the motor…” The girl pauses delicately, before continuing. “That I had forsaken my doll for it had proved to be a mistake.”

A…companion?

“Small, orange, strange blue eyes…covered in glowing aura? Could seemingly possess lawn mowers? Rather mischievous.”

That sounds like a Rotom…

“Is that what it is called? Truly interesting.”

What happened to you…?

“The so-called ‘inheritance powder.’ A combination of toxic compounds derived from various pokemon. The spasms of retching…the convulsions…my skin marred by discolored blotches. It was a matter of…hours? Days? I could not tell. Each minute was excruciating. As it turns out, the antidote had been disposed of.”

Despite the monotonous delivery of the girl’s statement, Juliana can feel the looming, unbridled anger in the air. Resentment, pain. Vengeance. Her fight or flight instincts kick in. She needs to leave, now.

However, Juliana can feel the presence of someone else in the foyer, despite her muscles being locked in place. Someone familiar. 

It couldn’t be.

Kieran…?

For the first time, the girl looks slightly annoyed. It’s the first flicker of emotion she has shown on her face so far. “The young man. An anomaly, really. He is here. Hearing every word, unfortunately. I’ve simply…hidden him, for now. The last thing I need is for you to be distracted during our limited time here.”

…anomaly?

“It’s unprecedented. A bona fide soul link. Your souls are tangled up in each other. The timing was inconvenient, to say the least.”

A soul link? Juliana had never heard of the term before. It sounds strangely intimate in a way that sends heat searing through her body. And the timing was inconvenient? It almost seemed like the girl before her hadn't wanted this…as if she hadn't been the one to—

“To think, all he had to do was touch you at that exact moment. Strange. I hadn’t anticipated it, but it’s no matter. The outcome will never change. It’s inevitable.”

What did she mean by that? 

The outcome? What is—

“You really think you have all the time in the world, don't you?”

Juliana's blood runs cold.

What…do you mean…?

“He bought you time, but I cannot imagine it will be a long term solution. The souls prior to you had it much worse. Perhaps you should show some gratitude.”

Juliana blinks. The doll in the girl's arms has disappeared entirely.

What—

“And with that, I believe our time draws to a close, for now.”

Icy dread crawls in her gut as she whips around to face a Banette, mere centimeters from her face. 

“Time to wake up.”

Everything goes dark and she's yanked from the abyssal depths of her subconscious with a gasp, only to be greeted by the plain ceiling of the dorm room.

A bed. A yellow comforter. His scent. 

Where is Kieran?

She sits bolt upright, glancing around the room wildly—her body still on high alert with adrenaline coursing through her veins. It had felt so real, almost more lucid than real life itself. She needed to know, was he—

A clammy hand latches onto hers, eliciting a yelp of surprise from her throat. 

He's on the ground, sitting cross-legged atop her sleeping bag, with evidence of his rolled up blazer being used as a makeshift, impromptu pillow. She doesn't remember falling asleep last night.

“S-sorry! Did I startle ya? I—”

“Did you see it too?”

“The girl, the painting—”

“Yeah.”

They lapse into an uneasy silence. 

It couldn't be a coincidence that they both had dreamt of the same girl...right…?

“She said…the girl said you were there…” Juliana trails off.

“Yeah, I'd been yellin’ myself hoarse. I was right next to you both. Thought I'd just been in some kinda…regular nightmare, until she said that she'd hidden me away.”

Juliana pauses. She had been left with more questions than answers. If one of the requirements for the curse involved being a girl or a young woman, how could Kieran be cursed as well? And what had that all been about—soul links? 

He bought her time…?

Her gut clenches from the sudden onslaught of nerves. Having the time to process her experience has only made the realization worse. She clutches at her abdomen when she feels her stomach lurch, only to realize that it isn’t just the rigors of anxiety wreaking havoc on her digestive tract.

It was the fucking tamato berries from last night.

Fuck.

“Kieran, I—”

“What is it?”

“Bathroom, now.”

“Oh…OH.”

They run.

Unfortunately, the urgency meant that she had to subsequently slam the door in his face, followed by an apology verging on hysteria. She can hear a “I knew it would be a bad idea,” which she impulsively responds to by banging her fist on the door. Juliana briefly worries if she had taken it too far, before she hears a muffled laugh that’s being poorly suppressed. If someone had to laugh at her expense, she’d rather it would be him, at least. 

After she feebly leaves the bathroom, solemnly vowing to never consume ten tamato berries’ worth of spice in one sitting ever again in her lifetime, she collapses onto his bed while pulling up her Rotom phone. Seven in the morning. So, one hour before homeroom starts. It would be the afternoon in Paldean standard time. It is worth a shot.

“I…I need to call Ryme.”

“Y'all didn't get rid of that painting? Like I told you to? And on top of that you went to see it again?”

Juliana winces. Ryme had told them to get rid of the painting. Not only had they not properly disposed of it, but they had essentially gone back to the scene of the crime for more punishment. Updating the Gym leader on everything that had happened was an awkward, albeit necessary task. The process of rehashing recent events had made their recklessness all the more apparent in hindsight. 

Ryme relaxes minutely upon seeing her regret, raising an eyebrow. “If you really want to experience an early demise that badly, you should just come check out that High Roller sushi place with me and Grusha next time you’re back here. At least you’d get the satisfaction of eatin’ your way to a premature grave.”

“Sorry…it’s just that Kieran and I were summoned by the director to meet with Shauntal in the Art Club room. We didn’t think—”

“Shauntal? As in the Unova Elite Four member, Shauntal?”

Juliana nods.

“Look,” Ryme sighs, “she’s a powerful trainer in her own right. Stronger than me, in fact. Knows her Ghost types in and out. But I’ve been around the block and then some, compared to her. I’ve been walkin’ this planet twice as long as she’s existed. I don’t even know how many ectoplasms she’s ever exorcised…Take it from me, you need to avoid that painting from now on.”

“Duly noted,” Juliana says.

A strange expression flits across Ryme’s features. “Hold up…you said at the very end, you saw a Banette, right?”

“Yeah…the girl was holding a doll for most of the time. But towards the end, it was gone. I felt some type of…presence behind me, so I turned around and a Banette was right in my face.”

“Hmm…”

There was the presence of a doll…a Banette…and that painting, it also had—

Well.

“Okay, here’s my take. You know how a Banette can lay curses by stickin’ pins in its own body, correct?”

“Ah, yes…I believe Shauntal mentioned that to us yesterday,” Juliana replies.

Ryme exhales. “She knows her pokemon. That’s reassurin’, at least. They stick pins in their bodies to generate strong curse energy, but these pins can go into other objects as well. I’d have someone—not you—check the back of the painting for any. Could be embedded in the frame, the spacers, you name it. They’re much stronger than the shit you’d find in a sewin’ kit. If the painting is as invulnerable as you say it is, there’s probably a likely chance that even if you did find ‘em, you wouldn’t be able to remove ‘em.”

“Then what use is it?” Kieran asks, exasperated.

“We know our options then.”

This gets his attention.

“What can we do?”

“They say that treatin’ it with enough care might help in resolvin’ the grudge, turnin’ it back its original form—a stuffed toy. That can be tricky, though…ideally it’s the trainer who abandoned the doll in the first place who should also be the one to give Banette the care it needs. I assume that’d be the girl. If her spirit is still on this plane and her pokemon is…aware of her existence, this might not work. Sounds like she ain't interested already. Which leaves option number two.”

“Which is?”

“We kill it.”

The room falls silent. It is common knowledge that some pokemon are consumed as food, and that as part of the natural order, pokemon would kill and consume other pokemon. However, to actively kill one—

“Ghost pokemon can…die?” Juliana asks quietly.

“Depends on the cellular makeup of the pokemon. For example, there’ve been recorded cases of Trevenant passin’ away, leavin’ remains in the form of bark. They become part of the forest again. Cells break down eventually. It’s said that many Ghost-types are alive creatures reborn from the spirits of previous pokemon or even humans, such as Yamask. A Banette is even easier. They say that it keeps its life force in its body by its zipped up mouth. If you unzip it, its energy is gone.”

“So all we’d need to do is unzip its mouth?” Kieran asks.

“Well, it ain’t all that simple. First, you’d have to find the Banette. Secondly, I highly doubt it’d just politely let you go up to it like that. It could be in the Old Chateau as you said, but that’s a heck of a plane ride away.”

It takes a substantial amount of effort from Kieran to avoid pointing out that he has to take the equivalent of said plane ride any time he ever wants to visit his hometown.

“I thought you said that the curse didn’t originate from a pokemon?”

Ryme sighs. “I still don’t think it does. There’s clearly a human spirit involved. But I think it could be amplifyin’ the power of the curse. It’d reduce its potency, at least, which is better than nothin’.”

It isn’t the answer that either of them had entirely hoped for. 

“There is one option where you wouldn’t have to worry at all about findin’ the Banette,” Ryme says.

“And that is…?”

“You…what is it again? Fulfill your wish? Or how does your school like to put it…find your treasure? It’s got all the makings of a contract. To me, it sounds like this girl and whoever came after her all had somethin’ that they wanted but couldn’t get. So maybe it’s high time that someone broke the chain, and it seems like that someone’s gotta be you.”

Fulfill…my wish? 

What is my wish? 

For forgiveness from Kieran? A clear conscience?

For…

Deep down, she doesn’t want to think about it. She’s buried it for a reason. For her own sanity.

After an interminable silence, Ryme speaks up again. “So…you happen to know what this wish of yours might be? Any guesses? There’s gotta be something you can think of.”

 “I…I don’t know.”

Tauros shit, Ryme thinks to herself. 

“Look, it’s your life on the line here,” she says tiredly. “I might be able to see you when you’re on the other side, but I can’t say the same about your friends and family. I’ll do what I can on my end and have my sis send you some consecrated Nacli salt through Dragonite Express mail, all bundled up. You keep that shit on you wherever you go, especially when you’re sleepin’, got it?”

“I…yeah, thank you for helping me,” Juliana says. Ryme was going out of the way to help her, when she didn’t have to. 

“I'm goin’ to do what I can to help, okay? There's still some stuff that I need to parse out about that dream of yours. The supposed ‘requirements,’ for one thing. Are you absolutely positive you heard her say that it's usually a girl or young woman?”

Juliana nods.

Then why can she spot curse energy connecting the two of them? How is Kieran connected, if he doesn't meet this criteria? Did it have to do with the contact that he had made with her initially? If that was the case, it was possible that Juliana had inadvertently acted as a living conductor or conduit for the curse. But it doesn't explain why that energy ties them together. 

Ryme gets the feeling that she is missing something. 

Juliana hears an awkward shifting of weight, the rustling of fabric beside her.

“What’s…a soul link?” Kieran asks tentatively.

Ryme looks at him intently. “Ah…she did mention a soul link, huh?” 

“Yeah. It's what the girl—the ghost—said. That our souls were…” 

He pauses, flushing slightly as he looks determinedly at the ceiling.

“...tangled up. In each other.”

“Hmm…well, I know ‘em from here-say. Stories I've heard. Never seen one though…until now, if she’s tellin’ you the truth. Basically it's a really strong tie between souls. It can be a positive or a negative thing. Could be platonic, romantic, doesn't matter. Almost like a kinda…Destiny Bond, but between people.”

“Uh…like the move Destiny Bond? With everything that entails?” Juliana asks. If that is the case, it isn't good news. She tries to fight down the feeling of dread threatening to consume her whole. 

Kieran. If something were to happen to her, then…

His life. It was under threat—in danger—and it was all her fault.

“That's what the stories say. Being able to share thoughts? Or was it memories? It’s been awhile since I’ve heard of it. Again, I've never actually seen it before. And as an effect of a curse, to boot…I hadn't considered it before. It's probably not entirely unrelated, then. There's a reason that we're just not able to see yet.”

There is one other detail that nags at Ryme. One other aspect that she had heard mentioned before.

Usually, on some level, both parties had to want it. 

The barriers, walls, fortifications put up in everyday life had to be let down. The doors had to be opened. A mutual agreement. 

If the rumors were true, then the implication was startling—on some subconscious level, they had both wanted this connection. She doesn't know what to do with this information. She certainly doesn't expect a warm reaction if she suggests in any way that they had wanted this to happen. What she needs is more time to think, to reevaluate. 

“Sorry, I gotta go exorcise another ghost off that Raifort woman again,” Ryme sighs. “Occupational hazard my ass. I'll eat my hat on stage if she isn't on Interpol’s wanted list by now. The bar was six feet under when Clavell was lookin’ for new faculty, huh?”

She probably isn't wrong about that, Juliana thinks. 

Juliana finds it more and more difficult to concentrate with each passing period.

Their Natures and their Applications class isn’t entirely impossible. She had some familiarity with the twenty-five different natures, along with how they affected taste preferences (Arven had been especially adamant about knowing this, to her amusement). The focus seems to lean more towards battle efficacy—how innate natures impact strengths and weaknesses.

She finds herself proverbially treading water during their Individual and Effort Values course. Individual values and the impact of a pokemon’s genetics are not foreign to her, thanks in part to having Professor Jacq as a homeroom teacher. She understands how individual values are inherited from parents upon conception. She is somewhat less familiarized with the use of a power lens or power anklet in the distribution of these values. Juliana had never dabbled much in pokemon breeding.

The effort values get more in depth. Raising specific values through battling certain pokemon or using vitamins is relatively common knowledge. The teacher had even touched upon the history of Pokerus, which had been declared officially eradicated due to stringent vaccination protocols. However, the math becomes more tricky. A potential two hundred fifty-two total maximum per stat with remainders leading to five hundred ten total cap. Simple (252/252/4? 252/252/6?) versus complex EV spreads when anticipating opponents, but also considering optimal spreads of 252/244/4/4/4 and making sure effort values are multiples of 4 + 8x. It was Tyme’s class but ten times more of a nuisance. With all the technicalities, she finds it genuinely surprising that she had even managed to become a Champion-ranked trainer in Paldea. She tended to just rip through battles like a braided tornado. 

It’s in the middle of an explanation regarding a complex EV spread for a Sylveon facing off an Excadrill when Juliana feels a muted buzzing in her pants pocket.

Pen (10:17): sorry it took me so long

Pen (10:17): I managed to dig up some stuff about a ghost sighting in Lumiose

Pen (10:17): a young woman with dark hair and a black dress. Straight up sounds like some witch cosplay or one of those Hex Maniacs, from her description

Pen (10:17): some office building on North Boulevard, on the second floor. I think it’s supposed to be a fighting dojo?

Pen (10:18): there’s forum posts about a sighting in Hotel Richissime although I’m not 100% sure on that

So there is a Kalos lead. The discovery reinvigorates Juliana. She attempts to discreetly tuck her Rotom phone underneath her desk, keeping her gaze mostly fixed on the teacher and the screen ahead of her.

Juli (10:20): sorry in class noe

Juli (10:20): what did you rund

Pen (10:21): haha wow

Pen (10:21): do you want to just wait until you’re done. When’s your next break?

Juli (10:22): Nah uts okay I want to know noe

Pen (10:22): Alright if you say so

Pen (10:23): I tried looking up articles about that building, about any accidents or fatalities so I could maybe match it up with obituaries

Pen (10:23): which is annoying when most of it is in Kalosian

Juli (10:23): That sounds grudtrating

Pen (10:23): you're killing me here

Pen (10:24): i did find something interesting 

Pen (10:24): they found a nineteen year old girl dead in the lift. In that same building. Over two decades ago

Pen (10:24): used to be a block of flats before they converted it

Pen (10:24): the recording just showed her dropping like a stone 

Pen (10:25): obit said cardiopulmonary arrest

Juli (10:27): damn wlyhats really young

Pen (10:27): I can't take you seriously

Pen (10:28): yeah. Could've been a heart condition that was never caught but I couldn't find anything else

Pen (10:28): and of course social media was nonexistent at the time so I couldn't dig up many details about her

Pen (10:29): only thing that came close was a blog post almost ten years later in Galarian. Some bloke talking about a girl he used to be neighbours with, who passed away

Pen (10:29): wanted to confess to her and everything but it was too late. Matching name and description, so it could be her

Was it connected? The girl in her dream had told her that her family had originally hailed from Kalos, not to mention there is still the Kalosian scrap that has not been translated yet. In addition, if Shauntal's information in her email was true, then it had sounded like the ghost in Lumiose had been looking for someone. Perhaps her neighbor? Had she felt the same way about him?

If it really was connected…it didn't bode well.

Juli (10:32): thanks for all the info

Juli (10:32): just got out

Pen (10:33): wow you really could've just waited ten minutes 

Juli (10:33): Nah it would've bothered me if I didn't know right away

“Who've you been textin’ this whole time?” Kieran asks, as they weave around a multitude of students in the crowded hallway. 

“Penny. She dug up info on the Lumiose ghost sighting. Could be related to the Kalosian ties we know about.”

Juliana hears her Rotom phone vibrate again. 

Fil (10:35): So we checked the painting like you asked. We found some weird things that look like pinheads hidden away on the spacers. We actually had to remove the frame. Can't get them out though, they're pretty wedged in. We'll keep working on it

“You’re sure popular, huh?”

The unanticipated sensation of Kieran's breath ghosting past her cheek as he hovers over her shoulder nearly elicits a scream from Juliana. 

“I—uh, n-no? It's just Fil getting back to me about the painting. Looks like they did find some. Ryme was right.”

“But they can't get ‘em out.”

“Yeah, turns out she was also right about that too.”

Go figure. It would've been too easy if they could just pry out the pins one by one.

Pen (10:39): btw, you should expect a parcel sometime today

Pen (10:40): from Nemona

Juli (10:40): what? What's she sending? She didn’t say anything to me

Pen (10:40): you’ll find out soon

Juli (10:41): ominous as fuck

Pen (10:41): compliment received and acknowledged. Hasta la vistar

“Huh, we might need to stop by the post room during our break.”

“The…mailroom you mean?”

“Same thing,” she says offhandedly. “Penny said I might receive something from Nemona today.”

“Did she say what?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

They find out.

When Juliana opens the package before her in the privacy of her dorm room, she immediately recognizes what it is—which doesn’t help in resolving her confusion in the slightest. From her peripheral vision, she can see Kieran craning over to peer into the box.

A Poke Ball and a phone, in the classic default red. 

Why would Nemona send her a Rotom phone? 

Nemona knows that Juliana has a working, fully functioning Rotom phone. In turn, Juliana knows that Nemona takes an active approach in avoiding any involvement with her family’s business whatsoever. Her friend had made it adamantly clear time and time again that her older sister would be the next in line to take over as one of the Rotom Phone company’s board members, leaving her to pursue her own interests. Juliana wonders what had brought her to the point where she would be actively involved with the family business…unless Nemona had bought the phone herself. She certainly has enough combined Pokedollars and League Points to do so, just from her stint as Champion alone. Which circles back to the original question.

As Juliana removes the phone, she notices a crumpled letter folded underneath. Naranja stationary with the signature school emblem. She carefully unfolds it.

Hola!

So my older sister told me that they’re having some board members try out the latest Rotom phone model. It’s not really on the market yet because they still have to troubleshoot and work some bugs out. It’s supposed to have some quality of life improvements over the phones we have…I think the camera function is supposed to be better? And the map is less unwieldy too. You can see more when it’s zoomed out. I didn’t pay too much attention. She said that they preferred active pokemon trainers to try it out, since they’re more likely to be on the move and utilizing the map function. So she gave me hers.

I honestly didn’t want anything to do with it, but Penny went on and on the other day about your friend not having a phone and living in the dark ages. I just told her that he probably just wants to focus on training? But it made me think. If you want to try it out, you should totally go for it (my rival gets number one dibs). If your friend needs a new phone though, he can definitely take it! Only thing is that he has to email R&D about any bugs or issues that come up, as well as a final review. I wrote their email at the bottom of this letter. 

Anyway, missing you! Can’t wait for you to get your butt back here so we can have fruitful battles again!

All the best,

Nemo

Juliana stares at the ensemble before her in silence.

“She…sent you a phone,” she says in disbelief. “A phone.”

Kieran gapes at the box, rendered speechless.

Her friends are either crazy, loaded, or both. 

Juli (11:31): NEMONA

Juli (11:31): A PHONE??

Nemo (11:33): hey! You got it!

Nemo (11:33): it was Penny’s idea, really

Nemo (11:34): she said something about it being a “travesty” and “how is he even alive”

Nemo (11:34): ugh hold on a sec Arven's he

Juliana's phone starts ringing.

“You couldn't let me finish texting??”

“Sheesh, haven't you ever heard of an inside voice? I haven't seen Juli in forever. Let me get my turn.”

The combination of the unanticipated call and the unanticipated, brand new, free Rotom phone careens into Kieran like a bout of Surf, and it comes rushing back to him. 

Nemona comes to mind easily. He remembers the ebullient girl with verdant bangs and a nigh infectious grin, from the first time he had seen her that Friday night—when the memories had first started. He also now recalls their meeting in front of her house, and wow…that’s where she lived? A veritable mansion? Within walking distance of a private beach? 

He can feel and smell the sea breeze, the light exertion and the warmth of the sun on his skin as they walk towards a lighthouse in the distance. He remembers Nemona introducing him to the lively bustle of Mesagoza and to the worst staircase in the world, and when he looks up the seemingly endless flight of stairs, he thinks that she might be right. It’s bad when a staircase looks like the unholy union of an optical illusion and a torture device rather than a means from point A to point B. He considers himself to be relatively in shape and likes his mountainous hikes, but the stairs are far from aesthetically pleasing. 

He can smell the scent of freshly baked bread in what he presumes is the school store as Nemona laments being rejected by another trainer in her relentless pursuit for battle partners. His encounters with her during the Gym Challenges. Was she…following him? It couldn't be a coincidence, right? And the battles…so many battles. This girl really liked to battle—

And he was…losing?

No…he was winning too. 

They were both losing and winning, to varying extents.

And they were laughing their asses off the entire time. 

Why? Didn’t winning matter to them at all? 

Battling her is like standing at the threshold of a category five hurricane with a flimsy umbrella. The most cheerful force of nature he has ever encountered in his life. It’s the feeling of the warmth of the sun, combined with a gale force wind that knocks you off your feet and then kindly props you back up again, wholesomely offering a bottle of water and some snacks afterward. He doesn’t know whether to flinch or to laugh hysterically. 

Kieran has to pull himself back, to snap out of it.

These aren’t his memories. They are Juliana’s memories.

“Wowzers, that is the worst staircase in the world,” he mutters.

Juliana starts. Nemona and Arven stare at him in confusion.

Kieran has to pinch himself when memories of Arven flood his mind—this is what Juliana remembers of him. They're not his own memories. 

To his mounting alarm and consternation, he finds out that they used to spend time with each other a lot. Probably more than with Nemona or Penny combined. They had been Multi Battle partners a fair number of times against…

Shit.

Pokemon have no business being that big. 

Was that a giant Bombirdier?? Raining boulders on them??

An Orthworm the size of a bus??

Kieran doesn't quite recognize the giant piscine pokemon or the pokemon that bears an uncomfortable resemblance to reanimated, living sushi, although he can guess that the enormous Krabby lookalike in front of them is probably a Klawf—considering that it's Paldea. Juliana would never have to worry about her supply of Klawf sticks again.

By the time he eyeballs the gargantuan pokemon in a desert he has never seen, he has nearly forgotten his brief bout of insecurity, which has been summarily overtaken by utter bafflement. The entire situation is too bizarre. His brain is screaming at him, begging him to remember. He's seen this pokemon before, in different instances. 

Wait.

Why does it look so much like that…Johtonian pokemon he's seen on TV before? A…Donphan?

This is different though. The vicious-looking tusks, the tufts of fur, the spikes, the jagged mouth, the sheer size and savagery. The eyes. 

That's it. 

He's seen them in the Great Crater before, in another memory. Great Tusk. 

Arven calls them Titans and he can see why. 

And then he starts making those sandwiches. Arven is an upperclassman—an upperclassman who has apparently battled and partook in numerous meals with Juliana—who can cook. And they took multiple selfies together to commemorate these moments, their victories. The sandwich that's on fire is a little confusing, but overall it appears that they are getting along swimmingly. A surge of panic envelops Kieran as he attempts to push down the feeling that he's been outclassed by a long shot, and that long shot is named Arven. 

Does Juliana like older guys? It seems like there is an age gap of at least a few years, but it is difficult to tell. Guilt gnaws at his gut as he realizes that Juliana has been cooking for him these past few days, but Arven had a history of making food for her. Their group chat on Saturday had suggested that she was interested in someone at Blueberry, not Naranja, but it didn't rule out the possibility of potential romantic interests at her original school. Were there other guys who were interested in her at Naranja? Who would be waiting for her when she returned home? 

And then Kieran feels like an asshole for his sudden spiraling because now he realizes why they've been doing this, hunting for these glowing herbs in these alcoves. It's for Arven's deathly sick pokemon—his Mabosstiff—whom he considers his real family, his only family. Arven truly cares for his pokemon and Kieran has to kick himself for the sudden feeling that he's being an unwarranted jackass.

And then he's suddenly overcome with even more alarm when he's reaching out and his hand is firmly grasped, Arven's strong grip being the only thing between him and a precipitous plunge to an untimely demise at the bottom of the Great Crater, before he's being hoisted to the front of their motley crew riding Koraidon and—

His heart drops to his stomach when he feels hands around his waist. 

She had rode Koraidon before with this guy riding behind her? Holding her? 

Oh fuck. Arceus on a tricycle.

The amount of G-forces that Arven's grip strength had to withstand meant that underneath that dorky vest, he was built like a brick shithouse. Or he had forearms made of solid rebar.

He was outgunned, outclassed, outmanned. 

The realization drenches him like the most frigid Kitakami downpour he's ever experienced. It yanks him back into the sparsely adorned dorm room, surrounded by three mutely surprised faces fixated on him. He feels exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of insecurity, guilt, and more insecurity that his memories of Arven seemed to induce. 

It's Nemona that first tries to push past the initial awkwardness. She introduces herself as Juliana's “best rival for life” with a level of bombastic enthusiasm that bowls over Kieran and results in him doing his best attempt to suppress laughter. He wants to be jealous, really, but he finds it impossible with her infectious joy and positivity. 

Arven then introduces himself as Juliana's “absolute BEST friend,” enunciation and all. Kieran can definitely detect jealousy there, but it's the way he says it…there's a strange sort of innocence to it. Did he perceive Kieran as a threat, as in taking over the role of “best friend”? Or did he perceive Kieran as a threat, as another man in Juliana's life? He feels simultaneously threatened and perplexed.

He has to say something. 

“Hi, I'm Kieran. I'm—”

Her rival? Her friend? 

He goes for a combination of both, introducing himself as a rival and as a friend she had met on her school trip, which leaves her friends satisfied and himself feeling as if it were an incomplete, lackluster descriptor that didn’t entirely capture whatever it is that he and Juliana are. Their overall lack of surprise gives him the impression that Juliana had talked about him to them before. Whatever she has told them about him remains a mystery.  

“You saw something…didn't you?” Juliana asks, giving Kieran a knowing look. “Also you're right, those stairs are the worst. You should come visit, so you can try them firsthand for yourself.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Kieran says, trying to suppress his elated panic at her invitation. 

“It's cheating if you get to hitch a ride in my mind without feeling the burn in your lungs. You're not getting the full experience.”

“Can I pass? I didn't know your region has giant Bombirdier, that's just silly. I don't wanna have to look up to avoid boulders, just to walk up a flight of stairs.”

Juliana blinks in surprise, quickly catching on as she changes tack. “We have Kantonian crepes.”

“What exactly is happening here?” Nemona asks, clearly confused by the track their conversation has taken. 

Clearly Penny hadn't fully debriefed them on that particular matter. 

“Kieran's got front row seats to my memories,” Juliana says. “You should be glad you never did anything embarrassing in front of me. Penny told you about the painting, right?”

“She mentioned something about a painting and a curse, and him saying some stuff about Team Star that he shouldn't be able to know? So you're really saying he can recall anything you've ever remembered?”

“Well…it seems like…it involves looking at someone to trigger something? Unless…”

She looks at Kieran hesitantly. So far, it seemed like he could see—no, recall—more than she could, for whatever reason. He has more data to go off of. 

“I think that and I've been…surprised both times? Sorry, I wish I knew more.”

“Surprised? About what?”

“The phone? You don't just receive a phone in the mail every day,” he says. He turns to face Nemona. “Speakin’ of, I've never thanked ya properly. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem! You're doing me a favor, really. I try to stay out of that business. Helping Juli's friend is a big bonus! She's told us so much about you—”

Juliana attempts to convey her mortified desperation telepathically and fails. Arven shifts slightly onscreen, eliciting a sharp “ow!” from Nemona. 

“¡Cállate!” Juliana hisses.

“Ow ow I was being nice! I don't get it.”

Kieran stares at her.

“Um…so I take it you saw the Open Sky Titan, huh?” Arven asks, hoping to segue into a different tangent. 

“Oh. Uh, yeah. That huge Bombirdier, right? What the heck?”

“That wasn't even the worst part of it either.”

“Uh, what? What was the worst part then?”

“The sandwich. By far.”

He tries to remember. The selfies, the sandwiches…

It was the…what had he called it…herba mystica? The term sounds naggingly familiar. There were some special herbs from home that were used to make a type of specialty mochi. The Caretaker had called them “secret spice,” whatever that meant. It had tasted—

Oh.

“There, that face. That exact face,” Arven says, feeling vindicated.  

“Yeah we made that face too,” Juliana supplies. “The bitter herba mystica is a doozy.”

They weren't kidding. He would need an alarming amount of chocolate after this to clear the memory of that taste from his mouth. 

“Okay I believe you, buddy. Only someone who's sampled bitter herba mystica can truly make that expression. Sorry for trying to flex on you earlier.”

He accepted it that readily??

And that had been him flexing earlier?

“I…uh, no worries.”

He still doesn't exactly know where Arven stands with Juliana or what he really meant by being her “best friend,” but he can recognize that he's at least making an effort to extend an olive branch despite his initial jealousy. 

The Paldean trio move on to other topics, the previous discussion leading to inquiries about Mabosstiff's health and Arven’s latest use of herba mystica in his most recent culinary expeditions. It hits Kieran as they are excitedly catching up that they really do have an extensive history. He had known Juliana for the duration of that school trip in Kitakami, but her friends had known her for months. Had seen her ups and downs, her achievements. And they would be there for her when she returns. Arven would be there for her.

Kieran can't help but feel that he is a hopeless, smitten fool. 

“Kiki.”

There’s no one that can do a jumpscare quite like his sister.

Kieran jolts out of his skin as Carmine rounds the corner of a secluded hallway a short distance from the cafeteria. 

“Got some time for lunch?” she asks, casually leaning against the main corridor wall with her arms crossed. 

He fumbles for an answer. They were going to grab a brief lunch before heading to class, since much of their break had been consumed by the phone conversation with Nemona and Arven, not to mention the required time necessary to let the Rotom inhabit Kieran's new phone and sync with it. There hadn't been any time to go over the different applications. At the bare minimum, Juliana had sent a text to him so that he could at least receive her Rotom phone number—a “so, more tamato-based curry tonight?” that was swiftly followed by “just kidding, I was thinking a sweet sandwich to make up for last night,” upon seeing Kieran's expression of genuine horror. 

His first text back to her—his first text ever, really—had been “only if we can make them together.” It was a shame that he hadn’t learned how to use the camera feature on his phone yet. He had wanted to save her beaming smile in response, to store it for safekeeping for a rainy day. For any day, really. Other than that, they hadn't been able to make progress with his phone.

He figures that they can, if they order their food right away and make it to their afternoon classes.

“Should be okay if it's quick, we got class soon.” Kieran turns to face Juliana, only to freeze. 

Her eyes are glazed and unfocused, staring at Carmine. No, staring through Carmine. She's somewhere else, somewhen else. He silently hopes that he doesn’t appear that ridiculous whenever it happens to him. 

Carmine had always made an imposing figure with her height and her larger-than-life personality.

This rings true both when meeting her for the first time and when it comes to using her as a living shield against strangers, these other big kids with their larger-than-life personalities: loud, exuberant, cool, and capable. Self-reliant. Strong. Everything that Juliana isn’t and never will be. 

It turns out that Carmine is a veritable, beanpole-shaped bouncer against these kids in their crisp Blueberry uniforms, time and time again. Her back becomes a familiar sight, evoking equal parts protection and resentment. Perhaps a little more resentment than anything. She doesn't realize that her protective streak is directly correlated to the amount of sneers and condescension that she—no, Kieran, Juliana realizes—receives from the student body. Carmine is doing everything for him, constantly, to the point of aggravation. It comes from a good place, really, but…

“Ugh, you just can’t do this right, can you? Here, just give it to me already.”

You’re trying. Arceus, you’re really trying, but—

But maybe you can’t just do anything right, after all.


He tries. He struggles to get a word in, edgewise. Carmine is simply brasher, bolder, faster. He attempts to find the words to speak, to work up the nerve, but gets hushed, before being scolded five minutes later about being no good at talking to people. Any words of protest die on his lips, recognizing the futility of it all. Carmine would just get upset, if he tried. And back home, there’s no one else besides her, really. 

Kitakami is both beautiful and lonely. 

Carmine is proud of its traditions, a region rich in culture that surpasses those “big, shiny cities” that she likes to scoff at. It’s because of this that she doesn’t hesitate to snap at the ignorant tourists that would trash the place, not an iota of respect running in their veins. In turn, the Caretaker makes it his life mission to chase the two away, afraid that these upstart, rambunctious local kids would scare away possible tourists—and subsequent income for their small town. 

Because, in reality, it’s a dying way of life. They're well aware of the youth moving towards the metropolises, the other regions with their urban centers ripe with potential, with jobs and opportunities. Johto, Kanto, Sinnoh. Their higher tier schools, their gym challenges, their leagues—of which Kitakami had none. Sure, some residents tend to move back in their thirties and forties to settle down and start families. It is a lovely place for young children to grow up—fresh air, nature, a small community and hard, honest work. And that really is it—it’s small. Mostly older, conservative folks or very young children. The younger adults who remain are deemed to be “ruffians” or “delinquents” who “didn’t really apply themselves.” He had met some of them himself—Kanemitsu, Hasebe, Muramasa. Muramasa had always been kind to him, mentioning the joys of battling and offering encouragement. He finds himself too intimidated to talk to them on his own, though. 

So life continues its sedate march onward. One day they’re accomplices and the next day they’re mortal enemies. A day of sneakily stealing some mochi together before dinner leads to the next day where Carmine offers him a chawan of matcha that looks slightly off, only to find out that she has given him a steaming cup of water and wasabi, turning him off from spicy flavors for good. Carmine finds herself giving a lengthy confession to Gramps and Grandma about how she had convinced him that he was a changeling Zorua switched at birth, or why their grandparents had found them in front of the TV attempting to armbar each other over the remote. But mostly, Carmine tries to help in her own way. She is his protector and his jailer, and it hurts, it hurts that he can’t be trusted to do anything right, he's—

He's lonely.

It hurts—he’s raw, torn, abraded—and Juliana wants to stop the hurt, to pull him into her embrace, to cling to him and not let go until he knows that it doesn't have to be this way, that she will do everything in her power to make him realize that he's not alone. He has his friends, he has her—

“...Juli?”

The warmth of a hand on her shoulder seeps through the layers of her uniform, startling her into the present. 

Their eyes lock. The intensity—the sincerity—of Kieran's stare sends shivers down her spine. She doesn't need to be a psychic to tell what he's thinking.

How much of my life did you see?

Meanwhile, Carmine is looking at her as if she's grown a third head, declared herself a Hydreigon, and flown off into the horizon. Now she knows how Kieran feels. It's rather disruptive. 

“I…sorry. Yeah, I think we can swing lunch real quick.”

“You've got a Rotom phone now??? Since when???”

“Hold on, Sis. I haven't even had it for half an hour.”

“He's telling the truth. My friend's family back home is on the board for the Rotom phone company and they're having some people test out the newest model before it's out on the market. She sent him her sister's one so he can report back any issues.”

“Holy shit,” Carmine says. “You have friends in high places, huh?”

Juliana grimaces. “She doesn't particularly like it to be advertised.”

“Still though!” Carmine turns to face Kieran. “You gotta have Gran and Grandpa's number! And mine, too, it goes without saying. I've been trying to keep them updated on how you're—we are doing, but they'll be really happy to hear from you. Seriously.”

As Carmine snatches the phone out of Kieran's hands, to his futile protests at her obstinacy, Juliana finds herself mulling over the assortment of memories that had washed over her. She is an only child, having had no experience with sibling life whatsoever. It had just been her and her mother, for as long as she could remember. She has no idea of what could be considered a normal relationship between siblings. 

What had struck her was how lonely it seemed. 

Everyone in the village had either seemed too young or too old. The closest people in age to them had been those who Juliana now recognizes as members of the Kitakami Ogre Clan, and even then they had to be in their early to mid twenties. They were the only teenagers in their town, with no one else to bond with. They had become their own echo chamber of insecurity and aggression: Carmine doggedly insistent on providing protection to the point of collateral damage; Kieran desperate to prove himself for his own self worth. Had Kieran's fixation on myths been a form of escape?

“—hey, Juliana, you there?”

Carmine is staring at her from across the cafeteria table with a level gaze, tapping her fingers restlessly on its surface. 

“Ah…sorry. What were you saying?”

“Sheesh you're really out of it today, huh? I was asking you and Kiki if you guys are free the day after tomorrow?”

Juliana frowns, attempting to recall her new schedule. “I think we end class at 4? I don't have anything to do after that though.”

“It's a holiday on Thursday.”

“What?” She couldn't ever recall any holidays landing on that date.

“Ah, yeah, it's an Unovan holiday only. We only learned about it when we came here too. It's in honor of some Unovan Champion named Hilda, back when the League Gym Leaders banded together to stop the Team Plasma sages. Something about ‘inspiring unity.’ The school uses it as an admin day, so we're left to our own devices.”

That must have been what Drayton was referring to yesterday, she thinks. She had been so preoccupied with their spicy food challenge that she hadn't thought to inquire further about what he had meant. 

“Huh. If that's the case, I think we're free. Why?”

“How would you feel about a trip to Nimbasa?”

Juliana can hear Kieran in the background making a dry remark about Carmine's sudden change in opinion about those “big, shiny cities” she would go off on, along with a reluctant note of interest in his voice when they begin to discuss the renowned Battle Subway there, but something else looms to the forefront of her mind. 

Shauntal had said something about the address of a Blueberry alumnus. A former Art Club student. Hadn't that address referred to an apartment in Nimbasa? 

Juliana had attempted to call the Rotom phone number she had been given, to no avail. If it is really possible to stop by in person…

“I wouldn't be opposed, as long as we could make a quick detour while we're there,” she says. She quickly sends a text to Shauntal, requesting the Nimbasa address that she had gleaned yesterday. 

Carmine furrows her brows. “Hmm? What for?”

Kieran's eyes widen in comprehension.

“There's someone we need answers from, while we're there.”

Chapter Text

It’s approximately eleven at night when they set out for the Terarium.

Kieran had trained out in the Terarium at all hours of the night previously, so he is no stranger to witnessing the artificial night sky of the dome dimly glowing above them, in a state of gloaming. In a way, he prefers being out here after dark. It is dusky, subdued, quiet. Peaceful. Most students were back in their dorms, doing assignments or getting ready to go to sleep. Despite the image of strength he had wanted to project, he knows at heart that he is an introvert. Evening and twilight are blessedly cool and tranquil, a balm for his overspent mind whirling with thoughts.

Once they reach the beginnings of the Savanna grasslands, on the outskirts of the ramp, Juliana releases Koraidon.

Then, to Kieran’s mounting confusion, she takes out a pre-wrapped sandwich and gives it to him.

“I…uh, what’s this about?”

She smiles. “It’s for you to give to Koraidon.”

He hesitantly reaches out for the proffered bundle. From his peripheral vision, he can see Koraidon looking intently at it, snuffling wetly in curiosity. He carefully peels off the wrapper in its entirety, before reaching out towards the strange, reptilian beast that he had once called a kaiju. 

In the blink of an eye, Koraidon snaps up the sandwich, a blur of red scales and feathers that leaves residual drool on Kieran’s hand that he has to quickly shake off. This ends up being an exercise in futility, since he immediately finds himself the recipient of several slobbery kisses from the pokemon.

“Bluh,” he says articulately.

He can hear, rather than see Juliana’s cackling. His vision is obscured by an unsettling, thick layer of saliva. He has to use the sleeve of his blazer to wipe his face. At least they were going to be in the water eventually.

“Any particular reason for all that?” he asks.

“Sorry,” Juliana replies between wheezes. “It was so you could butter up Koraidon.”

“And why would I need to do that?”

“Because I’m going to have you take the lead tonight!”

His heart stutters to a stop. “W-what?”

“It’ll be fine! Night is the perfect time. We don’t have to worry about dodging a lot of students, so it’s an ideal time to learn. Besides, the Flying Taxi service stopped a few minutes ago, anyway.”

In reality, he feels that the last thing he needs to do is to embarrass himself in front of her. He remembers their previous ride yesterday morning—he knows how fast Koraidon can get. But then again, he also remembers their ride yesterday morning. He wants to kick himself, the part of himself that hides dark and deep with ulterior motives, that craves proximity. 

“Y-yeah. Okay, I’ll try.”

“You’ll do it, don’t worry! We’ll start off slow, okay?”

Juliana mounts first, giving Koraidon a reassuring pat before shimmying further down his back. She pats the open space in front of her with a lopsided grin, offering her hand in assistance. When he takes it and swings himself astride, he feels a sudden wave of nerves, panic unfurling in his gut. What was he even thinking, what is he doing—

His breath catches in his throat as he feels her leaning forward, pressing into his back. Kieran can see her small, warm hands reaching around to gently grasp his own, guiding them to the feathered handlebars framing Koraidon’s sides, but he can only hear the sound of his pulse thundering in his eardrums, radiating to his fingertips. He is being scorched alive from the inside.

“—t’s fine, you got this, no need to worry,” he can barely make out over the torrent of blood rushing to his head. He’s not sure if it is a misinterpreted response to his heart hammering in his chest, or if it’s even his heartbeat that he’s feeling in the first place. It is genuinely difficult to tell when they’re this close. 

He’s not sure if he’s even going to make it to the Coastal Biome at this rate.

When he feels Juliana squeeze at Koraidon’s sides and they start off at a trot, he remembers. The sensation of galloping through open grasslands, which seemed to comprise a huge amount of Paldean terrain. Kieran recalls leaning in, his core engaged, like all the other times he had before. Lightly pull back to halt, squeeze and shift forward to run, apply pressure with the converse leg to turn. There is a jarring disconnect though—his visual memory aids him, but the accompanying muscle memory is nonexistent. It is a peculiar feeling that elicits frustration—that one should demonstrate expertise with something, but cannot get their own body to cooperate. He can feel the initial stirrings of a headache forming. 

“Everything okay?” he can hear—no, feel—Juliana ask from behind him. He realizes that his body has tensed from the strange, mixed signals he is receiving from his brain. Had he not been granted any procedural memory from her? Was it a different process? 

“I think I’m okay,” he says hesitantly. “I’m recallin’ things but it’s not the same as learnin’ them for yourself, if it makes sense.”

Juliana makes an intrigued sound. “Huh. Okay. I mean, you’re actually catching on really fast. Like, uncannily fast. So I guess that explains it. I can just tell that something’s off, though. You’re super tense.”

He attempts to get his body to relax, to breathe it out. She had told him that he was learning quickly, so it’s fine, right? Is it all just in his head?

Kieran tries to pick up the pace, applying pressure with his calves and leaning forward. To his bafflement, Koraidon speeds up in response.

“Wowzers…it actually worked,” he says, raising his voice over the increasing rush of wind.

“Yeah! Good job! And…one other thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

He can feel Juliana tighten her grip around his waist, her face pressing into his shoulder blade. 

“You’re…kinda too tall for me to see over you,” she mumbles, “so I can’t see ahead of us at all. So just don’t run into a tree or something.”

“Oka—what??”

“Doing great!” she says reassuringly.

It is not reassuring.

It’s when they reach the border delineating the divide between the Savanna and the Coastal Biomes that they first see the signs.

A frankly absurd number of signs scattered haphazardly among the sand, leading up to the grassy swath and beaten path ahead. 

Closed for Maintenance

There is no apparent rhyme or reason to their arrangement. A few Pikipek have opted to adopt them as new perches, to Juliana's amusement. A couple of Espurr have also decided to play a rousing game of telekinetic fetch with one of said signs. Koraidon mildly dodges to one side as a sign comes flying in their direction. As it skids to a stop before them in a flurry of sand, she peers over at it. In tiny, block-print font, she can discern a “Property of Polar Biome” stamped on the edge. 

Ah.

Juliana (23:15): closed for maintenance, huh? 

Drayton (23:16): yep, real shame for those overachievers out there

Drayton (23:16): pity that there won’t be any witnesses to the first Paldean nudist to grace the prestigious waters of our academy. Any witnesses other than our mighty champion, that is

Juliana (23:17): well-played sir

Juliana (23:17): color me surprised that you went out of your way to do this

Drayton (23:18): I had some help

Drayton (23:18): starts with a C

Juliana (23:18): Carmine

Juliana (23:18): Jk. Crispin

Drayton (23:18): oh man if Carmine knew my head would be on a pike in Central Plaza tomorrow

Drayton (23:19): Crispin. He felt bad 

Drayton (23:19): Also pls don’t tell her I have so much to live for

Juliana (23:19): the Galar masala flavored chips coming out next month?

Drayton (23:20): you know me too well

“We have a guardian Absol and his name is Drayton.”

Kieran makes a fake gagging sound in front of her. 

“When’d he even find the time to do this? I’m surprised he got out of his chair.”

“Help from Crispin.”

“Does Lacey know ‘bout this?”

“Probably not.”

As they proceed further into the biome, Kieran reluctantly acknowledges that Drayton’s plan actually worked. They manage to not run into a single soul the entire time. Juliana pulls out her Rotom phone, her eyes pouring over the map. 

“I think we might want to put our stuff down near the rest area.”

“Over there? Isn’t that pretty close to the Terarium wall?” He can’t imagine there being much space to navigate over there.

“I’m looking at some isolated sandbars and islands, but they’re all pretty shallow. I’m kind of looking for some rocks that are surrounded by deeper water, and I remember some tidepools being near the rest area.”

“What're you lookin’ for that requires rocks?” Kieran asks, nudging Koraidon off the beaten track towards the rest area gazebo.

“For my…part of the bet. I'm beginning to remember that the water here is really clear.”

He feels the beginnings of a flush creeping up his neck. “You’re just rememberin’ that now??”

“I…yeah, look I was caught up in the moment with the bet—”

“Arceus help us,” he croaks.

“It'll…it'll work out, okay?” she says with the air of someone who is not totally convinced themselves but needs to hear it said out loud so that they don't immediately collapse into a pile of nerves.

At the gazebo, they dismount Koraidon. Juliana tosses her rucksack on a bench, before wandering over to the edge of the nearby cliff to look down at the water below. Sure enough, there are some rocks spread throughout, leading to the formation of small tidepools with some reef formations. She can make out the telltale bioluminescent glow of Inkay lighting the sea below like living stars in a night sky. 

“I think this should do,” she says, sounding satisfied by some internal rubric that Kieran has yet to fully understand. It is when she grips the hem of her shirt and begins to lift it up that his panic fully sets in. 

This is actually happening. 

He attempts to stare at a nearby, confused Oricorio instead, but finds his willpower crumbling into dust before his eyes. He's riveted in place, equal parts ashamed and awed as he watches his friend (she's your friend, what are you even doing) peel the rest of her shirt off, revealing a plain, orange bikini top. His eyes are immediately drawn to the healed remains of what appear to be a surgical scar on her lower abdomen. That's curious. His eyes trace the scar past its termination point, up the plane of her stomach, skimming the curve of her waist up to—

Shit. 

He has to tear his eyes away at that point. For his own sanity.

“Aren't you going to get ready too?” she asks, confused. She's already dipping her thumbs into the waistband of her uniform trousers. He can already see a hint of orange beneath. 

“O-oh. Uh. Yeah. Sorry.”

Smooth.

He shucks off his blazer and sheds his tanktop, before hesitating at his shorts. Something is off, he—

Oh. Oh no.

“Kieran?” 

She's gazing at him quizzically, in a state of beach-themed undress that makes his situation suddenly ten times worse. Some filthy, derelict corner of his mind is crowing with joy, relishing in the fact that now he knows what she looks like without all those layers, he doesn't have to just imagine it now at some unbidden, eternally inconvenient hour of the night or morning when he actually deems himself worthy of rest or sleep. Some insane, elated fever dream hellbent on punishing him for having these kinds of thoughts.

She's lithe and willowy, a constellation of freckles cast about her shoulders, the small scars littering her limbs suggesting past bouts of clumsiness or an adventurous lifestyle, or both. She's gorgeous and he suddenly realizes that he is in grave danger. 

“S-sorry, you’re closer to the rest area. Think you can toss this with the rest of the stuff from where you are? My shoe snagged on somethin’.” He rolls up his shirt and blazer into a ball and manages an underhanded throw in her direction. She snaps it up with a shrug before she turns around to face the gazebo, gauging the distance.

He has to time this right.

He faces away from Juliana, pulling down the waistband of his pants to reveal boardshorts and sure enough, his body had decided that it was a fine time to set up camp and pitch the proverbial tent. Going from six to midnight. Your Sudowoodo using Harden. Every other dumb euphemism he's ever recalled in his life. Like any other guy his age, he has had his fair share of ill-timed situations, but this would easily top the charts. This is the stuff of nightmares, nightmares that would give Darkrai a run for its money. 

In a state of unprecedented panic, he quickly divests himself of his shoes, socks, and shorts, flinging them at a nearby tree and scaring the still-baffled Oricorio in the process, before swiftly making his way towards Koraidon, who is patiently waiting near the cliff’s edge a few feet away, peering at the local Finneon population. Does he eat Finneon? Who even knows. He's at his wits’ end, a notable portion of his life-giving blood choosing to evacuate the organs responsible for sustaining life and critical thinking skills in favor of a southerly migration. 

“I have a big favor to ask,” he whispers furiously, proactively begging for Koraidon's forgiveness. The pokemon stares at him blankly, shaking the feathery tendrils trailing off his scalp. Before he can change his mind, Kieran mounts and leans forward, hunching over to hide behind the feathered tufts of his shoulders as he desperately thinks of the most irritating things that come to mind. Drayton and his expired snacks. The Caretaker chasing him and his sister away like a Zubat out of the Dimension World. He can slowly feel the cause of his distress ebbing away. 

“Oh? You're on Koraidon already? That was really fast, I didn’t even see you.” 

“Oh, uh…yeah. Figured it was kinda steep to climb down there on foot and that ya kept him out for a reason.”

“Huh…yeah, you're right. Good guess.”

Whatever progress he has made initially gets completely and utterly annihilated the moment that he feels hands on his bare waist. It's impossible to hide the sensation of him jumping out of his skin and straight into the astral plane. He can feel her hands skittishly jolting off of him as if she had touched a hot iron. 

“Shoot, sorry,” she says apologetically, a note of panic in her voice. “It's just because we're going to jump down. Hold on.”

Koraidon leaps forward. 

They launch a little further out than he anticipates, past the rocks and straight into the open area of water to the right. When he realizes what is happening, he quickly manages to hold his breath at the last second before their collective weight plunges them into the sea in a rush, submerging them as cold water and salt flood his senses. They quickly bob up to the surface, gasping for air. 

“Is that how ya enter water all the time?” he asks, breathless and concerned. 

“Maybe,” she admits.

He worries for her sometimes. He's not entirely sure if he should verify her modes of water entry or other risk-taking ventures with her Paldean friends. 

Koraidon paddles closer to the rocks, before he can feel and hear her sliding into the water. 

“We can swim to there from here,” she says, patting Koraidon solidly as she treads water. “You gonna be okay, bud?”

Kieran sees his cue to slide into the water on the opposite side, a wave of gratitude hitting him for the concealing semi-opacity of the water. Koraidon chirps and rumbles cheerfully before paddling off towards a sandbar without hesitation. Kieran gets the feeling that they've done this before. 

He follows her lead, watching her do a languid, freestyle stroke towards the tidepools. He doesn't know where she learned to swim, but she does it with an effortless grace, cutting through the water like a slip of lightning. The pull of the artificial tides of the water feels different from the currents in Fellhorn Gorge. He finds himself putting in a little more effort to keep up with her, with a freestyle stroke of his own. 

When they reach the rocks, they find that they have an audience. A crowd of curious Inkay cluster around them, cheerily flipping upside down as they bioluminesce in excitement. He can see the top of a Tentacruel staring at them from a distance, looking bored. 

“I think this is as good a spot as any,” she says, slightly breathless from their exertion. A vaguely annoyed look flits across her face, before she decides to tug her hair band off and pulls it onto her wrist, combing out her wet braid with her fingers. 

He stares.

“Ah, sorry. My braid got messed up in the plunge.”

“Oh, uh. No need to apologize,” he says, watching her card her fingers through her damp hair with rapt fascination. 

Once she completes the task, she swims a little further, making sure to keep an eye on Kieran so that they're within a reasonable distance of each other. She finds a rock formation a few feet in diameter, where she positions herself. 

“Look the other way for a sec.”

Oh. 

Kieran whips his head around quickly to face the sandbars, the barrier separating the two biomes. He does his best to focus on Koraidon digging through the sand like an excited Herdier, rather than the alarming sound of wet fabric slapping on the rock behind him. 

After a long pause, he hears the sudden click of a Rotom phone taking a picture. 

“What do you think?”

He sees a Rotom phone—her Rotom phone—floating to hover directly in front of his face. It's a picture of her tucked behind the rock to cover her chest, her two piece swimsuit laid out before her. She's stoically giving a salute but—

He can't help but snort. “Flippin’ the Bombirdier? Really?”

“It's the mood I was going for.”

This is fair. 

Drayton (23:40): the one finger salute? Classic

Drayton (23:40): I'd say you paid your dues, you're good

Juliana (23:41): thank goodness

Juliana (23:41): there's a Tentacool just chilling underneath me eyeballing me, which is fair tbh because I'm kinda here ruining its night with a straight up view of my

Juliana (23:41): but it has tentacles and it's just way too close for comfort 

Drayton (23:42): warn me next time, I gave myself a reverse neti pot with my soda

Juliana (23:42): honestly deserved

“Okay, I think we're good,” she says. “I just gotta put these back on and we can just swim around to our heart's content.”

He thanks his lucky stars. His heart has been pounding mercilessly against his sternum the entire time. He doesn't know how much more he can take.

Juliana grabs her swimsuit bottoms first, letting herself submerge somewhat to slip them on without having to simultaneously tread water. As she looks up to resurface, she sees a vague, giant shadow hovering over the surface, along with an incoherent noise of shock muted by the water surrounding her. When she bursts up to the surface, she sees an impressively large Toucannon giving her an equally impressive stink eye. 

Upon seeing her, it launches off the rock, flying over to another outcropping further down. 

Well that was weird.

She reaches out towards the rock before her, grasping for a bikini top, only to find nothing.

It's not there.

She veers around. That Toucannon, it couldn't have—

Sure enough, she can see the pre-tied loop of the halter caught around its talons, to its annoyance. It attempts to pluck at the strings, to divest itself of this strange, new cloth appendage. 

“Oh no nononono.”

“Juli, what's wrong?”

“That Toucannon has my top…”

“W-wait what???”

Kieran turns around for the first time, taking in the bizarre scene before him. The irritated Toucannon ensnared by a bikini top whilst a group of bewildered Deerling and a Sawsbuck look on (how they even got down there in the first place is an utter mystery to him). Juliana's arm outstretched in yearning futility. The sight of her bare back almost sends him plummeting straight into Davy Jones’ Terarium locker from sheer incredulity. A brief nightmare scenario flits through his mind—an autopsy performed in the school nurse's office. Official ruling—cause of death: subaquatic boner. The horror sends him reeling back into reality. 

That, and the sound of frantic splashing as she launches after it on autopilot, not even looking behind her. He has to plunge right after her to keep within distance, his sternum aching from the pull. She isn't thinking straight, she can't afford to slip into unconsciousness now, in the water like this. 

She continues to swim furiously towards the outcropping, where the Toucannon has now managed to mostly untie the tangle of strings holding the top in place, hopping briefly before crouching to—

“Oh wait oh no oh fuck is it going to take off???”

Kieran decides that this just has to be a demented fever dream—this couldn't be real, this was just the product of a Mismagius on a terrible hallucinogenic bender. Or licking a Seismitoad in a fit of inspiration. 

As the Toucannon launches into flight, the neighboring Sawsbuck—who had been craning its head down to look at the strange sight—suddenly swings its head up, its bushy antlers slamming into the nearby pokemon. Toucannon's beak is suddenly caught in a living topiary bush, shrieking in indignation as it claws for purchase with its talons. The two trainers stop in stunned silence as the other two war with each other, before the top snags on a bit of Sawsbuck shrubbery as the flying pokemon successfully flaps away, seething in rage. 

Sawsbuck turns to look at them, not giving a singular shit about the new addition to its horns. 

Juliana eyeballs it. It's looking placidly at them from the rocky outcropping, about three feet away. It doesn't look to be scared or skittish, thankfully. 

“Kieran, I have a big favor to ask.”

He already knows. 

He carefully clambers up the slippery rock, slowly approaching the Sawsbuck. He offers one hand for it to examine and sniff, while his other hand slowly, quietly reaches for the orange fabric twisted around a few leafy twigs. Almost…

He grips the fabric just as the Sawbuck jerks its head back, startled. Kieran takes a leaping step backwards, plunging into the water behind him, in case the pokemon decides to put its headgear to good use. When he surfaces, he finds the Sawsbuck to be idly strolling away, its hooves clacking on the craggy surface below it. 

They breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“Arceus you're a lifesaver,” she says, treading water with one arm wrapped around her chest for good measure. He had been looking at her face, but he suddenly realizes the situation and quickly turns his head away, holding out the swimsuit top to her. He doesn't think his face could burn any hotter than it already is. He is genuinely surprised that the water around him isn't actively boiling. 

He hears the rustling of wet fabric on skin, along with a brief, discontented hum. 

“Everythin’ okay over there?” he asks tentatively. 

There's a potent pause. 

“I…I might need some help? Um. If you don't mind. Sorry.”

“Uh…can I turn around?”

“Y-yeah, just do what you gotta do.”

He slowly, painfully turns to face her. She's clutching her swimsuit top to her chest, leaning partially against the slippery rock formation. She stares willfully at the Terarium ceiling. “It turns out that some of the string got messed up by its beak, so I had to readjust stuff. Can you tie up the back and the neck for me?”

Oh.

“Yeah. Uh. Sure. Just, just give me a—”

He draws closer to her, stopping behind her back once he finds a piece of reef to stand on, a boon of his recent growth spurt. Up this close, he can see her freckles, her shoulder blades speckled with droplets, the divot of her spine dipping into the water and he knows this will be seared into his memory for life. He flounders for the strings mid-back, drifting and slightly submerged, before he grasps them and does his best to pull them taut together. “This okay?” he murmurs. 

He sees her nod. Kieran fumbles with the knot from sheer nerves kicking in, his fingers graceless and inept. His knuckles brush against her skin, rendering his digits into scalding live wires as he hears her breath hitch from surprise, her back briefly arching out of reflex before she visibly relaxes. It ignites something heady and primal in him and he has to tamp down the feeling with a shaky breath, before moving on to her neck. 

The strings are thankfully already thrown over her shoulders, ready to be tied. Most of her damp hair has been pulled to one side, but he still finds himself carefully brushing some leftover strands plastered to the nape of her neck, time crawling to an agonizingly slow pace. Juliana can feel the tenderness, the reverence of his fingertips skimming across her nape and she can't suppress the shudder that courses through her entire body; she doesn't deserve the feeling, a feeling that should be reserved for breathtaking vistas or revelations. Not a regular person. She's overcome with a realization compounded by her own vulnerability—that she would trust him with this, with anything. 

His knuckles graze her shoulders in wordless veneration as he gathers up the string, tying the last knot, leaving her dazed. 

“It's done,” he says thickly. 

She takes a slow, unsteady breath before pivoting to face him. 

“Thanks—”

He's close. Really close.

She supposes that he had to be, considering that he had been helping her redo the ties, but she hadn't really considered the practical implications until that moment. 

It's the same feeling of déjà vu as last night. A lingering, unspoken question. Juliana is not entirely sure if she is completely missing the mark or not. Wiser people would consider it foolhardy to throw caution to the wind, considering the rocky foundation of their unresolved issues, the fragility of their closeness after weeks of uneasy avoidance and months of radio silence. She's riveted in place by that question. 

Juliana is desperate to do something, anything, to break herself out of her own paralysis before she acts out of pure impulse, obliterating the foundation of their friendship like a house of cards taking the brunt of a barreling freight train. This had been a terrible decision for her sanity, on the whole. Those golden eyes are transfixed on her, and she is on the cusp of doing something phenomenally stupid. 

So she reaches out, to push at an errant strand of hair that's currently plastered to his face, grazing it aside with trembling fingers. The motion seemingly startles him, his pupils dilating in response with a clipped intake of breath.

“Sorry, I couldn't help it, it was—”

“Huh? Is someone there?”

They freeze.

It is an older voice, male, authoritative. Coming from further up the coast, from the cliff's edge. 

Someone else is here?

Juliana has had minimal to no experience with telepathy whatsoever, but her gaze catches Kieran's and they instantly come to the same conclusion. They take a breath and submerge.

Their eyes snap open and the ocean is alive.

They're floating in a night sky of bioluminescent stars. Juliana hadn't realized how many Inkay were present in the waters of the Coastal Biome until now, let alone how amiable they were. It is almost as if they are lighting the way for them. She feels a tap on her shoulder and makes eye contact with Kieran, before they nod and swim further out away from the shoreline. She recalls a sandbar with a small, raised land formation on top, sufficient enough to hide behind and consider their next move. 

Juliana marvels as they dart through the myriad dots of flickering phosphorescence. It's the closest thing to flying that she has ever experienced, at least without the aid of a pokemon.

Kieran turns his head to keep track of her location, to make sure they’re still within proper distance of each other and has to force himself to not come to an abrupt stop or choke on water. He struggles to find the right word, the right…

She’s ethereal.

Kieran isn't entirely convinced that they haven’t found themselves transported into another dimension. He watches as her hair fans out, moving with a fluidity and grace that wouldn't be entirely out of place on a Milotic. She glides through a firmament luminous with stars to the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, his lungs burning and starved for air. He can tell that he needs to surface soon, to at least take a quick breath before they dive back down. She feels his gaze and looks at him briefly, before pointing up towards the surface with an inquisitive look on her face. He nods and they both kick up, breaching with a quiet gasp. From a distance, they can see the solitary beam of a flashlight moving erratically near the location where they had just been. 

They dart back down and under, quickly and quietly, a trail of curious Inkay following them. A couple of Luvdisc flit near them playfully, circling before following off to the side. She points to the rising sandbar ahead of them, the seabed floor coming up to meet them as they continue to kick forward. They surface a couple more times before clambering on hands and knees in an ungainly manner, once it is deemed too shallow to swim further. Juliana walks forward and sinks to the sand in relief, her back pressed against the central rock formation. For now, they are hidden.

“I wonder who that was,” she breathes, panting with the exertion of their swim, pushing wet hair from her eyes.

Kieran sinks to the ground beside her, realizing in the process that he had miscalculated the distance between them. He can feel the point of contact of their damp, bare shoulders brushing, lighting his skin ablaze and leaving searing raw nerves in its wake. Neither of them move, Kieran beseeching Arceus that she can't feel his stuttering pulse through their touch.

“Sounded like the one of the groundskeepers…night shift,” he rasps. “Guess he wasn’t fooled by the signs. He isn't usually here on Tuesdays though.” 

She looks at him with surprise. “How do you know him?”

He scratches at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I sometimes train late into the night. He gave up tryin’ to convince me otherwise when he found out I'm Champion. I’m not sure how he’d react to you bein’ out here though.”

He brought up a decent point. She had personally witnessed the school giving him excessive administrative privileges before. However, she is an exchange student, here on the good graces of the school director and his own friendship with her school director. 

“That's true,” she sighs. “Do you think he's spotted our stuff?”

“Probably. He'll just leave it alone though, usually. Somethin’ about it not bein’ his job.”

“Sounds like a swell bloke. Should we just wait him out then? Or do you think he's gonna be here for a while?”

“Nah, he does rotations for each biome, so he'll eventually leave for the Canyon.”

“That's a relief.”

They lapse into a companionable silence, permeated by the soft hiss of wavelets lapping the sand before them. The Luvdisc from earlier continue to peer at them curiously from the clear waters.

Kieran is the first to speak.

“Is your kaij—Koraidon gonna be okay?”

Juliana hums. “Ah, yeah he'll be fine. We've done this a fair amount, here and back home.”

“You swim a lot over there? In Paldea I mean.”

“Mm, not really. I'll usually let Koraidon swim around while I explore islands and stuff.”

“Then where'd you learn to swim like that?”

“Like what?”

He thinks of their swim to the sandbar and has to brute force himself away from that train of thought, lest he become swept away by it. 

“You seem like a pretty good swimmer,” he murmurs, willing himself to stare at the sea ahead of him rather than the girl beside him. 

“Ah, I used to visit Hulbury back in the day. There's beaches on the outskirts and Nessa converts the gym to a public access pool when there aren't any challengers.”

“Huh. That's pretty nice of her.”

“There's also a hot spring in Circhester, the Hero's Bath,” she continues, in an excited rush. “It's pretty great. We should go sometime! I could show you around to a few places, see a Piers concert, all the good stuff. Although I guess Paldea might be better to start with, huh?”

With all the heat rushing to his face, Kieran suspects that he could probably start his own hot spring by dunking his head in a nearby body of water.

“I—we?”

We? Traveling? Together?

It had seemed a natural extension, almost reflexive on her part. 

“Yeah…of course! It'd be a shame…if I didn't get to see you again…”

After all this. 

Juliana swallows the lump forming in her throat.

We.

She pushes past the feeling. “Anyway, how about you? Where'd you learn to swim in Kitakami?”

“Oh! Uh, Fellhorn Gorge. There's not a ton of places fit for swimmin’. The Kitakami Wilds have aggressive Gyarados if ya don't watch out. When you get further down Mossfell Confluence it gets too shallow, and the Crystal Pool is considered sacred ground. Wisteria Pond is an option, although technically it's s'posed to be known for drinkin’, accordin’ to legend.”

“Huh, I remember seeing that when I was there. The sign. And a warning to boil the water. Do people really…”

“Yeah, we get some ambitious sightseers who really take that eternal life legend seriously. We can tell when they don't leave the community center bathroom for a while.”

“No wonder Carmine doesn't have faith in the tourists there. The Caretaker kinda seems like a dick, by the way, no offense. He didn't have to chase you guys away all the time.”

Kieran looks at her speculatively, before gazing into the distance. “Yeah, ‘bout that,” he swallows uncomfortably, tracing patterns idly in the sand. “So…what did ya see? Y'know, earlier today?”

Juliana mulls over it. She had seen someone who was cherished and imprisoned in equal measure, someone desperate to prove himself. Someone who had chosen brute strength as his own metric. Someone who was lonely. She had heard the words straight from the Ponyta's mouth—that he had thought he was never good enough, that he was being left behind. He had tried “being himself” and in his worldview, it hadn't worked out for him. 

She wishes he could see in himself what she sees in him. 

“Carmine can be kinda…overbearing, huh?”

He snorts. “You noticed now?” 

“Strong guard Stoutland vibes. Some trouble with the kids at school?”

Ah. “She'd jump in when she thought things were gettin’ rough. But it kinda made things worse too. That's why I don't get it.”

“Get what?”

“I'm stronger now. I'm not the same weaklin’ I was in Kitakami. I've changed. So why does she want me to—”

He pauses, taking a shaky breath. The cloak of twilight gives him bravery, an openness that he had previously thought impossible. 

“…why does everyone want things to go back to how they were before? Want me to go back to how I was before?” Kieran restlessly grips the sand next to him, before letting it slip between his fingers. “I…I bet you do too, huh?”

“You're wrong.”

He stares.

“I…what?”

Juliana sighs. “I'm not really going to tell you to do anything. I've always thought you were cool, but if you were unhappy with how things were before, then that's not good either! It's your life and…I just want you to be happy, you know? It's just hard for me when I see other people getting hurt too.”

“Wait…what do you mean by that?”

“Kieran…I kinda happened to be at Central Plaza when you were suspending that other guy from League Club…the guy that had stuff going on at home?”

Oh Arceus. She had been there?

At the time, he had just been annoyed that the other student hadn't been taking League Club seriously. It had to be a reflection of what he thought of him, right? If he wasn't taking the club seriously, he wasn't taking him seriously. But now he only feels a hot surge of humiliation coursing through his veins. Juliana had seen him, like that?

“Oh…that. Um—”

He can't find the right words. He had wanted to show her how strong he was, how much better he was. Kieran is not sure what has changed, but all he feels now is shame. 

Juliana notes the shift in the air and backtracks. “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have brought it up—”

“N-no, it’s not that!” he blurts out suddenly, startling them both. “I—”

He struggles to find the words. He thinks of his discussion with Crispin, the League Club. He loathes feeling this vulnerable, this confused, this uncertain. It would be an admission of his shortcomings, his weakness—an admission that he had been wrong…

Juliana sits there patiently. Obscured by dusk, with the biome waters stretching out before them, it really feels as if it is just the two of them, in this academy, on this planet. He is half-convinced that they are floating in some liminal, primordial space where the rules of mundane existence do not apply. He thinks that maybe for once, he could let his defenses down. 

“‘m sorry that ya had to see that,” he mumbles. “Sorry for bein’ like that. Ya must think I’m some kinda jerk now, huh?”

“I’ve been with you the past…what, four days?” she says, her lips upturned in fondness. “I don’t see a jerk in front of me. I just see someone who’s trying to figure it all out. Like we all are, in a way.”

“Even you?”

She snorts. “Especially me.”

He wants to laugh at that admission. A Champion of Paldea, who could go wherever she wanted to and befriend whoever she wanted to, grappling with the conundrum of self-discovery? Figuring out her place in the vast scheme of things? He had gotten past the initial belief of perfection, but for someone who had been gifted with such opportunities…

“And what do you have to figure out, exactly?” he asks.

Her expression morphs then. Remorse. Apprehension. Longing. Something else. It flickers briefly and for a moment, it feels as if he has overstepped.

Desperate to assuage her incipient skittishness, he grasps for something else, anything else.

I just want you to be happy, you know?

“Anyway…why is bein’ happy so important? You're sayin’ it, Shauntal's sayin’ it…it never did me much good.”

Juliana laughs a laugh born of desperation. “You know, the funny thing is…when you almost die, you begin to realize what's really important.”

It's the way she says it. Her voice warbles slightly and it sends a flurry of panic up his spine, setting off alarm bells in his head.

She continues on in a rush, to fill the void, to not think of the room bathed in red that almost became her tomb. She thinks that if she were to stop now, she would fall apart. “You think of the things important to you. Like…family, friends. People who you'd miss, who wouldn't know what happened to you. Like…my mom, you, Carmine—”

“Me?”

She…

In her possible last moments, she had thought of…me?

“Yeah…I mean…” She shudders, laughs weakly. “I really thought I was a goner until Koraidon came through. I thought, well, shit…this is it, I never got the chance to…”

To what?

Juliana swallows. “...well, anyway, I mean, I'm here now, so it doesn't…I guess what I'm trying to say is, you gotta do what makes you happy, because this life's all you get—”

She starts when she feels a warm hand overlap her own on the sand, fingers carefully interlacing. 

“‘m sorry,” Kieran murmurs. “Is this okay? I just thought…” He clears his throat, tries again. “It's just hard for me to think about the fact that ya almost…”

He trails off, unable to muster the words to his lips.

“I mean, I'm here now, right?” she smiles sadly. 

But…

While he had been pulling another all-nighter studying or training his team, thinking about how badly he needed to surpass her, she had been trapped deep within a crater, anticipating her death. 

He jolts as she turns her hand supine, clasping and interlacing their fingers again, palm-to-palm. When he looks at her face, he knows that expression, the expression that is fully aware that he's lost in his head again. He feels an ache in his chest—he should be the one comforting her, not—

“Want to try something?” she asks, shifting in place to slowly stand up. She gently tugs him up with her.

He lets her guide him to the waterline, confused. “Try what?”

“Floating.”

“Floatin’?” 

“Just…floating in the water, lying there,” she says, wading slowly backwards into the water. “Letting yourself drift. It's even safer here, since you don't have to worry about any rip currents in the biome. Never tried it before?”

“I did once back home,” he mumbles in reply, following her through the shallows. “Just got water up my nose for the trouble though.” The water here is a blessedly cool balm.

“Salt water is easier than fresh water. More buoyancy. Here, you just lie on your back, spread your arms…”

He attempts to follow through with the instructions. Lie on your back. Arms spread. His eyes sting from rivulets of salt water running down his temple, the wavelets of the artificial sea sloshing precariously around his face. All he can hear are the amplified sounds of his own breath, a counterpoint to the tides roiling the sand beneath him. Kieran suddenly feels one hand under his head and another under the small of his back, sending his pulse racing. He feels himself being lifted, sound rushing back to his ears. 

“See? All there is to it,” she says warmly.

He eyes her, being careful not to turn his head too much. “Aren't you goin’ to as well?”

“I will! It's just…I used to do this sometimes. It feels nice to not have to think or be anyone or anything special. You can just float and…be. You have permission to just exist.”

Permission to just exist, huh.

“I'll be next to you, okay?”

Her hands slowly withdraw and he gently bobs back down, a muffled susurration and cold pressure enveloping his ears. Mostly, it's his own breath and heartbeat that drown everything else out as he lightly sways, gazing at the dusky, muted blue of the Terarium's artificial twilight. If he closes his eyes and concentrates, he thinks he can hear a low static hum, perhaps a sort of wave generator or filtration system. Kieran had never thought of the technical logistics of the school's undersea nature park before. He has a strange epiphany that he is bobbing in an artificial ocean under the ocean and he doesn't know whether to laugh or feel queasy at the absurdity of the situation. 

Suddenly, he feels something brush against his hand and he realizes that it's Juliana's hand, her fingertips. He feels them twitch, curling inward and he responds in turn, his nails lightly raking against her palm, her fingers briefly stuttering at the contact before committing and clasping them together in a wordless conversation that electrifies him. There are things he wants to ask—what is the deal between her and Arven? Would he be overstepping if he asked? He tries to drown it out, to just exist in this moment. For now, there is only the cooling embrace of the water, the cocoon of aquatic reverberation to the beat of his own heart, a lulling cadence, a soft hand in his own. For the first time in what seems like forever, he lets go. 

He sees what she means, now.

Chapter Text

It is as captivating as it is unsubtle, when Kieran realizes that something in their dynamic has shifted fundamentally.

He cannot ascertain exactly what it is. Only that it is there, as a persistent, abiding thought that has made itself an unwelcome house guest in Kieran’s brain. 

He supposes that if he were to trace said abiding thought as a starting point, it would begin back in the tranquil waters of the Coastal Biome the previous night. Floating there, with no intent or purpose whatsoever had given him a strange, foreign revelation. He had no longer been Kieran, the League Champion of Blueberry Academy. Kieran, the League Club President. Kiki, the weak kid with the spine of a Wimpod, constantly in need of protection. Suguri, the boy obsessed with myths and legends, the village weirdo. He had no need to be anything. He just was. He was floating in a primordial soup of nothing, the twilight gloaming above him artificial but the hand clasped in his own vividly, profoundly real. A warm, solid, gentle anchor. 

However, they couldn’t stay like that forever. There was still class to attend in the morning, and the groundskeeper had to have left the Coastal Biome already. Despite this, there had been a tentative pause in the air, as if either one of them had been reluctant to release their hold on the other. Their final intervention had been in the form of a giant, reptilian shadow and a slobbery tongue. Juliana had underestimated Koraidon’s capacity for aquatic stealth. She had reluctantly taken it as their cue to depart from the biome waters. 

On the islet’s shallows, she had led Kieran by the hand to Koraidon, this time taking the lead herself and offering a boost behind her. In an unusual surge of bravery aided by the darkness surrounding them, Kieran had leaned forward to encircle her in an embrace, damp chest pressed to damp back, his arms looped around her waist securely, the sensation of skin-to-skin contact leaving him heady and flushed. He had felt her briefly freeze and he made to reel back—to apologize profusely for his brazenness—only to feel her relax and melt into him, squeezing one of his hands in a gesture so brief and fleeting that he could have imagined it, before they had set off for the gazebo where their belongings were. 

Perhaps that had been when it started. When he had been introduced to the concept of not having to try anymore. To just let it all go. 

However, he currently finds that he does not have the time to dwell on the matter. Juliana had woken up this morning feeling indisposed, made all the more apparent by her wan appearance and the noticeable bags under her eyes. He had never seen her so fatigued, so frail. Kieran supposes that they had come back rather late. By the time they had returned to the dorms, it had already been half past one in the morning, not including the time necessary to shower and rinse off the layer of salt coating them. 

He had also found it strange that neither of them could recall any dreams about the ghost girl of the Old Chateau, nor any nightmares that could have contributed to her state of malaise. However, he can’t help but suspect that some element of the curse may be involved—in general, she had a relatively hearty constitution despite her frame, she had told him as much. He'd insisted that she remain sitting down when he had seen how unsteady she was on her feet, wobbling precariously to the bathroom before he had to steady her, a hand pressed to her temple. 

Kieran texted Crispin about Juliana needing to pass on the first class of the morning, letting him know to fill in their homeroom teacher on the matter—only to realize that he would also have to miss attendance as well. 

It is just as well, really. He walks with her to the kitchenette table in order to maintain their proximity, while he goes about preparing breakfast with her provisions: a simple sandwich of ham, eggs, and cheese, along with tea to their preference (Juliana with her splash of Moomoo milk, his own with three generous, heaping teaspoons of sugar, which she hasn't stopped ribbing him about). She manages to get some more color and vitality into her face as they tuck into their meal, to his relief.

He realizes it in small steps.

It's the lingering contact when she reaches for the pepper shaker and he reaches for the salt, their hands brushing. There's still the feeling of his nerves flaring on his skin, searing and euphoric, but the contact persists a little longer than usual, a brief reluctance simmering as they withdraw. 

Or their fingers grazing lightly as he takes the plates away, residual warmth and the ephemeral skimming of nails against skin by accident that abides too long in his brain, making him wonder if it's just his imagination running wild. 

Or it's the feeling of catching her eye as he turns from the sink, her gaze warm and enduring, rather than shying away. 

It's when she receives a text notification from Dragonite Express Mail, necessitating a painstaking walk to the post room, that it becomes more apparent—Kieran tucking her beneath his arm as she leans into him for support, her own arm looped around his waist in a way that sends heat coursing through his body, his heart thundering in his chest. He gets the feeling that they're having two entirely separate conversations in two different languages, one of which he's attempting to learn on the fly. Something had changed, the moment they had floated together in the Coastal Biome waters. 

But how does one go about it? Was he supposed to address the matter candidly, or just figure it out himself? Arceus forbid, what if he brought it up and she stopped? 

Was it just his imagination, fueled by a catastrophic merger of desperation and hormones? 

He officially concludes that he is losing his mind.

When they reach the post room, Juliana unlocks her mailbox, revealing a package from Naranja—a pouch of Nacli salt, courtesy of Professor Tyme and consecrated by her sister Ryme. The moment she lays her hand on the pouch, she feels lighter, a malefic weight lifted from her shoulders. Kieran can see the change before his eyes, coming to the uneasy conclusion that something about the curse was wearing away at her. Whatever the case, carrying a pouch of salt isn't the most inconvenient thing Juliana has done by far. She figures she can manage that much. 

It's enough of an improvement that she declares herself well enough to attend their class at ten. They return to his room to gather their belongings—notebooks, pens, his satchel with his pokemon. Kieran reaches for a notebook wedged in the corner of his room, bumping against a super potion that tumbles and knocks a folder down, creating a cascading effect of vibrations that jostles his festival mask from its display shelf. It topples to the floor with a hollow sound, where Juliana crouches down to pick it up. She remembers this mask, the one he had worn to the festival long ago. An ache stirs in her chest from sentimentality. To think, he had kept it after all this time, after everything—

Juliana runs her fingers across its surface and snaps into a flurry of lights and sounds that almost makes her queasy from the suddenness of the shift. It's night, the smell of fried food and sweets permeating the air, paper lanterns and warm, ambient light leading the way. There's a shopkeep in a booth handing her two candy apples, which she accepts and turns to find—

Her heart stops.

It's her.

She’s looking at herself.

She's younger, a version of herself that hadn't faced the horrors of Area Zero yet. A version of her where everything was new and bright and terrifying with anticipation. It's almost uncomfortable, looking at herself like this. She gives herself the apple, her own younger self with a guilty expression on her face. She has to reassure her that Grandma gave her some pocket money, it's no big deal. Younger her beams back with joy and she feels a flush consume her face, her heart wildly racing, why—

Before she can process what she has just felt, she's walking up to Carmine and her younger self, both tucked away in a dark corner past the main shrine, near the stairs leading up to Oni Mountain. She sees younger Juliana turn to her, an expression of excitement with words ready on her lips before Carmine yells at her to stop. She—no, Kieran, she has to remind herself—asks why his sister is yelling all of a sudden, before Carmine hastily states that it's nothing he would be interested in. It's the feeling of resentment that punches Juliana in the gut—Carmine is making fun of her again, behind her back, and with her new friend no less—before she has to snap herself out of it. It's not her, it's—

It becomes harder to separate.

“We bumped into it! The ogre, I mean! Yesterday, at the Festival of Masks! I tried talking to—”

Icy dread pools in the pit of her stomach. That's what they'd been talking about behind her back? They'd seen the ogre in person??

She continues to hide behind the wall, listening to them talk about the encounter with Ogerpon, listening to the story passed down for generations of their family lineage about the true story of the ogre, how Ogerpon was really the victim, how the Loyal Three were greedy pillagers who had stolen what was rightfully the ogre's. Ogerpon had been wrongfully accused for generations, everyone in the village has it backwards, she had known all along, she had loved the ogre despite the slander, she has been right this entire time…

And yet she hadn't been granted the opportunity to hear the story alongside her friend, her own family. They had all excluded her from this, this crowning moment that should have been a moment of pride, of vindication. Instead, she had to find out by skulking behind a wall to overhear their conversation, excluded and cast away like the very ogre she had defended all this time. Their similarities are even more stark now. Why didn't they think to tell me, to include me too…? Am I not good enough? Did I not earn it?

“...he's practically obsessed. And he's been trying to one-up me—as if he knows more about Ogerpon than I do.”

Juliana feels indignation coursing through her. Of course she does, she'd known all this time, she had known it deep down all along, while Carmine had believed in the Loyal Three like all the other Mareep of the village. It's the last straw for her—it’s infuriating. She departs for the community center even as they continue to discuss amongst themselves, to change into her spare school uniform (Arceus forbid they see her sneaking back into their house at this point). Listening in anymore would just bring that fury bubbling forth to the surface, and she can't afford to risk giving away her presence. Any feeling of festivity has evaporated entirely, replaced by the sting of rejection.

It's at Peachy's that she hears the sound of tentative footsteps behind her and she pivots in place to find the younger version of herself, looking visibly uncomfortable. 

"Oh, uh... H-hey, Juliana. So, I...I was gonna ask. What were you and my sis just, uh...talkin' about?”

She prays for an opening, another chance. She knows how this will go down. This carves the path that leads them to the consequences they face today. The consequences of her own actions, condemning her to watch her mistakes play out in real time.

“Nothing much…”

It's pain—a raw, gaping wound. She's lying, she's a liar, a liar liar liar liar

"Oh, I-I see…”

Does she like Carmine more? Is sh—no it's Kieran, it's—

He is surprised how much it hurts when she chooses Carmine over him. His sister had said some pretty offputting things to her before when she’d first arrived in town, and now they were chummy all of a sudden? His new friend had to have some crazy charisma to get his sister to warm up to her right away. Or, no…she must think he’s some weak, ogre-obsessed kid, not worth her time. They must be laughing it up at his expense, some fun insider joke about seeing the ogre in person and keeping that knowledge away from the one person who'd do anything to see Ogerpon. He's the punchline to that joke, always has been. And he's sick of it.

Sick of being the punchline and the joke. 

He waits until she departs for the Paradise Barrens, until the coast is clear, for him to retrieve his Applin from home. He decides that it is finally time to put the syrupy apple he has had to good use. It's time to get more serious. It's time to be taken seriously. 

It gets harder to pull away, this memory is a veritable rip current, snaring her, dragging her out to sea—

She's drowning.

She's choking down seething rage, her vision swimming as she breaks into her grandfather's woodshop, overwhelmed by the smell of hinoki cypress, cedar and varnish. She grabs the mask, laying on a nearby counter and makes a run for it. She can briefly hear a muffled shout of surprise behind her as she sprints without looking back, fueled by adrenaline and ire. 

Juliana tries to stop.

"The Loyal Three were the real bad guys, but the ogre's the one that gets treated like an outcast!”

Wait please sto—

"And you two did the same thing to me!”

Arceus she can feel the unbridled rage boiling her alive, she can't take another—

"You treated ME like an outcast when you went an' met with the ogre!”

I'm sorry Kieran, I'm—

"You're no different than those villagers back then... You know how much I love the ogre! You acted like you didn't know anything, but you were laughing at me behind my back all along!”

Make it stop make it stop—

"Liar! You're a LIAR!!!”

It's the phrase that would haunt her for a long time. Liar.

Liar.

Liar.

Liar.

“Juli?”

She lurches sideways, the images of Loyalty Plaza superimposed with the nightly vista of the festival, superimposed with images of her in her jinbei—

There's longing, sweet and wrenching and terrible, heat and hunger—

If she's a liar, then why do I still—

“Juli!”

The sudden sensation of a hand on her shoulder rips her back, grounding her in its constancy. Warm. Solid. Reassuring.

Dorm room. Desk. Chair. The sound of someone breathing beside her. The cold ground. A warm hand. Her senses scrabble for purchase, reaching out for something palpable, firm, real.

She’s crouched on the floor of Kieran’s dorm room, her hands clutching onto his festival mask with a pressure that surprisingly has not bent or warped it out of shape. She cranes her head back to gaze at the hand on her shoulder, tracing its route past a lean, sinewy arm, a bony shoulder, an enticing dip housed by a prominent collarbone, the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple, that beauty mark on his neck that drives her to the point of insanity, up and up—

When she meets his gaze, it comes screaming back to her. It's a litany of apologies issuing from her lips, born of panic, of experiencing it firsthand, reliving her mistakes and feeling their devastating effects for herself. She can see confusion and alarm in his eyes, with a corresponding tightening of his grip on her shoulder. He's mouthing wordlessly, until she focuses, feels his thumb tracing her shoulder in an attempt at comfort.

“—why're ya apologizin’? What'd ya see?”

There's a hint of something in his eyes, deep and hidden away. 

…fear?

This mask…she had known that it held many memories for him, that it probably had a lot of meaning to him. She had underestimated that. On some level, does he know?

“...for keeping things from you, about Ogerpon. You deserved to know…”

The expression on his face morphs several times in the flicker of an instant—an awkward, sullen withdrawal, pain, resentment, regret. It settles on a thin line, an impassive line of stoic indifference. For a brief moment, Juliana thought that she had almost detected…relief?

Had he been expecting to hear something else?

“That was a while ago, Juli,” Kieran murmurs. “Water under the bridge.”

“I know it's been a long time already, but still…after catching Ogerpon and not getting to see you when I left, I'd thought that maybe you were…”

“It's fine,” he sighs, before biting at his knuckle in restless unease. He catches himself about to thump his fist against his folded thigh, half crouched on the floor. “Let's worry about the stuff we have in front of us, like the curse. Grabbin’ stuff from the club room. Gettin’ to our next class. What we're gonna have for lunch. We got enough on our plate.”

He does his best attempt to play it off nonchalantly. He couldn't afford to let her see his true feelings on the issue—that it still bothered him, after all this time. Someone who is stronger, better, someone who has grown would mature past the issue, right? They wouldn't let it bother them. In hindsight, thinking about his initial outburst in the club room regarding Ogerpon brings with it a surge of embarrassment—that he had been so transparent. She has easily picked up on that. Kieran wonders what else she has picked up on during her time with him, how easy he has been to read. He burns with shame at the thought—she had been living rent-free in his head for nearly a year now. Has he inadvertently given her any tells or signs?

She looks at him, troubled and uncertain, a question on her lips that goes unsaid in the ensuing silence. He waits for it, for her, for the stubborn persistence that he’s known her for. For his own dam to break. It’s after a lengthy pause that he realizes that he's stared at her lips for too long and has to tear his gaze away. 

“I…okay. If you say so,” she says quietly. Resigned.

He tries to ignore the twinge in his sternum, the ache in his chest.

He gets the feeling that he has made a misstep.

Let it go

“If it isn’t the mighty Kieran himself! What an honor, three days in one week? Must be in a good mood. And even playing hooky, to boot.”

Arceus on high, Drayton just had to be there in the club room, as always. Just his luck.

Kieran scrubs at his face in frustration as they walk to his locker, the girl beside him huffing a brief laugh in response. She definitely doesn’t want to be involved in this exchange. “Juliana wasn’t feeling well earlier, so we missed the first period. Gonna try to catch our next class though. Speaking of, why aren’t you in class? Allergic to classrooms again?”

“I'll have you know, I have a note from an allergist. Classrooms give me hives, homework gives me hay fever—”

“Sure. I bet if you had to do a single day of honest work, you'd go into anaphylactic shock.”

“Don't hate on me for my medical condition. Not all of us are durable Champion material. The chair ergonomics are also just so…subpar, zero lumbar support—”

“So you're taking a stand against The Man for the engineering logistics of classroom furniture?”

“See? Jules gets it. It must be something in the water in Paldea.”

Kieran bristles at the deliberate nonchalance, nearly dropping his binder from his locker in the process. Jules again? He doesn't get to call her—

“Uh…I haven't been in Paldea for awhile now…” Juliana points out matter-of-factly.

“Speaking of water! How was that little swim you guys had? Bet you're glad the Drayster lent a helping hand.”

Kieran hurries over to sit next to Drayton, careening into the chair seat with a momentum and force moderately suggestive of incipient physical violence. Juliana sits behind him, looking somewhat concerned. 

“We almost got caught, you asshat!” Kieran hisses, flustered.

“What? Someone showed up?”

“One of the groundskeepers! The cranky one.”

“Carl? He doesn't come in on Tuesdays though.”

“That's what I thought! He completely ignored the signs, almost caught her with her damn top off—” 

Kieran quickly slaps a hand to his mouth, mortified by his slip up.

Drayton's eyebrows fly to his hairline, barely suppressing a smirk. “Oh ho ho, that must've been fun for you…”

He was going to die of shame, the first witnessed, bona fide case of spontaneous human combustion. “I—look, I didn't s-see anythin’ okay? I…it, we—” He can't bear to look at Juliana right now.

He had come dangerously close to seeing her in a revealing state. He would already have enough trouble as is, knowing what she looks like in a swimsuit. Arceus, the dreams he was going to have now—it is an entirely new brand of problem that he has to contend with, when the subject of potential, said dreams is also his temporary roommate.

“A Toucannon got a hold of it and then it got stuck on a Sawsbuck,” Juliana recounts blandly.

Drayton convulses in silent laughter, slowly sliding off his seat as Kieran scrambles to get his bearings. 

“You can't make this shit up,” he wheezes, wiping away at delirium-induced tears. “Anyway, I was wondering why all the signs were gone when I got there this morning. Guess I know why now.”

“You don't get to laugh this up, asshole. What if I told Carmine about your little bet suggestions? About Juliana almost getting caught?”

Drayton pauses, mid-stale chip. “You wouldn't.”

Juliana huffs in amused exasperation, facing Kieran. “It's fine! I mean, it did get kinda dodgy for a sec but it turned out alright.”

“It's not fine! You—someone could've seen you like that—”

“See? She thinks it all turned out fine!”

“You don't get any say in this, toothpaste.”

“Why’re you so worked up about this, anyway?” Juliana asks.

Because I want to be the only one who sees you like that

…wait

What

It comes to his mind, sudden and unbidden. He has to furiously stuff that thought process away, shoving it into a box and chucking it into the nebulous, unspeakable void from whence it came. Not the fucking time. He can already feel a flush consuming his face.

“Oh ho ho! What is our reigning Champion thinking of?” Drayton cackles.

“Shut up.”

“Comedic gold. Look, I'm gonna call your bluff. There's no way you'd tell.”

Kieran attempts to recover his remaining shreds of dignity. “Maybe past me wouldn't. But you know what the difference between the old me and the new me is?”

“An attitude problem?”

Ignore him, he's just trying to rile you up…

Kieran pulls a Rotom phone out of his pocket.

“A phone,” he says, with a feral, mirthless grin. 

“Wait, hold on—”

“Sis…guess…what…Drayton…suggested…” Kieran recites methodically as he types with exaggerated, excruciating slowness. Next to him, Juliana makes the muffled sound of a Rattata in its last death throes. She knows that the excruciating slowness isn't purely performance art—it is the real deal. Yesterday, she had VIP, front row seats to his learning curve with the new phone. Watching him learn to text was a testament to her patience. 

Drayton stretches in a deceivingly languid manner before lunging for the phone from his seat as Kieran nimbly scoots backwards, Juliana wheezing mirthfully as she backpedals after him.

“...for…a…bet…for…Juliana…”

Drayton painfully deliberates for a brief moment. They are going to Nimbasa tomorrow, he'd get his chance to—

But not if Carmine is going to turn him into a scene from a True Crime docuseries, first. 

“Okay look, we can work something out, right?” he says, his voice deceptively casual. “We don't have to mention the bet or the signs…”

“Signs?”

Carmine stands at the door with Amarys, a baffled expression on her features, a foil to her friend's stoic countenance.

Kieran scoots back to the table, his eyes lit up in barely suppressed amusement. “Perfect timing Sis, you see—”

Drayton slings an arm companionably around Kieran's shoulders, to the latter's dawning horror. 

“— you see, we were just talking about all the signs pointing to the fact that you actually appreciate the Drayster—”

“—ew, what, no—”

“I thought I also heard something about a ‘bet’ mentioned when we arrived?” Amarys notes, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“The…current bet pool for who's going to win, me or Jules here. You know how competitive things get here.”

“I thought we were supposed to discourage that kinda thing,” Carmine sighs in exasperation, walking with her friend to the table to take a seat. “There's some serious BP numbers floating around. These aren't supposed to be like Rapidash races.”

“You guys have a gambling circuit here?” Juliana says dryly. “Sweet.”

“Welcome to Unova bud.”

“What're my odds? And can I put a bet in?”

“As student council president, I can't exactly say that I condone these kinds of proceedings,” Amarys states, her expression deadpan.  

“Arceus,” Kieran declares at the ceiling in existential pain. “Not that bet. The other bet. You know, the one that—”

Drayton shifts his companionable arm around the shoulder into something more comparable to a headlock. 

“I don't think we have to talk about the bet,” he says mildly. 

“What. Bet, ” Carmine grates through gritted teeth, her fists shaking in fury. Her own personal, subconscious warning system prior to a cataclysmic firestorm.

Under the concealment of the club room table, Kieran slowly crushes his heel onto Drayton’s toes, even as the latter's headlock cinches further in a steady, silent countdown to their mutually assured destruction. 

“Okay I’ll bite,” Drayton mutters, leaning towards Kieran. “What’re your terms, oh Mighty Champion?”

“You stop giving me shit,” he whispers furiously. “I gained the title fair and square.”

“You know what you also gained? A stick up your as—ssssshhhit,” Drayton hisses through his teeth as the heel of Kieran’s boot digs deeper. 

“I know you've been scheming and pulling Juliana into your plans, and I get the distinct feeling that you're planning something with Sis too, Arceus knows what. You leave me alone and I won't say a word.”

“Fine, fine, no need to get your skirts up in a twist.”

“You're the one wearing a skirt, Colgate.”

“Real men are secure in expressing themselves beyond gender norms.”

“You—okay yes but…nevermind.”

“Kiki?” Carmine intones in a way suggesting that a seoi-nage might be in his immediate future if he doesn't answer promptly. 

“We don't speak of the bet,” Kieran says monotonously.

“It's bro code.”

Kieran gags, willing himself to astral project into the Unovan sea. “I don't wanna be bro anything with you. We are not bros.”

“What, is being bros with me beneath you—”

Kieran gives him a look.

“Right. Well then.”

“You two are infuriating, just so you know,” Carmine says, rubbing at the oncoming headache beginning to form at her temples. “I thought getting out of class early would be great, but clearly I was mistaken.”

Amarys flips her laptop open, before clicking a few windows open. An online document and a spreadsheet. “Since we have three out of five of our more prominent members present, I would like to run a few things by everyone, if that is okay.”

Juliana and Kieran exchange looks. They have class soon, but if it was just a matter of a few issues…

Amarys also tended to be straight to the point, which helped with matters. Her own respect for punctuality had the mutually beneficial effect that she also was equally prescient of other peoples’ available time as well.

“I don’t see why not,” Kieran says.

“Thank you, Kieran,” she nods. “We can debrief Lacey and Crispin at a later time. First of all, our membership numbers. We are currently down to seventeen members, not including Juliana, the Elite Four, or the Champion. This isn’t a terrible metric by regular club standards, but it’s enough of a statistical drop that it’s drawn the attention of some administrators and the director. I understand that we have some recruitment flyers printed out? Have they been posted yet?”

Juliana mulls over it. She thought she had seen some pink flyers posted in the Rest Area of the Coastal Biome the previous night…

“I think I saw some in the Coastal Biome the other day,” Juliana muses vaguely.

“That sounds like Lacey,” Carmine pipes in. “I thought I saw some other flyers at Central Plaza the other day, too. And a few in the cafeteria.”

Now that she had mentioned it, there had been some flyers posted there as well, on the bulletin board. 

Drayton bites his tongue. If they could only address the real issue as to why people had been dropping out in the first place—

However, he knows that no one would dare speak about the root cause of plummeting membership numbers. Not when that cause was due to the actions of a particular person sitting in the room with them. The proverbial Copperajah. 

“Secondly,” Amarys continues, “we have some input from our anonymous feedback box to sort through…the first one says: ‘I’m still bummed about the new rule requiring us to use pokemon of different species on our team. Is there any way to change it back to how it was before?’”

Kieran does his best to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. This had to be either John—who had aspired to try out an all Alcremie team consisting of different flavors, as a callback to his family’s bakery in Castelia—or it had to be Danyo, who had expressed interest in running an all Rotom team, consisting of Wash Rotom, Heat Rotom, Mow Rotom, and Frost Rotom. At least the dual typings would be varied in Danyo’s case, although he had admitted that his Frost Rotom would be used as storage for ice cream on the go. Kieran did appreciate the honesty there.

“Same species teams aren’t allowed competitively,” Kieran states, “and if someone only sticks with one species, they aren’t gonna learn and grow as trainers. So pass.”

“Are we in agreement with this ruling?” Amarys asks. Drayton’s ensuing shrug could cut through steel, but the awkward silence and unresponsiveness of the others in the room speaks volumes. Amarys herself seemed to be reluctant to input her own opinion of the matter, and Juliana knows that Carmine is respected enough in the club that she’s practically considered an honorary Elite Four member sheerly from social chutzpah. 

“Moving forward to the next one then,” Amarys proceeds upon hearing the uncomfortable silence. “A request regarding the rule concerning held items. It says, ‘Obtaining different items for each of our pokemon to hold is needlessly time-consuming when we have to worry about class assignments as well. The school store doesn’t have a lot of the recommended items such as leftovers or life orb—in fact, I had to make a trip to the mainland to battle in Gear Station to get my life orb. If students have time to hunt for berries or have access to an item printer (which even then is more like a gacha machine), good for them.’”

This requirement had also been derived from current competitive guidelines. Pokemon weren’t required to hold items, per se, but in reality, items were always used for an advantage and could make or break a battle. If that was the status quo, then in theory it made sense to get trainers used to competitive rules by utilizing different items throughout the team. 

But then again, holding items wasn’t really a requirement.

“Amarys…” Kieran begins slowly, “what are your thoughts on this?”

Her eyes widen perceptibly as she stares across the table at him. Kieran can hear Drayton shift slightly in the chair next to him with a quick intake of breath.

“My…personal opinion is that yes, items can be useful, but it is also a considerable commitment for students to obtain a variety of them in their off-time, if we are not providing said-required items themselves. It creates a bottleneck where students with less access to resources have a more difficult time in working their way up the ranks, let alone joining the club.”

Kieran himself had had to work tirelessly to obtain his own items for his team. It was aggravating to hear such a thing from these students, who had more access to resources than he did, than he ever had to begin with. These students hadn't made the sacrifices that he had. And yet…

And yet.

And…yet…

They hadn’t made the sacrifices he had…

…the sacrifices.

These students hadn’t made such sacrifices because their own values were different—they still valued their time spent as friends, as family members, as people with individual interests outside of battling—

He had given up everything.

Contact with his grandparents, with his sister, with—

It had worked, he had gotten stronger, but…

Has it really worked?

I wish we could go back to being the fun club we were before, I guess is what I’m trying to say.

Crispin…

“I see…” Kieran says slowly. 

He takes a deep breath.

“I think…we can let that rule go.”

Kieran hears a sudden cacophony of coughing and choking next to him, along with the melancholy wheeze of a deflating chip bag being squeezed of all its excess air. Carmine’s face is a mask of utter surprise, while Amarys’ eyebrows raise in mute astonishment. To his right, he can feel Juliana’s gaze on him. He tries to fight down the flush threatening to creep up his neck, with all the sudden attention.

“Are…you sure, Kieran? I believe that you were the original instigator of that rule.”

“I…understand. I think…I think you make a good point. So I’d like to drop it.”

“Acknowledged,” Amarys replies, clicking through a spreadsheet before reaching the appropriate cell and deleting the data contained within. If one were to look closely, they would notice a small, nigh imperceptible smile gracing her lips. “That leaves the last one. It says, ‘I think the rule requiring members to eventually aspire to reach a team of five or even six pokemon is excessively demanding. Raising a diverse team of pokemon with completely different nutritional and lifestyle needs can be pretty taxing. For people without access to the necessary time or resources, this also endangers the lives of pokemon as well. Many can manage a team of three, or even four, especially if they have overlapping dietary needs in the case of some monotype teams. But asking for more is unsafe. I humbly ask for this rule to be rescinded.’”

Ah, this rule.

It all comes full circle. 

The remaining members had made the cut, although many of them hadn’t adopted their fifth pokemon officially into their teams yet. He had noticed from afar that most of them were still comfortable with their teams of four. And then there was Ramona, Cecelia, and Fleur with their paltry three pokemon. They were the most likely culprits, and the ones that had been next on the proverbial chopping block. Cecelia’s team of flying types could easily be taken out by a fast Electric type pokemon with Discharge, and her team of bird pokemon had the most overlapping nutritional requirements. Fleur could easily get swept by a decent Fire type. Ramona’s team was entirely composed of Fighting type pokemon. It could feasibly be any one of them, although he already has his suspicions.

But then he thinks of last night. His talk with Juliana.

She had personally seen his display at Central Plaza, when he had threatened to forcefully resign a club member—in public. He had felt burning shame at the realization, he had apologized to her…

But what good was an apology if it didn’t change anything?

She’s here, in this room, watching him. He gets the feeling that he is at a crossroads, a critical juncture where one decision could determine an entirely different course of fate. Rescinding the rule was easier said than done, though. Apologizing to Juliana had felt surprisingly natural and easy, in the privacy given to them by the veil of twilight, surrounded by sea. Here, he could feel their eyes on him, the weight of his choices. Going back on his ruling would be admitting his indecisiveness, his weakness, that he had erred—and it would be in front of Drayton, no less.

Underneath the club room table, he suddenly feels something warm brush gently against his hand. Everything around him feels muddled and distant, his body choosing to redirect all of his vital attention to the sensation of her nails skimming across his palm as they fan out, leaving trails of electricity in their wake despite his thin layer of fabric, interlacing their fingers in a mirrored duet to last night. An insane, delirious thought occurs to him—that he wishes he had forgotten to don his glove after breakfast today, to privately savor the feeling of her nails on his skin in this fleeting gesture. 

After everything…

He would be embarrassed if he lost face in front of the club, especially in front of Drayton.

But he would be devastated if he lost her.

It had come precariously close to that, before—he hadn’t even been aware of how close. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

“Kieran…?” Amarys inquires carefully. 

He looks at her closely. It’s not fear, she’s not afraid, per se, but…there is concern there. Apprehension. A thick tension one could cut through with a knife, walking on a veritable battlefield of eggshells. As if he is a ticking time bomb, ready to go off at the drop of a hat. Has it always been like that before? Had he never noticed it? 

“I…would like to drop that rule as well, if everyone agrees with that,” Kieran says steadily, keeping his gaze on Amarys and doing his utmost to avoid looking at everyone else. From his peripheral vision, he sees a chip catapulted into the middle of the table, spinning to an anticlimactic stop in front of them, to the accompaniment of a hacking coughing fit. Carmine’s jaw dropping. Amarys’ glasses minutely sliding down the bridge of her nose before she recovers, adjusting them properly. He can feel Juliana’s hand squeezing his under the table, setting off a flutter of elated nerves in his chest.

“Are you sure, Kieran? I am in full agreement with you regarding this matter. I am just surprised, considering the recent resignation of a club member over his failure to meet the deadline that was placed on him, based on this very rule. Perhaps it would be prudent then to—”

“Ah…yeah. Um…” Arceus, not the um, don’t show more weakness than you already have, you— “Have him reinstated in the club, along with an update regarding the changes in rules. I’ll write him an apology later today.”

The silence in the room is deafening.

“Kiki…” Carmine trails off. 

He can’t take it anymore, this mortifying silence, the toe-curling levels of awkwardness that make him want to phase through the club room floor and straight into the merciful jaws of a ravenous Sharpedo. Anything to put him out of his misery. 

“We gotta get to class soon,” Juliana murmurs next to him. A surge of gratitude rushes through him—a legitimate excuse to leave. 

He stands up in a rush, inadvertently yanking up Juliana with a muffled sound of surprise.

“Kier—”

“Yeah, uh, we gotta go now. Sorry. Crispin’s gotta catch us up on what we missed,” he says in a flustered haze, gathering up his satchel with his other hand. He makes a desperate Combeeline for the door, only to abruptly stop by the door. 

“Oh, and yeah, I guess you can get rid of the different species rule, too.”

They flee.

Kieran is barreling down the hallway with an urgency that sends students reeling against the corridor walls. A living juggernaut. He definitely doesn’t want to answer any questions at the moment—he can practically hear his phone going off already, filled with questions from his sister. 

“Kieran, hold up, wait, you’re going too fast—”

He looks over his shoulder, stops—

He sees Juliana panting with exertion. Something catches his eye though, something about her posture. Kieran traces the path of her shoulder, down her arm, leading to…

His hand.

They are still holding hands.

They were still holding hands when they fled the club room.

And they had all seen it. 

“Tell me what just happened.”

“I believe we just saw Kieran rescind three club rules of his own making, before walking quickly out of the club room while holding Juliana’s hand.”

“Okay. Carmine, tell me in a way that is more satisfyingly dramatic, please.”

“What the fuck just happened.”

“Right vibe but more embellishment please, 6/10.”

Carmine swiftly circles the table before gripping Drayton’s shoulders and shaking him, wild-eyed. 

“Are they…already…???”

Drayton snorts. “I don’t know, you’re his sister, you tell me.”

“He hasn’t spoken to me in awhile…I’ve only just started really talking to him again on Saturday, and he only just got a phone yesterday…”

“I mean, maybe they’re already…? Well…?”

“Does that mean Nimbasa is off, then…?”

“Well, I don’t want to jump to conclusions yet,” Drayton replies. “He did almost keep the different species rule in place. Maybe he’s part of the way there already, or Juliana has talked some sense into him. We can probably squeeze some info from them tomorrow, too—it’s a good opportunity.”

Drayton is right, as much as she is loath to admit it. Today had been a run-in purely by luck. There was hardly any overlap in their schedules, not to mention that much of her time was preoccupied by research assistant tasks for Ms. Briar. Tomorrow would be one of the few days she would be completely free, while also having overlapping free time with her brother. She wouldn’t run into many opportunities like this in the future. There is also the matter of Juliana’s request. 

“That’s true,” Carmine sighs, carding a hand through her hair wearily. “I also just remembered that Juliana wanted to check out an address while we’re there. To talk to a former Art Club member who used to go here.”

Drayton furrows his brows. “I think I recall something about that being mentioned by the contractor on Monday,” he muses. “You weren’t there for it. It’s about that creepy painting. Some real deal horror movie shit.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t there, to be honest,” Carmine says with a shudder. She then reconsiders. “Actually, that haunted painting or whatever should be glad I wasn’t there. I would’ve had Sinistcha kick its ass for fucking around with my brother and my friend.”

“There’s the Carmine we know and love.”

Carmine takes the opportunity to hurl a nearby, half-empty box of cookies at his face, only for him to adeptly sidestep with a well-practiced fluidity. As if this has almost occurred too many times. She futilely attempts to quell the heat rising in her cheeks. “Bozo…Anyway, I think they’re going to try to get answers from him while they’re in the city, stuff like where he had gotten the painting from in the first place or if anything weird has happened to people who’ve owned it.” 

“That means we should all probably leave earlier tomorrow, to give us more time in the theme park section.”

“Makes sense,” Carmine concedes. She turns to Amarys. “By the way, what will you be up to during the holiday?”

“I will be departing for Castelia City on the evening ferry tonight, to spend some time with my family tomorrow. However, I wish you both a wonderful time in Nimbasa.”

Carmine feels her stomach perform a sudden flip followed by an impressive triple back pike. She has to suppress the unbidden flurry of nerves that Amarys’ statement had initiated. There has clearly been a misunderstanding. 

For a split, utterly deranged nanosecond, it had almost sounded like they were the ones going on a date, not her brother and Juliana.

Chapter Text

Juliana is relieved when they finally make it to lunch.

Kieran had been exuding nervous energy for the duration of their class period—she recognizes most of his tells, by now. Fidgeting or pulling at his lock of hair, biting at his knuckle while staring off into the distance, restlessly knocking his fist on his thigh. She had known that what he had done in the club room was a pretty big deal—and she had a nagging feeling that part of it was related to their discussion the previous night. 

One of the main reasons she had been asked to take on the League Challenge in the first place had been to eventually confront Kieran in a final match—to various ends. Drayton was cooking up something, Crispin had expressed that the mood in the club was “off,” and Amarys had entrusted Juliana personally to help Kieran, despite her own wishes to do so herself. It had seemed like they had all desired for the club to go back to the way it was before—for Kieran to go back to the way he had been before. To turn back time. And there was the underlying implication—that she was going to be the instrument to do this, by confronting him in battle. But something was already changing, shifting unexpectedly. 

She hadn’t exactly expected him to drop those rules then and there, and it had seemed like the other club members were equally surprised by his actions. To add on to their consternation, they had to run out of the room holding hands, of all things. To her credit, she hadn’t expected Kieran to suddenly stand up from his seat and hustle out of there—it had caught her off guard. So now she had that to contend with, as well. She had spent class looking anxiously at her phone, waiting for the inevitable fallout to occur.

Fil (10:13): yeah, still can’t get those pins out. We’re gonna try out using other Ghost-type pokemon to see if they can do anything

Juliana had to give him credit, they weren’t giving up. 

Shauntal (10:28): got the translations back from Cynthia. Diantha actually knows one of the places, it’s a building on North Boulevard known for its dojo. Likely the place with the ghost sighting. It gets stranger though. She also found another address, but it’s in Hammerlocke, above the Galar Railway station. I don’t know why it is in Kalosian, though

Hammerlocke?

What was it about Hammerlocke?

The North Boulevard address in Lumiose couldn’t be a coincidence, at least that much was clear. Penny had given her enough information to go off of. At some point, the painting had been in the same building as the ghost sighting, which had also been the location where a nineteen-year old girl had passed away. A possible victim, then.

But Hammerlocke…hadn’t the butler come from an estate over there? Not to mention the famous ghost sighting in that area, by Champion Gloria. That had also been a girl as well, a girl whose love had endured to the point where she would not rest until her confession letter had been delivered, decades after her passing. There had to be a link there. 

Had the painting been sent back to the estate at some point? And if the ghost there—if Paula—had been another potential victim, where did she fit in, in all of this? The story that had gone viral had mentioned a previous history of illness, although it was unspecified as to what kind of illness she had. 

…if she had truly been a victim, it wasn’t illness that had finally done her in.

Ryme (10:45): you got the salt earlier today? Sis tells me she got a package received notification

Juliana raised her eyebrows. It was rare for Ryme to text her. She often preferred calls.

Juliana (10:57): sorry just got out of class. I did, thank you! It actually helped, I wasn’t feeling too great this morning

Ryme (11:03): huh

That sounded ominous.

Ryme (11:05): how so

Juliana (11:06): idk, more tired? Fatigued and drained? Like I just wanted to lay down and sleep for the rest of the day. Or week 

Ryme (11:09): any nightmares

Juliana (11:09): if I had any I can’t remember them. Btw, we’re heading to Nimbasa tomorrow, we got an address we’re going to check out. A former Art Club student who owned the painting

Ryme (11:11): you’re brave, I’ll give you that. Keep me posted

Juliana (11:12): will do

Juliana tried to shake off the feeling of unease looming over her. It had been the way Ryme had responded, as if something unanticipated had occurred. 

Shauntal (11:19): by the way, is there any one of your friends available whom I could ask a few questions to? If there is one who happens to be familiar with your school trips in Kitakami, that would be a bonus

Well that’s weird.

Why specifically Kitakami? It’s a strange request, admittedly. She couldn’t really fathom why Shauntal would need to speak to someone with those qualifications, but the only person she could imagine off the top of her head was Carmine. Kieran’s sister hadn’t exactly met the Ghost-type specialist before, but she had heard about her from hearsay. Juliana had given her Carmine’s number, skittishly refraining from informing Carmine about the liberal distribution of her personal contact information. She didn’t exactly feel like touching base with her, after the awkward disaster of her and Kieran’s club room exit. 

Speaking of.

Carmine (11:24): okay, fess up. What was that all about earlier?

And there it was.

Luckily, they had managed to find a somewhat secluded area in the Coastal Biome, where Juliana had set up a Paldean-style picnic. They had both sheepishly agreed that it would be for the best to avoid the League Club room or the cafeteria for a while, both social hotspots where they might run into Carmine or Drayton. Amarys was more on the level, but Lacey probably didn't know about their fleeing the scene yet and would be less likely to ask them questions for the time being.

Juliana watches as Kieran lays out the sandwich materials on the table's surface, before turning her attention to Carmine's message. Might as well get it over with.

Carmine (11:24): he actually let go of some of the rules??

Carmine (11:24): are you guys going out or something?? 

Juliana (11:24): what?? No!!

Juliana (11:24): we just talked the other night and I kinda mentioned that we saw him at Central Plaza that one time

Juliana (11:25): and he apologized 

Carmine (11:25): huh??

Carmine (11:25): seriously??

Carmine (11:25): okay that doesn't explain the fact that you guys ran out holding hands?!

Juliana (11:26): I was holding his hand for moral support

Juliana (11:26): I thought it would help???

Juliana (11:26): and I might've forgotten to let go

Carmine (11:27): holy shit you guys are denser than a Slowpoke, I’m in physical pain

Carmine (11:27): okay look

Carmine (11:27): you objectively have terrible taste because wow

Juliana (11:27): wait

Juliana (11:27): hold on

Carmine (11:28): but you've spent five days together, right? I don't know what it is you're doing but keep doing it. Whatever it is

Carmine (11:28): but if it's something nsfw, please for the love of Arceus don't tell me

“Juli? Are ya doin’ okay? Your face is as red as these tomatoes.”

She jerks her head up to look at him, mortified.

“Oh! Uh, yeah, it's fine. Don't worry. I should be asking you that if anything.”

He pauses in slicing the assorted vegetables before him. 

“Why's that?”

“Back in the club room…that can't have been easy for you…”

Kieran’s eyes widen in comprehension. He carefully places the knife down on the cutting board, before looking away, knocking his fist on his thigh restlessly, his thoughts racing. He hesitates briefly. Choosing his words carefully. 

“I don't regret what I did. I've been thinkin’ ‘bout it, since I talked to Crispin on Monday. Since I talked to ya.”

Juliana feels her pulse thrum in her ears, trying to push past the feeling. “When did you talk to Crispin about League stuff? I don't remember anything like that.”

“Ah, you were asleep. It was after the movie ended.”

“Oh…”

That’s right. She had fallen asleep at some point during the movie. One moment, she had been watching one of the Unova Defense Force members desperately searching for his girlfriend among the crowded stadium-turned-evacuation center, and the next moment she had woken up in Kieran’s arms—

She wills that errant thought to dissipate into the Coastal Biome winds, along with the blush beginning to consume her face again. He had carried her so easily, and then they had almost—it looked like he had been about to—

“Anyway, you guys gave me somethin’ to think ‘bout an’ I have no regrets. Who are ya textin’ anyway?”

She shakes herself out of her reverie. “Ah, Carmine,” she says quickly, hoping to smooth over whatever absurd, infatuated expression had crossed her features. 

He starts, looking somewhat embarrassed. “Sis isn’t givin’ ya a hard time is she?”

“Oh, haha, nope, not at all.”

Not at all.

Juliana (11:32): please stop 

Juliana (11:32): honestly, we just…talked

Juliana (11:32): and it just sounded like he'd been unhappy

Juliana (11:32): like when we were talking with Shauntal together, he said some stuff that kinda made me think

Carmine (11:33): what kind of stuff

Carmine (11:39): ??

Juliana (11:39): Sorry, just started eating. I guess Shauntal talked about how important our bonds are with pokemon, instead of just focusing on winning

Juliana (11:40): and Kieran was talking about how he had done what she said but he felt like it did nothing, like everyone around him was getting stronger, could make friends, do all these great things and go anywhere, but he'd never be good enough and it just made me want to cry because maybe I contributed to this??

Juliana (11:41): I think I made things worse

Juliana (11:42): I had to fuck things up because I couldn't tone down my battles and just had to take Ogerpon with me and I lied to him

Carmine (11:42): Juliana calm down

Juliana (11:43): he says it's fine but I feel like it's not fine?? Like something's off. And last night it seemed like he'd been frustrated with how things were for him before. If he doesn't want to go back to his old self, that means there was a problem with how things were to begin with or there's been a huge misunderstanding 

Juliana (11:44): Arceus I think I'm going crazy and his memories aren't helping

Carmine (11:44): okay hold up wait

Carmine (11:44): what do you mean his memories??

Juliana (11:45): I guess he didn't tell you. We sorta swapped memories with our weird curse thing. At least that's the theory

Juliana (11:45): having someone else's memories in your head is weird fyi

Carmine (11:45): um YOU DIDN'T THINK TO MENTION THIS BEFORE?!

Carmine (11:45): wtf

Carmine (11:45): did you see some weird stuff

Carmine (11:46): he’s pretty weird. He had a spy phase and everything

Juliana (11:46): that’s not the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard, tbh

Juliana (11:46): also, who isn't weird

Juliana (11:46): when my primary school teacher asked what I wanted to be when I grow up I told her I wanted to be a Tyrantrum

Carmine (11:47): okay you might have him beat

Carmine (11:47): should I warn him

Juliana (11:47): this is a safe space

Juliana (11:48): but yeah, no memories of Spy Suguri. I kinda feel short changed now???

Juliana (11:48): also I don't even know if I should be talking about the memories, it feels kinda private. I shouldn't be able to see these kinds of things to begin with, so it's a little invasive?

Carmine pauses, her fingertips poised over her Rotom phone screen. 

She couldn't even imagine someone having access to her memories like that, the anxiety of someone potentially reliving her worst moments. The feelings of vulnerability that would induce. There had to be some sort of mutual trust system in place to make this situation bearable, some inherent level of agreed-upon confidentiality if they were to ever encounter bad memories. She understands where Juliana is coming from. 

And yet.

Carmine knows that this is her chance. This is the most closed off that her brother has ever been around her, in their entire lives. Things had taken a huge nosedive when they had come back from home—she had watched everything in the club fall apart, witnessed her brother become an enraged, terrifying, sleep-deprived mess. It was only recently—once she had pushed past the initial idea of it being solely attributed to a “rebellious phase”—that she had mulled over potential causes of his sudden change…and all signs seemed to point to the school trip in Kitakami.

But Juliana had been granted serious insider knowledge. If she has any information that could be used to figure out what had happened…maybe it would be worth it. 

Carmine (11:51): I get it

Carmine (11:52): I feel like as long as I can remember, Kiki's been behind me. He'd always been this nervous, shy kid. I just wanted to look out for him and make sure he's okay. He's always going to be my little brother, you know?

Carmine (11:52): but lately I just feel like…I should've done more?

Carmine (11:53): I knew he was cutting back on sleep and that we weren’t really talking anymore. I reasoned to myself that he was just busy but I think it really just scared me

Carmine (11:53): I kinda chalked it all up to some weird teen angst or a rebellious phase at first, but I'm beginning to think it's more than that. Or I have for a while I guess

Carmine (11:54): and it's hard not to think that I played a part in this somehow 

Carmine (11:54): I just want things to be okay again 

Carmine (11:54): or maybe they weren't really okay to begin with??? So scratch that, I want things to be better than they were before

Carmine (11:54): and if there's something you saw or heard that can help make things right, I want to know

Make things right?

Could they do that?

Juliana (11:55): I saw stuff from that whole thing with Ogerpon, from his perspective. And the festival

Juliana (11:55): and when he was at school here I guess. It was a lot of hiding behind your back actually

Carmine (11:55): oh

Carmine (11:55): are you okay

Juliana (11:56): been better. It kinda confirmed that it really was as bad as I thought it was. It kinda brought it all back

Juliana (11:56): it sucks when you try to convince yourself that you’re just overthinking things and then it turns out that you were right the entire time

Carmine (11:57): you shouldn't blame yourself. I mean, it was my decision to keep it quiet to begin with

Carmine (11:57): just tell me what you can remember

Juliana (11:58): okay

Juliana (11:58): just, please don’t tell him

Juliana pauses, her fingers hovering over the Rotom phone keyboard. She slowly types the letters out with trembling fingertips, hesitating before hitting the send button. This in itself would be an admission.


Juliana (11:59): I don’t want to lose him again


She waits, anxiously watching the ellipses flickering sequentially on the screen. Waiting for an answer.

Carmine (12:00): I won't tell, I promise

Carmine (12:00): but honestly, if you want my opinion, I don’t think that’ll happen


???

What did she mean by that?

Juliana attempts to push her bafflement at Carmine’s vague answer aside. 

She tries to think of how to describe the visions she's had: visions of Blueberry Academy, of Kitakami. Visions of protection and resentment, understanding and resignation—of condescension and fear, loneliness and outrage and ostracization. 

Juliana tells her everything. 

In the privacy of her dorm room, Carmine's eyes remain riveted on her phone, pouring repeatedly over the messages that Juliana had sent her. Messages of her visions, of the recollections of her brother. 

Carmine had meant well, in her own way. It had been impressed upon her at a young age to look out for Kiki, to make sure he was safe. Given his reticent disposition, it had become even more of a priority in her eyes. Sure, he was a strong battler, but there were other areas he was inexperienced in, not to mention his notoriety for his forays up Oni Mountain. She thought she had known her brother extremely well—had known what was best for him.

She hadn't understood the bigger picture. Far from it.

There were issues that she hadn't been aware of, issues that she had not connected the dots to. Her very own good intentions had nurtured the deep-seated insecurity that had festered within him, setting its roots in and poisoning the well of his disposition. She had a role to play. 

Carmine searches her phone for a number. He is fourteen hours ahead, meaning that he would currently be sleeping at the moment. However, he should be awake in about six more hours. 

She would call her grandfather and get down to the heart of the issue, once and for all.

“You were textin’ for a while there. Everythin’ okay?”

Juliana winces involuntarily, recalling everything she had just related to Carmine. She and Kieran had never come to any sort of formal agreement regarding the privacy of their shared memories—it had almost seemed implicit, given how sensitive the nature of the matter was. Juliana feels as if she has committed an egregious breach of trust—they were his memories to begin with, his feelings, and she had shared them with his sister. It had been at her behest, but that still didn't change the fact that she had disclosed someone else's personal feelings—good intentions be damned.

The time they had spent bonding the past several days had been exhilarating for her, filling her with more hope than she had felt ever since she had started attending Blueberry Academy—curse notwithstanding. He was actually talking to her again, they were spending time together, eating together, watching a movie, doing what friends did. Juliana thinks of their swim together the other night—friends do that too, right? She then thinks of the broadness of his shoulders tapering to his waist, the sensation of his fingertips brushing the nape of her neck, the way he had looked at her after he had redone the ties for her top, the intensity of his golden gaze—

Definitely not friend thoughts.

They are closer than they'd been in a very long time—perhaps more than ever. And she is on the brink of destroying the precarious foundation that had been laid out, brick by precious brick, within the past week, in a multitude of ways. 

She can't afford to raze their friendship to the ground when things have just started to look up. She would do anything to be able to be close to him, to spend time with him, to hear his voice and see every side of him. 

She couldn't afford to lose him again.

“It's fine,” she says. “You know how Carmine can get when she's worked up about stuff sometimes.”

Kieran looks somewhat unconvinced as Juliana glances around the picnic area, desperate to change the subject. She notices the bustle and activity of their pokemon teams playing with each other.

“By the way, I've been meaning to ask…what happened to your old team? I'm guessing they're boxed?”

Kieran rubs at the back of his neck guiltily. “Yeah…I boxed most of ‘em.”

“Most of them? These guys all look different to me. I mean, I guess I would've thought your Politoed, until Sunday happened.”

He gives her a baffled look. “There's still Hydrapple. He's been with me since the beginnin’.”

Hydrapple?

She glances around the picnic area, her gaze falling on the pokemon with a serpentine neck and reptilian muzzle, his neck coiled as he takes a nap atop the impressively large candy apple making up his body. Juliana recognizes the other pokemon—Dragonite, Politoed, Incineroar, Porygon-Z, Grimmsnarl. This has to be the pokemon he is referring to. 

She had never heard of a Hydrapple in her entire life, let alone seen one prior to their first picnic together on Friday. She would be lying if she said she hadn't been curious about the strange pokemon when she had laid eyes on it. However, she had been too preoccupied at the time, recovering over the embarrassment of his Incineroar and her Meowscarada courting and hooking up in the bushes of the Coastal Biome within the span of mere minutes.

Wait a minute, he had said—

“You said Hydrapple was with you from the beginning? I don't…unless…no, that apple—”

That apple…it had to be…

He looks at her as if she's grown a second head comparable a Vanilluxe. “He's Dipplin, remember?”

That's his Dipplin???

They could evolve further???

Her gaze whips back to the syrpent before her. It cracks open one eye to peer at her curiously, and she suddenly remembers when she had met that same gaze for the first time, months ago. 

It had been a while back when Drayton had given her the technical machine for Dragon Cheer, which had been relatively new in development. Probably a perk of being Drayden’s grandson. 

She had just joined the League Club as a fresh face. She also gets the suspect feeling that he is trying to make nice with Carmine. The two always seem to bicker, but she wonders if there is something more to it. Is he giving it to her out of pity? To curry favor with Carmine? It’s hard to say.

Fast forward. She is making her way up the ranks day in and day out, pouring everything she has into training and strategizing, forgoing the luxury of sleep. She finally reaches the Elite Four but she still finds that she needs to plan for Drayton’s team. That would be the real issue at hand. She studies day in and day out, seeking out his Archaludon's weaknesses, his Flygon’s. There’s still also the issue of figuring out the best synergistic team. So far, she has been attempting to have Dragonite and Dipplin fight together. The potential weaknesses in the pairing are obvious, although in a fit of pique it had occurred to her that she still has that technical machine that Drayton had given her. After all this time, it would be ironic if the very TM he had bestowed upon her would also be his downfall. She teaches her Dipplin the move, in the hopes that she can at least boost her Dragonite’s power. 

It’s after a hard fought battle one day that everything seems to grind to a screeching halt. Her Dipplin, he—

He was evolving.

It shouldn’t be possible. There was no precedent. There shouldn’t have been any third evolution…

There was Flapple, Appletun, and Dipplin. That’s it.

When the light dims and dust settles, the seven-headed syrpent—a veritable hydra—fills her with awe. He’s fickle and fierce, a wildcard filled with unknowns. No one quite knows how to approach Hydrapple—whom she has deemed Kamitsuorochi in her native tongue, referring to the eight-headed dragon of myth with allusions to fruit and nectar. This pokemon is an unknown, and nothing unnerves humanity more than the unknown. This would be her crowning moment of triumph. He would lead her to victory. 

When Kieran gently shakes her awake, she sucks in a breath sharply. She grabs him by the shoulders, to his befuddlement. 

“J-Juli?” he stammers.

“Kieran. You…you…”

“I…what? Is everythin’...?”

“You…discovered a pokemon?? A brand new pokemon species???”

“I…um. Do you mean Hydrapple? I mean, I guess it was all new to me. I don’t think anyone else knew 'bout there bein' a third evolution to Dipplin, either.”

It makes sense. Dipplin could only come into being through a specialty item from Kitakami…a syrupy apple. Hydrapple could only evolve from a Dipplin who has learned Dragon Cheer—a move that it cannot even learn naturally. It would have to be taught. The likelihood of there being a multitude of Hydrapple out there is slim to none. 

“Kieran…this is a big deal. Scientists, pokemon professors…they seek out stuff like this. They present these findings at conferences. This is the kind of thing that warrants, I dunno, publications. Have you told anyone about this? Teachers?”

He hadn’t, really. Sure, everyone knew about Hydrapple. It was impossible not to know. He had fought with Hydrapple during his final confrontation with Drayton, during the championship match. Everyone was mystified by this new pokemon, but no one had really come up to ask him about it. Not the director, not the professors, not the spectators. No one. Was it fear of him? Repulsion? He can’t say. In turn, he had been more focused on his training and getting stronger. 

“I…no. Not really.”

“What about your—”

Juliana stops.

Of course he doesn’t have a Pokedex application. He hadn’t had a Rotom phone. Not until yesterday. 

That meant…

Juliana quickly opens up her phone, pulling up her Pokedex app. She wouldn’t have full data on Hydrapple, but the entry would exist now that she has seen it. However, it doesn’t show up in the Kitakami dex at all. Instead, it shows up on the Blueberry dex of all things. Probably because the app was tracking her current location upon the discovery. Did Mr. Jacq even know about the Blueberry dex to begin with?

“Sorry, I gotta make a quick call.”

When Kieran hears an amiable “hello, hello!” issuing from her Rotom phone, he peers over at the screen. An affable, unkempt man with wild hair, hexagonal glasses, and a lab coat that has clearly seen better days greets them. 

“Mr. Jacq! Long time no see!”

“Juliana! I’m happy to hear from you! I hope your exchange program has been going well. Director Clavell sometimes inquires about your wellbeing.”

She pauses. Well…he doesn’t really need to know that she had been cursed by a haunted painting. She had already fulfilled her insanity quota for the week. 

“Ah! Well…there’s never been a dull moment here,” Juliana sidesteps smoothly. “I actually wanted to ask you something. Are you aware of the Blueberry dex as part of the app you made?”

Kieran’s jaw drops.

This scruffy man was the one who made the Pokedex app?? Kieran himself hadn’t had one, but he is well aware of its existence.

Jacq starts. “Someone went and modded my Pokedex app to include one specifically for Blueberry Academy?!”

“Oh…you hadn’t known about it?”

He scratches at his cheek sheepishly. “Well, I did make the app open-source so anyone could add to it if they saw fit…but who made this app, anyway?” 

Jacq frowns, looking intently at something slightly offscreen. The reflection off of his glasses hints at line upon line of code. 

“The notes here say…a Mr. Cyrano? The way he writes his code is very similar to Director Clavell. And I feel like I’ve heard the name Cyrano…somewhere. But where?”

“I think he mentioned them attending the same university awhile back,” Juliana recollects, trying to think back to the day when she had first met the Blueberry Academy director on Naranja grounds. 

“That’s it! That would explain why their code looks so similar. They were classmates. He really did a nice job with this update. I’ll have to download it for myself right away, thank you for filling me in!”

“No problem!” Juliana replies. “There’s actually another thing I wanted to bring up with you.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“You remember the Kitakami dex? The Dipplin entry?”

“Yes! Fascinating how a syrupy apple can take the Applin line down a different evolutionary route. What about it?”

“Did you know they can evolve further?”

Jacq grips the frames of his glasses in bewilderment. 

“Whaaaaat?! Then…”

He scrolls furiously through his own Kitakami data that he had transferred from Juliana's dex, before his expression morphs into one of confusion. “I…don't see it. It should be after Dipplin, correct? I imagine it would be more likely to be native to that region.”

“That's the thing,” she says with a frown. “It's registering in the Blueberry dex, I think because I encountered one here. It might be the only one of its kind. There could be more, but the requirements are pretty specific.”

“That's fascinating. What's it called? How did you encounter it? And what are the requirements for evolution? I have so many questions!”

Juliana shifts to the side, pulling at Kieran's blazer sleeve and unceremoniously yanking him into view. 

Wait.

Huh???

“Meet my friend, Kieran. He discovered…Hydrapple?”

Jacq's face lights up. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Kieran! Please, you must tell me about Hydrapple, the requirements for evolution…goodness, actually if it's not too much of a hassle, could you show Hydrapple to me, too?”

Kieran blinks, stunned. 

Was it…had it really been that big of a deal?

“Oh! Uh, yeah, sure. Hold on.”

Kieran angles Juliana’s Rotom phone to face his Hydrapple, currently basking in the artificial sunlight of the Coastal Biome. Jacq examines the pokemon before him, engrossed. Juliana can see him tapping some notes of his own on the side, presumably to add to his own Pokedex once the Blueberry dex app has been fully downloaded on his end. Jacq asks the occasional question, which Kieran attempts to answer to the best of his ability. 

“That's intriguing that it requires learning a technical machine to evolve, rather than a move it would naturally learn in the wild. That would create a huge bottleneck to Hydrapple population sizes. Dragon Cheer is utilized in Double and Multi Battles, which could imply a dependence on other dragon species to survive, perhaps a mutualistic relationship…”

Jacq continues to ramble, lost in thought. 

Juliana clears her throat. 

“Ah, my apologies!” he says, abashed. “I got carried away. It's quite a feat to discover a new species on your own. Have you ever considered academia or a research position? It can be challenging work, but Clavell and I still have a few ties from our previous posts.”

Kieran gapes at him, dumbfounded. A research position? He hadn't even considered such a thing before, let alone what he would consider for his career track. He knew battling was a passion of his and was a potential future for him. When he had thought of research, he had usually thought of his sister. 

“Uh…Mr. Jacq,” Juliana interrupts awkwardly, “he's a Blueberry student. The school Champion, actually.”

“Another Champion-ranked trainer! A real power couple,” Jacq teases jovially, as Juliana makes a sound comparable to a squashed Stunfisk in flustered dismay, a flush consuming her face. Kieran chokes on nothing.

Why even say something like that??? What was he thinking???

“I—um, w-wait, it's not—”

“I'm sorry! Couldn't help myself. I imagine it would be difficult then…and I don't have many Unovan contacts. But wait, if there's an exchange program for Blueberry, wouldn't there be a reciprocal program for students there to come here?”

Juliana scrambles to recover her poise. “Well…I think I only got here through a recommendation. I haven't heard of an equivalent exchange program on our end.”

“Hmm. Well that may change down the line, who knows. Kieran, if you ever do find yourself in Paldea, come see me. Juliana knows where to find me. We can make some arrangements if you're interested.”

Kieran fiddles restlessly with his lock of hair. Sure, he is the Champion of a prestigious academy, but…to be receiving accolades from a foreign professor for stumbling upon a new species? The imposter syndrome is real. 

“But…me discoverin’ Hydrapple was a mistake…”

“And that's how many discoveries have been made in the field of science!” Jacq exclaims. “Through mistakes, trial and error. Sometimes it's part of the process. There's a method to the madness and, for some, a madness to the method.” 

Kieran tries to think about the offer. A future in Paldea? With Juliana?

He really hadn’t thought about his future. He had loved battling—everyone seemed to, at this school. At one point, he had considered trying the Unovan League Challenge, since he was attending school in the region anyway. Or potentially attempting the Sinnohan League if he were to return home immediately after graduation. There was also the potential to take over his grandfather’s craft—he had dabbled in woodworking with him a few times in his shop, making small carvings here and there. Nothing spectacular, in his own opinion, but he had been told he had notable potential. It was a possibility, at any rate, to continue the Kitakamian traditions passed down from his ancestors. 

However, ever since he had returned from his homeland, he had only been fixated on becoming stronger, better than his rival, someone whom she could look upon with respect and admiration. The image of her from the school trip had lived rent-free in his head for months upon months, goading him on to greater heights, pushing his body relentlessly past limits in ways that he hadn’t thought humanly possible. If he were told a week ago that he would be offered an opportunity to work and live in Paldea, to be in the same region as Juliana, he would have told them to get their head checked at the nurse’s office by an Audino. It would have been an inconceivable notion.

The idea fills him with an elated thrill. He could really go to Paldea…he could have a potential future there. Perhaps he would run into Juliana. They could catch up over lunch, they could spend time together on their days off, she could show him her favorite places in the region—

Wait.

Wait.

He has to dial that thought process back at Extremespeed.

There isn’t even an exchange program to Paldea in place yet. Why imagine such things if there is no possible way to obtain them? It is unrealistic to the extreme.

“I’ll…consider it, I guess, if I ever find myself in Paldea,” Kieran says tentatively. 

“That’s great! I’m sure Juliana would love to show you around too,” Jacq beams, to Juliana's increasing embarrassment. “Anyway, I have to prepare for my presentation tomorrow at the WPES. Turns out they needed a speaker last minute to discuss convergent species. But keep me updated! As your homeroom teacher, I'd like to make sure you're doing okay over there.”

“Will do! Thank you for your time Mr. Jacq!”

“Of course, Juliana. Talk to you later!”

As the Rotom phone converts to its default home screen, Kieran turns to face her, his expression indicative of someone lost in thought.

“So uh…he seems like a nice guy. So the creator of the Pokedex app is really your homeroom teacher?”

“Yep,” she replies. “He seems kinda messy and all over the place, but he's one of the more chill homeroom teachers. Personally, I think I lucked out.”

“Huh. By the way, what's…WPES?”

She hums in recognition. “Oh, that stands for World Pokemon Ecological Society. His research focuses on ecologically similar pokemon like Dugtrio and Wugtrio. Or Toedscruel and Tentacruel.”

Kieran tries to imagine himself doing something similar down the line—presenting at a conference where people from different regions would gather to hear his findings. The very idea seemed nerve wracking. At least when one battled, their pokemon did most of the talking for then, through fighting prowess. But then again, Jacq seems like a pretty laid back guy. If he could manage such a feat, then maybe Kieran could too.

“Interestin’. I dunno, how would ya fe—”

Something disrupts him from his train of thought. Something wet. A few drops casting a light spray of mist upon colliding with his forehead, the bridge of his nose.

And then it pours.

He recognizes this—he had trained in such conditions himself plenty of times, during the off-hours of the Terarium, when it was necessary to recalibrate some of the environmental measurements and divest the systems of excess water and pressure. 

It was the inclement weather of the Terarium. Storm weather. 

It hadn't been forecasted on the Terarium weather schedule, like these sorts of things usually were. Something must have happened—some kind of technical malfunction or something that triggered an atmospheric sensor incorrectly. Either way, the result is a veritable deluge that obscures their surroundings, curtains of water that drown out any other sound than the seething hiss of rain pounding the surrounding grasslands and newly-formed mud. He hears a shriek of surprise next to him and swiftly pivots to see Juliana scrambling to call back her pokemon whilst simultaneously scooping up her picnic supplies. He doesn't have much time to ogle the way the dew catches on her thick lashes, or the way her drenched hair wildly plasters to her face and neck, or the way her saturated clothes cling to her frame. All things considered, he feels that he is probably a downright mess at the moment, himself. A lanky, soggy mess. He has to quickly snap himself into awareness, hurriedly putting away utensils, cups, tablecloth alike, before calling back his own team—to the comedic disappointment of his Politoed.

Kieran scans their surroundings with one glance. There aren't any caves nearby, and the rest area—while visible from a distance—isn't within close proximity. They could attempt to just send it and ride Dragonite as quickly as possible to the entrance—it would be faster than waiting for the next Flying Taxi, at any rate. 

As he whips through the potential options in his head, he hears the sound of taut fabric springing open, a metallic frame clicking into place—

An umbrella?

No…a utility umbrella.

An umbrella used primarily for pokemon battles. 

“Juli…What're you doin’ with a utility umbrella?” he shouts over the din of the torrential downpour.

“What're you doing out there? Come here!”

“It's fine, I've trained in this before!” This is nothing, compared to the other times I've put myself through.

“Seriously? Well you're not training now, right? Get in here!”

She yanks at his sopping blazer sleeve in such a way that he briefly loses his footing on the slippery mud beneath them, skidding forward with his weight shifting somewhat backwards with the momentum of her pull. He has to steady himself, overcompensating by leaning his chest forward as he flings his hands on her shoulders. The end result is a collision signified by the slap of wet fabric, a startled grunt, a hitched intake of breath as he scrabbles for purchase on the girl in front of him and she adjusts herself in a more balanced position, one foot grounded at an angle behind the other. They cling to each other for stability, heat flooding his cheeks at his own gracelessness as Kieran straightens himself and swiftly bangs his head on the underside of the umbrella that Juliana holds aloft. 

“Sorry! You might need to hold it,” she says breathlessly, offering the umbrella shaft to him. “You're too tall.”

He flounders to grasp at the umbrella held out to him, his damp hands sliding from the rain slick before he tightens his grip on the handle, sheltering them both.

“Why do ya have this anyway?” he rasps. “This is specifically used in battle to cancel out rain an' harsh sunlight.”

“I got it once in Cascarrafa on a whim. I've only really used it once to neutralize Crispin's Sunny Day utilization from his Talonflame.”

Now that he thinks about it, he does briefly remember a pokemon goofily wielding an umbrella during that battle. He had been lurking from a distance, observing the back and forth nature of their battle, assessing how far she had come since their meeting in Kitakami.

“There's better items that ya could've used, ya know.” 

“Well, be glad I didn't,” she says dryly, a hint of sass in her voice that initiates a kick flip in his gut, “otherwise we'd be even more soaked than we already are.”

“I think we've gone past the point of no return,” he replies monotonously. “We'll have to change before class. Do we even have time to get to the dorms before class starts?”

She partially pulls her Rotom phone from the damp pocket of her trousers. “We got time. We could even make it fine just walking back to the entrance.”

“In this?” He gestures to the torrential rains surrounding them.

“I mean, it's kind of cool, right?” she breathes. “It kind of feels like it's just us out here.”

It does, in a way, he realizes. The sheets of rain are so impenetrable that it renders any view beyond twenty feet or so difficult. The modest perimeter of the umbrella provided a cozy refuge from the deluge surrounding them. He could still feel the drenched cotton of his blazer weighing him down, leeching his body heat and seeping cold, insidious, down to his bones. He had trained enough to push past the feeling, himself, but any sense of dissociation he could muster disintegrates when he feels a sudden tremor by his side. 

It becomes all too transparent when Juliana futilely attempts to suppress the shivers racking her body. 

His own blazer was rendered damp and useless—it would only make her colder. The only thing they could do was either walk back with the umbrella, hope that a Flying Taxi could pick them up despite the extremely low visibility, try to get to the entrance as quickly as possible on Koraidon, or chance it with a flying pokemon despite the flight risk. But if Juliana was already in this state, he doesn't want to risk exacerbating it further. He checks his Rotom phone, fumbling with the icons until he reaches the Flying Taxi app with its corresponding maps.

Temporarily out of service due unanticipated inclement weather. Great.

That left…

As if on some unspoken agreement, they huddle closer together, shoulders brushing as they set off to the entrance. It is similar to the sensation he had felt when they had spent time together on the secluded islet off the coast, obscured in gloam and sheltered by the sea. They were once again in some liminal space, sequestered from reality, cloistered and sanctified by the downpour encompassing them.

Kieran knows that there has to be some students around them, perhaps evacuating from the storm as well. If there are, it’s impossible to discern their outlines or make out any sounds. He tries to not think too much about how absurd they must look—the Champion of Blueberry Academy and a Champion of the Paldean League, huddled together and currently shuffling through wet sand under the shelter of a utility umbrella intended for pokemon battle usage. The only solace is that it must be equally difficult to perceive them through the blustering rain. 

Every brush of their shoulders jolts his awareness in the direction of their contact. He briefly contemplates draping an arm over her shoulder—to consolidate the limited space they have underneath the refuge of the umbrella, of course. He had done it before, assisting her to the post room earlier in the day. There was a precedent…although he had been doing it to help her at the time. Would it be considered excessive? Would she read into the gesture? 

And then it hits him, as they cross into the churned, muddy expanse and coarse grasses of the Savanna Biome. 

The implications send a shockwave up his spine, his heart stuttering to a stop, giddy apprehension clawing at his chest.

Aiaigasa.

If he were back home doing this, they would be the subject of relentless ribbing. He would never hear the end of it. The concept was generally Kantonian, but was renowned in Kitakami, Sinnoh, Hoenn, and Johto as well. There was a strong symbolism associated with sharing an umbrella—stemming from a play on words. Aiai—Kantonian for “doing things together” and kasa—“umbrella,” converted to gasa through rules for joining words or morphemes. “Ai ” also shared the same pronunciation as the word for love in Kantonian, having the added infamy of being read as “love love umbrella.” It could be interpreted as a romantic gesture back home, where public displays of affection were usually not encouraged. Things were getting more accepted in the urban centers of Kanto and Johto, but Kitakami had not quite caught up with the times yet. Heat floods his face as he recalls Peachy referring to the reputed “Lovey Dovey” couple of Kitakami with a nod of her head as he had purchased some snacks. What had she said?

“Those two are already sharin’ an umbrella, dontcha know?”

Kieran recalls the graffiti carved into telephone poles, the simplistic scribbles of infatuated teenagers: umbrellas topped with hearts, with names scrawled in Kantonian along either side of its handle. He used to roll his eyes when encountering these doodles—partially from the sting of resentment. There hadn’t been a time in his life where he would imagine anyone liking him like that, in that way. All those scenes that he had seen play out in his grandmother’s soaps or his sister’s manga—young couples huddled under an umbrella in the midst of a deluge, the teasing of classmates, drawings on a chalkboard…he had deemed that none of these sorts of things would lie in his future.

Yet here he is, the universe having a laugh at his expense as he burns from the inside out with longing.

Juliana wouldn’t understand the significance…she couldn’t. He couldn’t imagine that it was a known trope in Galar or in Paldea. She would have no reason to know. He had somehow stumbled upon this strange scenario by complete accident—sharing an umbrella with the girl he has been…obsessed, besotted with for nearly a year. Aiaigasa.  

He peers at her from his peripheral vision. She seems to be more concentrated on the path ahead of them, doing her best to prevent her shoes from getting suctioned off of her feet and into the muck. Probably a more pressing concern, to be fair. He tries to focus, to will the hammering in his chest to subside. Kieran attempts to channel his attention on making a beeline to the entrance, having enough experience in the biome that he can determine their location based on some landmarks, only to find that there is a presence missing beside him, alerted by the twinge in his sternum.

Juliana had stopped a few feet behind, peering at something she had retrieved from her bag, oblivious to the rain soaking her body.

“Juli…what is it?” he asks in alarm, doubling back to hold the umbrella above her.

“The egg…”

“Uh, egg…? What egg?”

“The egg from Friday…I…I think it’s hatching…”

Oh Arceus, that egg??

The egg from his Incineroar and her Meowscarada?

It’s hatching now???

They stare in disbelief as the egg quivers with increasing intensity, cracks running across its surface and spreading. Shell fragments fly as a small, green nose nudges its way out of the remaining gap. 

A newborn Sprigatito. 

It mewls beseechingly as Juliana hurriedly discards the remaining, damp shell fragments, tossing them aside. It wasn’t the optimal time, out in the middle of a storm, before their afternoon classes—they would have to obtain the usual scheduled vaccinations at the nurse’s office after their classes ended. 

“We have to take responsibility,” she murmurs, as Kieran’s brain briefly short-circuits. For a fleeting moment, he had envisioned an entirely different parallel universe, with an entirely different set of circumstances leading to this exact phrase being mentioned. A flush creeps up his neck in response to the strange tangent his brain had sent him down. It was the way she had phrased it—as if they were the parents of a newborn. 

In a way, they were??? Poke Parents???

He tries to grapple with this bewildering train of thought, as Juliana taps her Poke Ball gently on the Sprigatito. “To keep him out of the rain,” she supplies, oblivious to his internal strife. 

“I…uh, right.”

As she makes to place the Poke Ball in her bag, she pauses. Looks at him with a curious, considering expression.

“Would…you like to have Sprigatito?”

“...m-me??”

“Yeah! I mean, I already have my Meowscarada who I’m more than happy with, plus Sprigatito is Paldean. It would kind of be cool to have a pokemon from Paldea, right? Plus…it’d make me happy.”

He had to take up her offer now. Otherwise, he would come across as an absolute jerk. He knows little about how Meowscarada would perform on a competitive scene. In addition, he had formulated and balanced his team with certain specifics in mind. 

But Arceus.

It would make her happy?

He is done for.

Kieran flounders for his composure. “Sure…I mean, would it be okay? Wowzers, um…”

It occurs to him then. It is only fair.

He braces the umbrella handle in the crook of one arm while rooting for his Rotom phone in his shorts pocket. As he takes it out, he frantically skims through the icons for…

There it is. His Boxes.

“Kieran? What are you doing?” she asks, baffled.

His eyes quickly scan the occupants of his pokemon storage. Yanmega, Gliscor, Shiftry…

“I…it’s only fair if I trade ya somethin’ in return,” he says distractedly, worry tinged in his voice.

“Hey it’s fine! You don’t have to!”

He knows. But he also knows that it wouldn’t sit right with him to let her go empty-handed with a one-sided trade. Trading a pokemon with someone signalled the establishment of friendships, or the progression of existing friendships. It was a pact made by both parties to care for each other’s pokemon, symbolizing their bond. There was a reason why traded pokemon would grow and accrue experience faster. 

Kieran continues to peruse his Boxes. Probopass, Cramorant…Furret…

There.

It had been a side project for him—acquiring an Applin with the Hidden Ability: Bulletproof. It had taken him longer than he had initially anticipated, but he had finally accomplished it. And now—in an act that “past him” from a week ago would have considered inconceivable—he is going to offer it up as a gift to someone else instead. It’s the only pokemon that he would consider significant enough to give to her in exchange. He had put in some work. At least, in his eyes, it would be a pokemon worthy enough to give to Juliana. If she really wanted to, he could even try to find her a syrupy apple, so that she could have a Dipplin of her own (or even a Hydrapple of her own, if she got around to defeating Drayton and obtaining Dragon Cheer). Something to remember him by, to remember his homeland—something without the awkward residual memories that Ogerpon could potentially elicit.

He takes Applin from his box, temporarily putting his Porygon-Z away before stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He goes to his satchel to ensure the transfer went smoothly, and sure enough, he locates the appropriate Poke Ball for his Applin. 

She eyes the Poke Ball in his hand inquisitively. “I’ll admit, you’ve got me curious.”

“‘m not gonna give it away, if that’s what you’re tryin’ to do.”

Juliana huffs a laugh. “Fine, you got me,” she says. “Well, thank you! That’s sweet of you.”

Kieran tries to settle the hyperactive Butterfree fluttering in his stomach as they exchange pokemon. Would she like it? It wasn’t like it was a rare one, but—

When she opens the proffered Poke Ball before her, she freezes.

There is complete silence amidst the steady downpour drumming the surface of their umbrella as she mutely beholds the tiny Applin in the palms of her equally tiny hands. Kieran faintly wonders if she is able to hear his heart battering rapidfire against his sternum, his blood rushing to his head and furiously pounding against his eardrums.

Oh Arceus oh no I fucked up I irreversibly fucked up, she hates it, she—

When she finally looks up at him, he feels his breath lock up in his chest in a vice grip.

Juliana is looking at him as if he had hung the moon and stars, as if he had done something so profound that it had shattered reality itself. As if she had been bowled over, grasping at pieces of herself in an epiphanic aftermath. In all of his life, he could not recall being under such an intense gaze before. Almost as if she is searching for something in his eyes, seeking an answer. People had looked at him before, but it’s the first time that he could recall someone really looking at him, really seeing him for who he is—he almost feels exposed and naked under her gaze, sending shivers down his spine. She beholds him with a reverence imbued with desperation and he doesn’t understand what he has done to elicit this response. 

He swallows. “‘m sorry, if ya don’t like him. I mean, is he okay…?”

Kieran’s interjection seemingly shifts her from whatever headspace she had previously occupied. Something flickers in her eyes—realization, melancholy, acceptance, amusement. It eventually settles on fondness, a need to quickly reassure.

“I love him,” she says softly. “Really! He makes me happy, more than you could ever know.”

More than you could ever know.

Juliana had been sincere. She had realized in that brief instance that he hadn’t quite understood the meaning of what he had done. Frankly, she couldn’t really blame him—after all, it was primarily a Galarian tradition, and he hadn’t grown up with the omnipresent internet access that a Rotom phone could provide. He was a country boy. Is a country boy. It made sense that he didn’t know. However, she would also be lying if she said she hadn’t felt a twinge of sorrow at the realization that he hadn’t intended it in that way. There had been a heart-stopping moment where she really thought he reciprocated her feelings. 

Still though. She looks at the Applin before her and feels a warmth unfurling in her chest. The Applin line is so… Kieran. It is endearing, really. Juliana had come to automatically associate Applin and its subsequent evolutions—Dipplin, and now Hydrapple—with the young man standing before her. In a way, it is almost like having a part of him with her, wherever she would go or end up in the future. She mentally makes a few adjustments as she shifts the layout of her team, coordinating where an Applin and its potential evolutions might fit in. 

“Are…ya sure? It’s just…the way ya reacted…I thought…”

“Oh! No, I really do love him. In fact, I’m trying to figure out how he can fit into my main team, and what I should evolve him into…it’s pretty exciting actually!”

The way he beams in response makes her stomach do a flip. 

“Wowzers…that’s…that’s great! Uh, I can definitely go over Dipplin care, if you’re interested. I can probably get a hold of a syrupy apple too if you’d like!”

Juliana nods enthusiastically as she returns Applin to his Poke Ball, before they continue to make their muddy trek back to the dorms. As they pass a nearby herd of Girafarig, Kieran can’t help but wonder. The questions swirling in his mind linger beyond their walk back to the dorms, beyond classes and well into the evening.

What was up with her reaction earlier? 

Was there some kind of meaning that he had missed?

Chapter Text

Juliana had a fair amount of experience with trains before.

Of course, the entirety of her experience consisted of the Galarian Railway, during the times when she hadn't opted for Flying Taxis entrusted to sturdy Corviknight. The trains in Galar were generally spacious, refurbished carriages with plush, transverse seats and tables, intended for lengthy rides ranging from Wedgehurst to Wyndon. One could peer over rolling, idyllic landscapes, taking in the lush expanse of the Wild Area, with only the occasional interruption via sporadic Wooloo crossings. Nothing too disruptive, at any rate. 

Their commute to Nimbasa would not be that kind of train ride, as she soon learns. The Unovan subway system is a different breed altogether.

Getting there had been an overall smooth affair. They had departed their school at eight in the morning to take the earliest ferry out to Castelia City, the brisk ocean breeze on the walkway signaling the firm entrenchment of fall out in the Unovan sea. Juliana had to bundle herself securely in one of her old, lightweight Galarian coats to ward off the chill, having adapted to the sunlit Paldean climate back home a little too readily, along with the temperate, controlled climate of the academy. It would take a little while for her to adjust to colder climes again, although it wasn't impossible. 

Thinking about it, it had been strange to see everyone in clothes that weren't school uniforms. Carmine had opted for something fashionable—some sort of elegant, cable knit sweater dress with leggings that she managed to pull off with an effortless grace that Juliana could only fathom she could get away with in some alternate dimension. She considered herself too ungainly, too awkward to pull off fashionable clothes in general, really. She was always on the go with Koraidon, constantly in action. Practical was the adjective she would use to describe her wardrobe. Juliana briefly wondered what Kieran would think, if she were to actually put effort into her appearance for once, before she nipped that thought in the bud. 

Speaking of. Kieran himself was wearing one of his casual hoodies that she recalled having seen draped over the edge of his bed, a jacket tucked over the crook of an elbow. Drayton had been the last of them to saunter outside, wearing his usual Maschiff jacket with a muscle tee and sweatpants, shrugging off the chilly winds as if they were a balmy Alolan breeze. To her surprise, he also had a coat with him, as well as a drawstring gym bag. 

“You actually need a coat this time?” Carmine had asked, also apparently baffled. “Don't you practically live in the snow?”

Drayton gave her a cheeky grin. “It's more for you, if you need it.”

From Juliana's peripheral vision, she could see Carmine jabbing him in the ribs with a sharp elbow, catching something along the lines of “bozo” being muttered under her breath. This was followed by, “Your face is really living up to your name, huh,” promptly accompanied with wild cackling. Was Juliana the only one seeing this? 

No, she could see Kieran scowling in their direction. More so at Drayton.

Thankfully, Kieran had visibly relaxed more during their ferry ride, taking in the sights and sounds of the ocean. Kitakami is relatively landlocked—coming to Blueberry for the first time with his sister had been mind blowing. It was hardly conceivable to begin with—that they were to attend a prestigious academy built out at sea, complete with an underwater nature preserve linked to an undersea tunnel system, accessible…to a certain extent. It had been primarily utilized for its connection to the resource development plant built atop the seabed—for surveying and marine research conducted away from the prying eyes of students. The system, itself, is still a project in progress as well, under the guidance and jurisdiction of the Unova Transportation Authority or UTA for short. In due time, the goal is for the tunnels to connect to all the pertinent coastal towns.

For now, they had to settle with more mundane modes of transportation. It wasn’t all bad, Kieran had thought to himself, despite the relentless oceanic winds buffeting him, rendering his face numb with the chill. He could discern flocks of Wingull gracefully skimming over crests of whitewash, ready for the slightest chance to catch a Finneon surfacing for sunlight. A school of Mantine breaching the surface, gliding and performing aerial acrobatics as they raced each other over the open seas. Juliana had pointed to a pod of Wailmer further out, only to start when a Wailord had suddenly surfaced with a spout of compressed air. The Terarium was amazing in its own way, but it was truly a marvel to see pokemon thriving in their natural habitats. 

A small part of him thought back to the conversation they had had the night before last—what it would be like to travel with Juliana by his side. Seeing new sights, taking them in together, sharing those moments with her. He could be there to see the marvelment in her eyes as they partook in new experiences, new exciting vistas, new chapters in their lives. His discussion with Jacq had only egged these thoughts on further, when the professor had introduced the idea of working and living in Paldea as a remote, semi-concrete possibility. Perhaps he really could—

Kieran forced himself to stop that thought process in its tracks. 

He wasn’t thinking straight. There were a multitude of issues to contend with—the fact that they almost lived on entirely opposite sides of the planet, that they attended different schools an ocean apart, that she was an exchange student bound to leave Blueberry Academy eventually, to return home to the friends that awaited her, including Arven…They had established the other day that there was no current exchange program in place, no express route or excuse for him to be in Paldea. Without an exchange program to take him in, the point was moot. It's just as well, really. She had a full life awaiting her back home, where she would continue to grow and thrive without him. 

There was that other issue as well, the one that he would prefer to bury deep within him, in the remote recesses of his mind. He didn’t want to hold it against her, not after everything, but—

She had to have seen his memories of the school field trip back home. That could be the only explanation as to why she had reacted the way she had yesterday, bringing up Ogerpon. In turn, it had refreshed those memories for him as well, dredging them back up to the surface when he would have preferred to ignore them. Kieran couldn’t shake off the nagging, persistent feeling that he was missing a crucial detail, a key element that could explain why she would lie about something so important to him. He had spent enough time around her lately that it was triggering a headache-inducing cognitive dissonance within him—a splitting contrast between the Juliana he had witnessed in Kitakami and the Juliana he had come to know at Blueberry. What was he missing—

He shook himself from his train of thought. His rumination wasn’t helping in the slightest. They had to concentrate on finding the Art Club alumnus, enjoying their time on the Battle Subway. It was their first outing to the Unovan mainland, together.

Kieran gazed at the girl beside him, engrossed by the playful acrobatics of the Mantine keeping pace with their ferry. The pure, delighted joy on her face as her unkempt braid whipped around from the oncoming, brisk winds of the Unovan sea. 

For now, he could at least pretend that it would all work out in the end.

It is impossible to ignore the audible intake of breath beside him as they approach Prime Pier. Juliana had never seen Castelia City before. To be fair, Kieran hadn’t either. However, he knows what to expect, having seen pictures of Amarys’ hometown whenever she spent time with his sister—during the days where he had been Carmine’s constant shadow. 

It is dense, compact. Sleek skyscrapers reaching out to pierce the stratosphere, a forest of metallic monoliths that reflects sunlight back at the heavens. Dazzling and imposing in equal measure. He could see how Amarys—a Steel-type specialist—would fit right in here. The city itself is an ode and a tribute to the artistry that could be wrought with steel, iron, aluminum, and copper. 

Prime Pier is bustling with activity when they dock. 

Drayton stretches his arms over his head leisurely as they disembark. “Okay, so we want to catch the E to Nimbasa. Lucky for us, it’s the shortest ride of them all. South Pier Station is nearby, so if we head down to Mode Street, we should find it easily.”

“Mode Street…” Carmine trails off as they make their way down the wharf, “...isn’t that where that Casteliacone place is?”

Drayton grins. “Considering ice cream for breakfast? Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Shut up,” she huffs. “Would you seriously consider it for breakfast?”

“Hey, why not? It’s a holiday, live it up a little. At least it’s an option. I heard that a while back, it was ridiculously popular, to the point where it’d be impossible to get one. It went through a slump before Champion Nate took over for Iris.”

“How is Iris doing, anyway?”

“Crazy as always, in the best way possible. You guys down for a Casteliacone?”

Juliana does her best not to laugh at the way Kieran’s eyes light up at the mere mention of ice cream, despite his attempt at a stoic countenance. He had become easier to read in the passing days they had spent together. “I think that’s a yes,” she affirms with the most deadpan expression she can muster.

It’s once they make their way across Oceanfront Road that it hits them.

People in this city move fast.

The streets are teeming with a diverse array of people rushing as if they are perpetually five minutes late to every appointment known to man—a veritable human highway cutting through the sprawling metropolis before them. It’s a far cry from Mesagoza. Juliana is forced into an awkwardly long stride in order to keep up with the hustle and bustle of pedestrian traffic. They keep to the west side among the treeline, attempting to not ogle at a peculiar man playing a trombone whilst hanging upside-down on some nearby scaffolding. She had heard about some strange shenanigans occurring in Unova before, especially in the major cities, but it hadn’t really occurred to her until now. The most she’d seen in Galar was a clawfoot bathtub in Wyndon in the middle of a road, which had really been nothing until an unassuming bloke had sat up from it, looked around, and lay back down. Even that had been tame though, compared to almost living through another Darkest Day. 

Now that Juliana thinks about it, she wonders if Kieran has ever had much in the way of exposure to some of the stranger urban dwellers she’s seen before. She knows that Carmine is relatively well-traveled due to her research trips, but—

She turns to look at Kieran and sure enough, he has a completely befuddled expression on his face. Carmine manages to look even more weirded out, if that’s possible, visibly tense as she scans the teeming masses around them. 

They manage to squeeze past a throng of tourists standing in the middle of the road and bypass the Studio Castelia entrance, before Drayton veers towards a cheerful, pink ice cream stand with an equally cheerful, blue-striped awning. 

“Here for a Casteliacone bright and early I see,” the stall owner notes. “Would you like one or a dozen? It’s 100 pokedollars each.”

“A dozen??” Carmine blanches.

“Three for each of us? Maybe it’s doable?” Juliana shrugs. Kieran stands off to the side, seriously contemplating this dairy-based arithmetic. 

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening. You guys have a bottomless stomach or something?”

“For ice cream? Always.”

“Aaagh! One. One cone. That’s it. We don’t have time if you want to check out that address in Nimbasa.”

This is true. Their time is rather limited for the day. In fact, all things considered, it isn’t even a guarantee that the student would be at the address still, or that they would be at home, holiday notwithstanding. Furthermore, the Multi Line they intend to take essentially functions as a round trip, with a midway point in Striaton. Even more so, if they were to qualify for the Super Multi, it could take them all the way to Humilau. If one were to lose their streak, they would still have to wait for the other trainers who defeated them to complete their circuits, with only two guaranteed stops for the regular lines—the platform in Nacrene on the way to Striaton and coming back from Striaton, where trainers could transfer to the Nimbasa commuter line directly. The Battle Subway is a renowned time commitment for the most dedicated trainers. 

“Okay, I see your point,” Juliana relents. “One cone, and then we’ll head out.”

They order their Casteliacones, before making their way briskly down the rest of Mode Street, leading into the Castelia Central Area (also called Central Plaza, although they avoid the term to reduce their own confusion with the Central Plaza of the Terarium). They find a bench overlooking the large, central fountain, where they silently watch a strange man grasp a nearby, rotund Pidove and stuff it inside his trench coat pocket. The adjacent flock of equally rotund Pidove look on, unconcerned and uncomprehending.

“I don't know how Amarys does it,” Carmine utters.

“Does what?” Juliana asks.

“Live here. With a straight face.”

“People just get used to it,” Drayton laughs. “They probably just mind their own business and carry on.”

“Maybe that’s why Amarys seems so…unflappable?” Juliana muses. “Because she’s already seen the weirdest stuff possible. Maybe nothing surprises her after having to live here.”

“Well…she might seem rigid, but she has a sensitive streak a mile wide,” he replies. “Still though, I’m sure she’s had to put up with some strange shit here. By the way, how’re you guys enjoying your first Casteliacones? I’m assuming it’s your first time, right?”

Juliana takes another nibble of the soft serve before her, savoring the sweet, light creaminess melting in her mouth. 

“It’s really good! Kinda different from the ice cream back home so it’s hard to compare.”

Kieran forcefully commandeers the last of his self control to tear his peripheral vision away from the strange man, who is attempting to sequester yet another Pidove into the infinite hammerspace of his trenchcoat. The idea of Paldea had occupied his mind yesterday afternoon, well into the night, more than he’d like to admit. “Huh, what’s so different about them?” he asks, more to induce Juliana to discuss her home region than anything else.

She gazes up in thought. “Hmm…I guess the ice cream there is more dense? Like Casteliacones feel refreshing and light. Paldean ice cream is more rich and heavy, but there’s more flavors too. The Nacli salt one is really good, and there’s even Teriyaki.”

He blinks. “There’s Teriyaki ice cream? Seriously?” 

“Don’t knock it until you try it. Guess you’ll just have to come over and see for yourself then, huh?”

Kieran attempts to ignore the shrewd, thoroughly amused look that Drayton casts in his direction.

The mezzanine for the subway is warm, heavy, still. And alive. A cacophony of chatter in a multitude of languages, the clatter of footsteps, the rumbling of a departing train. 

They purchase the necessary stubs from a nearby kiosk to pass through, making it through the turnstile before finding the set of stairs leading them down to the Nimbasa platform. At the bottom of the steps, they find themselves having to make room for a figure in a Rattata costume and a gray suit, doggedly dragging a pizza slice the size of their body with their mouth. 

“Oh, it's Pizza Rattata,” Drayton notes mildly, as everyone comes to a screeching halt mid-step. 

“Excuse me, Pizza what? ” Carmine asks monotonously. 

“Pizza Rattata,” he repeats helpfully with a shrug. “Some performance artist who makes his rounds pretending to be the Rattata who went viral for dragging a pizza in its mouth up a platform. Funny to see him here.”

They stand there, rendered speechless. 

“Is this a normal thing for Unovan train stations?” Juliana queries, perplexed.

“To varying degrees. Usually it's more along the lines of music—your typical busking.”

As they proceed further onto the platform, they behold clusters of Castelia residents and tourists alike awaiting the next train, along with the largest, plumpest colony of Rattata that Juliana has ever seen in her life—granted, she had only seen them in pictures before. There weren’t really any in Paldea or Galar.

“Holy shit, they get that big?” Juliana asks in mild horror. She spies one in the distance that looks to be the size of a Greedent—twice as large as a Rattata should be. Perhaps even the size of a Herdier. 

“Yep. We’re lucky that the usual herd of Trubbish aren’t here.”

“Trubbish??”

Off to the side, they witness a performing band of zealous Toxitricity and their trainers playing a rousing rendition of “Houndoom and Gloom”, followed by “Barraskewda”. By the time the train thunders in with an ensuing gust of musty, stale air, they have just started “Carry on Wayward Aron.” The double doors slide apart with a metallic clunk as they give the crowd of commuters pouring forth a wide berth. They seize their chance when the last person steps out, hustling inside to be greeted by muted blue, longitudinal seating, framed by grab rails, interspersed with stanchions and hanging loops bathed in fluorescent lighting. 

“Perfect. Over here.”

Drayton would be the first one to sit down. 

He pats the spot next to him. They hurry over, only to find that someone has already plunked himself down nearby. There would maybe be room for about two more people, besides Drayton. 

He gives Juliana and the Kitakami siblings an appraising look. Mischievous.

“We can all fit if we squeeze in here, nice and cozy,” he suggests mirthfully. 

As more passengers continue to board the carriage, they find out quickly that they have no choice. Seating is a prime commodity. 

“Stand clear of the closing doors, please.”

With a telltale, corresponding jingle, the doors slide to a close and the train shudders forth with a sudden jerk. They swiftly sit down with the momentum in a hurried manner that nearly results in Juliana plopping down on top of Kieran, to her utter mortification and his flustered spluttering. 

“Sorry sorry, I just—”

“Wow, getting down already?” Drayton chortles, barely suppressing his laughter. “Maybe wait until we're back in the dorms though.”

“Shut up knucklehead!” Carmine shrieks.

Juliana wills an Excadrill to dig a hole straight into the planet's core, mercifully taking her with it. 

She sheepishly adjusts herself to sit down properly, wedging herself firmly against Kieran to avoid brushing against the stranger to her left side. They are close—thigh pressed to thigh, arm pressed to arm in a way that Kieran futilely does his best to ignore. He finds her warmth riveting, electrifying—every fiber of awareness being drawn towards their bodily contact, every molecule buzzing with elation. His hoodie suddenly feels too warm, too suffocating. 

Kieran looks to his right and sees his sister aim a knowing smirk in his direction. Great.

He rolls his eyes in embarrassed exasperation before skimming the compartment around them. Most of the commuters—clad in various shades of black—are doing their utmost to avoid eye contact with each other, channeling all of their intent into their Rotom phones or worn paperback novels. He can spy a variety of pokemon within their car, either seated with their trainers or standing. There is a notable pattern—a smattering of emotional support Audinos, a few service Herdier and an Espeon donning labeled vests scattered throughout. A Sawk taking up two seats, in an unnerving rendition of manspreading, ironically next to a laminated public service announcement requesting commuters to ideally save space for other fellow passengers and their service and emotional support pokemon. 

As they settle themselves in their seats, Drayton starts to rummage through his bag, pulling out—

“Are those books?” Carmine asks, baffled. “You read??”

“Trust me, this is a time where you want to.”

She peers down to look at the book cover. “I didn’t take you for a history buff. Galar: A History?”

“It’s more a defensive measure.”

“What?”

“Just look like you’re reading. If you got headphones, even better.”

“Huh?? Why??”

Drayton casually continues to pull out another book, along with two sets of wired earbuds. “Also, if anyone asks you for Pokedollars, just keep your head down. You might see some showtime guys.”

“What the fuck is a showtime guy??”

“If we're lucky, we could witness a turf war with a mariachi band.”

“You're not answering any of my questions. I'm ten seconds away from turning you into history.”

“Murder on the Nimbasa Express? Do tell,” Drayton remarks with a roguish wiggle of his eyebrows.

Carmine groans. 

As Juliana accepts a pair of wired earbuds, she turns to Kieran. “You wanna listen to my Chatotify in the meantime?”

She's close, way too close for him to think of anything properly at all. No cohesive thoughts for you, his brain echoes unhelpfully. Come back one year.

“I, uh—sure.”

Juliana smiles fondly as she hands him one of the earbuds and presses the other inside her ear with some adjustment. She holds her Rotom phone between them, flicking through her Chatotify app. 

“Want to choose something?” she murmurs as she leans close, doing her best to not draw too much attention to themselves. He can feel the wisps of her breath brushing past his face.

“Um, sure,” he breathes, doing his utmost to focus on the screen before him. He inclines his head to Juliana's level to reduce the glare of the fluorescent lighting on her screen, pointing to one of the songs on her playlist. “How ‘bout…Sabbra Kadabra? I don't know that one.”

“You've never heard of Sabbra Kadabra?? That's one of Piers’ older ones too. That just won't do.”

He doesn't know entirely what inspires him to look at her at that exact moment. Perhaps it was her expression of surprise, the utter shock and disbelief in her voice at his admission. 

As he turns to face her on autopilot, he feels something soft, gossamer and warm graze his nose and lips, his nerve endings flaring to life, his breath catching in his throat, what is—

Her face.

Her cheek.

He'd just, did he just, wait—

…did I just…

Did I just kiss her cheek???

Why is her face so close???????

Oh fuck wowzers fuck I'm so fucked—

“W-wowzers,” he stammers as he rears his head back in abject horror from his faux pas, blazing heat consuming him from the inside even as his lips continue to tingle from the aftermath, “uh, I—I’m s-so sorry, I didn't, um—”

It's over it's over I'm done for—

Juliana stares straight ahead, flustered and wild-eyed, her face the exact same shade as a tamato berry. 

“Um…it's—well, it's fine!” she exclaims a little too enthusiastically, in a way that draws a few heads to face their direction. She quickly has to readjust the volume of her voice. “It’s…it's a Paldean thing actually, it's okay—”

Oh Arceus it isn't fine, he internally laments. Look how red in the face she is! She can't even bear to look at me! I've ruined everything, I—

He desperately looks at anything else to persuade the hammering in his chest to subside, to take his mind off of his wildly inappropriate gaff. The ads above them—sure, that works.

An ad from the UTA, with letters in bold saying, “If you see something, say something,” alongside a quote in smaller font saying, 

“Stoutland and I work together. He’s like family. It’s very important to report anything suspicious. It could be nothing. Or it could be something. That’s how important it is.” -Officer Lin, probably

This is wedged in between two more ads, one of which shows a picture of a young Sinnohan man, with the phrase, “Lucas uses Venomo,” with a prominent logo of a Venomoth in the outline of a capitalized V. The other ad features something regarding anger management with a number to call, 555-CALM. 

Calm. Right. Stay calm, it's—

“—t’s SHOWTIME!!!”

…what?

“And here they are,” Drayton says. 

A group of men decked out in Maschiff jackets and baseball caps. Speaker systems and a Loudred, to boot. An obscure hip hop beat begins to issue forth from the Loudred as one of the crew begins to wildly swing on the grab bars of the subway car, performing a mid aerial twist on a stanchion before walking upside down on the ceiling and completing a seamless back flip into a handstand walk. As he strides on his hands past them, he swings his legs to leap back on his feet, his shoe narrowly missing Juliana's face by mere inches. She had quickly managed to dodge to her right, leaning directly into Kieran, her hair flooding his field of vision. He briefly considers the scent of her shampoo before he snaps into awareness, bristling with irritation.

That guy had almost kicked her in the face, what was his problem—

“Just ignore ‘em,” Drayton suggests nonchalantly. Kieran turns to him in annoyance along with Carmine, only to find—

“Your book is upside down, bozo,” Carmine hisses.

Drayton raises his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Oh, is it? See, what would I do without you?”

“How did you not even notice?? What were you even looking at??”

“I was too busy looking at you.”

Carmine suppresses the terrifying amalgamation of a strangled cry and the unhinged shriek of a whistling tea kettle. “How do you even say these things with a straight face??????”

“What can I say? You just bring it out of me naturally.”

Meanwhile, the performer continues to swing wildly around the pole as his friend says something drowned out by the beat, something about “good vibes” and “if you like the show let the hat know,” committing the egregious act of serial fist-bumping down the train carriage while doffing his hat to collect Pokedollars. Kieran notices for the first time that everyone looks bored. Or mildly inconvenienced, if anything. As if they have seen this exact scenario play out multiple times on their commute. A man in a suit continues to read his newspaper, unphased. Multiple people are doing their best to look busy watching something on their Rotom phones or perusing their novels, offering their fists feebly in reluctant tribute.

Arceus, was he going to have to fistbump the guy? Would he be mad if they didn't? The guy's friend had almost left a grimy shoe imprint on Juliana's forehead. The only kind of fistbump Kieran wants to give is one leading directly into this guy's face. 

Just as the exuberant man approaches them with his hat at the ready, the sound of an offended trumpet blares into existence, a guitarrón playing menacingly in the background. 

“¿Por qué están aquí, chicos? Este es nuestro tren,” the man with the guitarrón exclaims, brimming with indignation. 

Juliana perks up.

“What'd he say?” Kieran inquires.

“‘Why are you guys here? This is our train.’ Looks like he might be…Central Unovan?”

“Yup, you got it,” Drayton affirms.

Another man bursts into the car, wielding a vihuela and pushed further in by a flustered Ludicolo. 

“Who are these assholes?” this man fumes in plain old Galarian. “This is our line on Thursdays!” 

“Oh shit,” Drayton says, refusing to elaborate further.

“What the fuck is happening??” Carmine hisses under her breath, wishing that he could, in fact, elaborate further. 

“It's gonna go down, they're gonna fight.”

“Here?? Now???”

“I mean, they're not supposed to, there's a reason they established the Battle Subway, but—”

“But what???”

“People gonna people.”

Musicians continue to pile in the carriage, brandishing accordions, followed by a cheerful group of Maractus. There is a potent pause as blessed, temporary silence fills the car. 

“Loudred, Hyper Voice! Let's make some noise!”

“Ludicolo, Mega Drain!”

The excruciating sound of Hyper Voice reverberates painfully among the limited confines of the carriage, sending people reeling, clapping their hands over their ears in a fit of desperation. The acoustics within this enclosed space are horrific. Juliana flinches, hissing through her teeth.  Was this what it was like to battle in a subway car? From her peripheral vision, she can see Kieran mouthing at her as he winces,

“Are ya okay?”

She grimaces in response.

Ludicolo steps back briefly, before recovering, appearing invigorated as Loudred staggers slightly from the resultant sapping of its energy. 

“Loudred, use Supersonic!”

Pulsating sound waves emit from Loudred, slamming into the Ludicolo across from it. To its chagrin, it continues to do its wild capering dance. 

“My friend here has the hidden ability, Own Tempo,” the guitarrón owner remarks with a smirk. “I'm afraid that won't work. Mega Drain.”

A verdant glow consumes Loudred again as it continues to look increasingly wan and feeble, as Ludicolo continues to appear even more hearty and hale. 

“Loudred, Stomp ‘em out!”

“Ludicolo, Teeter Dance!”

The Ludicolo before them performs a peculiar, wobbling dance, erratic and off kilter in such a way that—combined with the movement of the train—makes Juliana somewhat queasy. It just plumb didn't look right. Loudred wobbles in confusion with it, caught up in its strange gestures, before slamming into a nearby pole in a fit of dizziness.

“Loudred, snap out of it! Hyper Voice!”

Shit, he was going to use that again? It was inflicting damage to passengers in the car around them. Should they intervene? 

Suddenly, a loud speaker crackles to life. 

“Good morning, everyone,” says the garbled, muffled, barely comprehensible voice issuing from the speakers above—their tone suggesting that they are not, in fact, having a good morning, “this is the conductor. I'm speaking to the chucklefucks battling in the back. I can hear you all the way up front. This is a holiday about unity, need I remind you. If I perceive so much as a peep outta you, I'll boot you out the service exit straight into Route 4. Hope you all like sand. Are we clear?”

“What's with the speaker? Could you understand that at all?” Juliana murmurs to Kieran.

“Not really.”

“How come everyone else seems to understand, then?”

“You get used to it,” Drayton shrugs casually.

A deafening silence fills the car as the two warring parties silently fall back and disperse, crestfallen. The commuters continue to browse their phones or read their books, clearly unfazed by the bizarre tableau that had just played out before them. Juliana and Kieran exchange bewildered looks.

“Are you okay?” she asks in a hushed tone.

“I should be askin’ you that,” he replies. “Ya almost got kicked in the head.”

Drayton appraises her, moderately impressed. “Yeah, you dodged that pretty fast. They teach you that in Naranja?”

“Um…no?”

“Can you teach me that, sifu?”

“What?”

“Ya don't have to teach him anythin’,” Kieran states decisively. 

Juliana snorts. 

“Anyway, I still gotta introduce you to Sabbra Kadabra! Before we were…uh, interrupted.”

Kieran pauses. He can still feel the sensation of his lips brushing past her cheek, seared into his nerve endings for life, his blunder from earlier playing endlessly on repeat in his brain. Even now he can still feel the ghost of its touch lingering, distracting him to no end.

“Oh, uh, y-yeah that sounds good, I mean—you’re okay? After, um—”

Arceus don’t bring it back up what are you doing—

He starts when he feels Juliana jostling his shoulder playfully.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” she reassures gently. “It's…actually kind of a Paldean thing? Dos besos. Took me a while to get used to when I first moved there.”

“Dos besos?”

“Uh…two kisses. But they're not, like, actually kisses? It's more like you just…graze each cheek. It's how you greet family, friends, meeting new people—”

Kieran can feel the beginnings of a flush creeping up his neck. This would be unheard of back home. Is this what he would be doing if he were to visit Paldea?

Is that what he would be doing if he were to visit Juliana?

“So…uh, that's how you greet your friends at home then?”

“Nemona and Arven, yeah. Penny, not so much yet. She still gets flustered about it.”

Arven? She and Arven…

They…?

They've kissed each other on the cheek? Regularly?

The implication makes him combust from the inside. She said that's what friends do, right? It's…it's a cultural thing, it's not like she—

“...Kieran? You there?”

He jolts when a hand suddenly waves in front of his face. 

“Oh…uh, sorry.”

Juliana gazes at him with concern. “You were really spacing out there. I thought for a moment there that my cultural tidbit fried your brain.”

“No no, it's not that. Sorry. What were ya sayin’ earlier?”

“You wanna listen in?” she asks, proffering the remaining earbud. She gives him a lopsided smile, her eyes flickering briefly to his own before skittishly looking away.

He attempts to quell his nerves as he takes the bud from her and places it in his ear, dazed at the lack of repulsion that he had initially anticipated. There is something strangely intimate about their situation—pressed shoulder to shoulder, tethered together by the same cable and the same melody. Synchronized wavelengths in harmony.

Kieran soon finds out that she’s right about Sabbra Kadabra. And all the subsequent songs they listen to on the way to their destination. He listens to the cadence and the rhythm, finding solace in the space they share—a shared song that only they can hear and savor. Everything else fades away.

“This is it, guys. We’re here.”

The doors slide open as a gust of balmy, mildewed air wafts inwards. They pour out with the rest of the commuters, making for the stairs, ignoring the Rattata Of Unusual Size lounging next to a column.

“So what was the address again?” Carmine yells above the echoing din of noise, as they ascend the steps to the mezzanine.

“He lives on…” Juliana glances at her phone. “Perlucid Ave?”

“Ah, I think that's a couple blocks from here. We just make a left outside.”

As they climb out of the mezzanine, a rush of light, sound, and crisp autumn air floods their senses. Nimbasa didn't have the same, hurried rush that seemed to characterize Castelia—the reputed economic hub of Unova—but it more than made up for it in terms of sheer numbers, vibrancy and exhilaration. 

The Join Avenue exit gives them a clear view of the prominent Gear Station, with its imposing columns and scarlet banners. Although the Unovan subway utilized a parallel track system for its lines, they did not share the same station as the Battle Subway—in order to reduce congestion and minimize delays. The Battle Subway routes functionally acted as round trips with the occasional stop, further simplifying the urban planning in regards to coordinating the construction of necessary train stops—the one exception to this being the Anville line. Just behind the station, over a footbridge they can see the multicolored chaos of the Musical Theater and the giant expanse of Nimbasa’s Stadium, both festooned with impressive, flashy LED displays. To their right, they observe the entrance to the theme park, an arch embellished with variegated lighting, with the Rondez-View Ferris Wheel looming in the background. One could tell that it would be a spectacle of luminescence once it was nighttime—living up to its slogan: “Lit by the Flash of Lightning.”

“Residential will be this way,” Drayton raises his voice over the susurration of the masses around them. “Stay close.”

“How do you know your way around, anyway?” Carmine inquires suspiciously, hugging her arms close to her frame as they begin to weave their way past a throng of revelers in sports jerseys.

Drayton pulls a dreary face. “Gym leader business. I’d get dragged along on work trips with my Grandpa, whether I liked it or not.”

They cut through the crowds around them. It’s impossible to avoid being jostled entirely, although most people didn’t seem to particularly care either way. The area they are approaching seems more residential—bodegas with their bodega Purrloin; food carts, newsstands, coffee shops, more understated apartment buildings. 

Kieran starts when he feels a warm hand suddenly clasp his own.

“Sorry, it's getting kinda crowded here…can I…?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah. Sure. S-stay close.”

He clasps her small hand in his own as they follow Drayton and Carmine, keeping pace with multitudes of residents and sightseers alike. He feels a brief surge of embarrassment—after all, the last thing he needs is for Drayton to poke more fun at him—but with the oncoming flow of masses heading towards the theme park lying behind them, along with the rapid pace of the residents brushing forward past them, being separated from Juliana is an actual risk. The potential outcome would be far more detrimental than merely being split up or lost. They couldn’t afford to chance it, he reasons to himself. The last thing they need is for Juliana to have a syncopal episode among countless witnesses, before being sent to the nearest hospital.

Kieran also finds it hard to believe that this is Lacey’s hometown. Although he reconsiders. Underneath her penchant for cute things and her sweet disposition, she had an absolute zero tolerance policy for Tauros shit. In a way, it loops back around to making sense again.

They turn onto Perlucid Avenue and soon reach a nondescript apartment building with a matching address. Drayton smoothly catches the open door behind an entering, inattentive tenant, before they hustle their way inside, strolling past a manager’s office shuttered closed for the holiday. As they wait for the elevator, Drayton aims a jovial side-eye in Kieran’s direction that has him promptly releasing Juliana’s hand, as if he had singed his hand from grasping a molten Slugma. 

“Hey, don’t let me stop you,” Drayton chortles mirthfully. 

Why did this knucklehead have to come with them again??

They eventually get off on the fourth floor, heading down a linoleum-lined hallway before stopping at a sturdy wooden door. 407.

This is it.

“Ready?” Juliana queries, casting a nervous glance among their group.

They mutely nod, in various states of discomfort, before she knocks on the door. 

There is a brief scuffling of feet that increases in volume, prior to the door cracking open, revealing a man in his early to mid twenties—blond hair parted to the side, wearing a worn-down Castelia University t-shirt and sweatpants.

“Sorry to bother you…are you Caleb?”

He looks at them with increasing wariness. “Um…yes? Why?”

“Well, we’re students at Blueberry Academy and—”

“Sorry,” he mutters hurriedly as he hastens to close the door in their faces, “I already sent my annual donation to the school…I didn’t even know they sent students in person these days to guilt trip alums. Look, I gotta go—”

“No no wait! Please, it’s not about donations. It’s—”

“Or is it about the Blueberry Bulletin? I kinda want to keep a low profile, I know there’s alums out there traveling and battling in foreign Leagues and doing all these great things, but it’s not like my works have even been in Studio Castelia or anything—”

“—it’s about that painting you gave!”

He pauses. 

“...that painting? As in the one I donated to the Art Club? What about it?”

“We’d like to know more about where it came from…like its history. If you happen to know.”

He looks at them skeptically. “You came all the way out here just to ask me that?”

“Well…something happened—”

“To the painting??”

“No no…the painting is fine. It's…sorry, can we explain inside? Where it's more private?”

Caleb looks at them warily, scanning the four students in front of him, worrying at his lower lip. “Look, um…”

It clicks. He's doing mental calculus, sizing up the capacity of being able to play host to four unanticipated guests—teenagers who are complete strangers—within the abode laying behind him. It is intrusive at best. 

“Carmine and I can grab something at one of the coffee shops we passed by earlier, if that sounds good to you guys,” Drayton drawls with a deceptive casualness. 

Carmine starts slightly, glancing between him and her brother. She really didn't feel comfortable leaving her brother to his own devices, in this large city that was new to both of them—

She tries to derail herself from that train of thought, going back to the conversation the previous day. It is difficult to disrupt that protective streak embedded deep within her, the one that made her want to stand before her brother and protect him from harm. But she recognizes that…maybe, he needs to strike out on his own, too. The thought brings a small twinge of melancholy to her chest that she tries her best to ignore. 

Besides, he has Juliana with him. She had done this much for her already.

“...sure. Just…text us when you're done, okay Kiki?” 

Kieran blinks, having expected her to put up a little more resistance. “I…uh, sure. Will do, I'll let ya know Sis.”

Juliana looks back to Caleb, finding that his features have relaxed somewhat, a thin layer of tension remaining. He waves them into the apartment, past a sleek kitchenette and leading them to a living room adorned with a small sofa, a couple of well-worn chairs, and a coffee table, floor to ceiling glass windows overlooking the Rondez-View Ferris Wheel from a fair distance. 

“Want anything, like coffee? Or…coffee?”

Juliana blinks as they seat themselves on the couch. “Um…sure? I'll take one.” She looks to Kieran, who nods awkwardly in turn.

“Good, ‘cause that's all we’ve got,” Caleb says dryly as he ambles to the kitchenette. They can hear the sibilant hiss of coffee grounds being poured in, the plink and gurgling of water filling up a pot and pouring into the tank, the snap of a lid, the groaning of the machine at work. He soon brings three steaming mugs to the table, followed by some Moomoo milk and sugar.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Juliana murmurs, shifting uneasily on the plush lining of the sofa. She still gets the lingering feeling that they're imposing on him.

“It's no problem,” Caleb replies. He glances between the two of them cautiously before he continues in a muted whisper, “Look, I brought the painting over to the academy for a reason. I'd rather not bring it up too much around here.”

“Why's that?”

“Well…you see, it used to belong to Joanne…my stepmom. I should mention that this is actually my folks’ place. I used to live here when I attended Blueberry, but I'm just visiting them today for the holiday. I…just wanted to take it away from her, to get it out of her head.”

“I'm sorry…to get what out of her head?”

Caleb sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She had these…ideas. You see, before she married my dad, she apparently had a daughter from another marriage who passed away…about fifteen years ago or whenever they started building the Marvelous Bridge. From mysterious causes. It's not healthy for her to keep thinking about it, but she’d done all this research. Brought that painting with her too, thinking it had something to do with her daughter's death, like some sort of…curse.” A grimace of embarrassment comes with this admission—reluctance, imagining how Zubatshit insane his stepmother must appear in front of a couple of complete strangers.

Juliana hesitates whether to tell Caleb that, in fact, his stepmom's suspicions were much closer to reality than he had imagined. Fortunately, he continues, more so to fill in the subsequent silence than anything. 

“The painting isn't exactly avant-garde…it's a pretty standard portrait, although it's quite formal, usually old money stuff. The work itself is decent. I told her that we could use it as a reference for human portraits at Art Club, and she gave in eventually. We hardly ever used it though, so it kinda just gathered dust in the back. At least she got less fixated on it though…so it worked out.”

“Less fixated on what now?”

They collectively swivel their heads to peer at the source of the new voice issuing from further down a hallway. A middle aged woman with brunette hair and crisp business attire walks into the living room, an inquisitive expression on her features. 

“Sorry Joanne! I thought you were still on a conference call.”

“It ended early—boss has holiday plans,” the woman—Joanne—waves offhandedly. “I didn’t know you were going to have friends over today.”

“Ah! Well…they’re actually—”

“Sorry to intrude,” Juliana murmurs apologetically. “We’re actually Blueberry students—er, well, Kieran here is a Blueberry student and I’m an exchange student from Paldea…the name's Juliana.” She sheepishly realizes that they hadn’t even bothered to introduce themselves properly to the former Art Club student, nor had he inquired about their names in the first place. 

“Paldea! Goodness, you’re quite far away from home. How have you liked Unova so far?”

“It’s my first time here on the mainland, actually,” she admits awkwardly. “I’ve spent all of my time on campus so far.”

Joanne raises her eyebrows in astonishment. “Really? We can’t have that now. You should enjoy yourself while you’re here! Which begs the question…how can we help you? Assuming you’re not here on a social visit.”

Juliana briefly glances at the alumnus sitting across from her. He grimaces, split between crafting a fib on the spur of the moment and telling the truth. After a potent pause, he gives a resigned nod of his head.

“We’re actually here to ask about a painting that was lent to us by the Art Club. I believe it used to belong to you? A girl with a Banette?”

Caleb blinks at them in confusion. “You’re…not with Art Club?”

“Ah, no…we’re with the League Club, actually,” Kieran states.

“No shit,” he marvels, pleasantly surprised. It’s a jarring tonal shift from the man who had answered the door earlier. “They finally got enough BP to get that decoration project going? Good for them.”

“Why would you like to know about the painting?” Joanne interjects, her curiosity evident. 

Juliana hesitates. She recalls Caleb’s warning—that he had taken the painting away for the sake of his stepmother’s wellbeing, so that she could move on. What were they supposed to say? She supposes that they could just play it off as curiosity, or for a historical assignment of some sort. But they also wouldn’t be telling the truth.

“It’s got you too, huh?”

Juliana starts with a barely audible gasp, hearing a sharp intake of breath beside her.

“Wait…” Caleb starts warningly.

“It’s the only reason they would travel out this far, to get these answers. It’s the only reason that makes a lick of sense. There’s someone else dealing with it now.” It’s the way she says it, as if she has been vindicated. Juliana detects…palpable relief, of all things.

“We…may have run into some issues that are difficult to explain with logic…” she begins hesitantly.

Caleb glances at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, don’t encourage these kinds of things—”

“I know it sounds crazy, an’ we don’t wanna cause any trouble here,” Kieran assuages, “but all we wanna do is ask some questions an’ be on our way. We won’t bother ya again, promise.”

Caleb lets the tension slowly ebb from his body as he relaxes back into his chair, somewhat mollified. 

Juliana worries at her lower lip. “We just don’t have a lot to go off of right now, sorry. Your address was one of many tucked away within the frame of the painting, and it matched up with the Art Club contact information. You’re the best lead we’ve got.”

The woman before them furrows her brows. “So those scraps were other addresses? I couldn’t make heads or tails of them.”

“Yeah, we had some help with translations.”

“Did they happen to mention anything about properties in Lumiose City or Hammerlocke?”

Juliana jolts with this new piece of information. It is too much of a coincidence. 

“Actually, they did…we had both addresses confirmed yesterday. One on North Boulevard and one just north of the Galar Railway station. Why?”

Joanne sits down in the remaining, unoccupied chair with a sigh.

“I’ll tell you what I know.”

Chapter Text

“I hope they’re doing okay.”

“Carmine, they’ll be fine,” Drayton reassures patiently. “They’re right down the block from us. And they both have their Rotom phones on them.”

She sighs as she takes a sip of her matcha latte, frowning slightly. “As much as I hate to admit it, you’re probably righ—Ugh, the matcha here feels off.”

“I doubt it’s going to be the same quality as the stuff you get back home.”

“Damn straight,” she mutters to herself, ignoring the stifled huff of laughter issuing from across the table. It is a nice enough café, she supposes. Nothing like Café Sonata, in her opinion, although she had only been there a couple of times with Amarys. But there are a variety of options to choose from. Whenever she was abroad, the tea quality was always variable. Oversteeped and astringent, burnt, loaded with sugar—she had had every infinite combo of terrible. It made her homesickness come back thricefold.

“You look tired.”

She looks up with a start—she sees those amber eyes observing her carefully. His posture is languid and carefree as per usual, a chin lazily propped up in one hand, but those eyes are shrewd, lacking the upturned jocularity or heavy-lidded stupor of laziness that usually characterized them. It is these bouts of sudden clarity that remind her that underneath the supposed lassitude, he could command a room if he wanted to. He isn’t someone to underestimate.

But there is something else there in his gaze—

Concern.

He’s actually concerned.

About her?

“It’s nothing new,” she says wearily. “It’s…”

She trails off.

“Go on.”

Carmine eyes him suspiciously. “Why would you want to hear what I have to say, anyway?”

“Talking these things out can help, sometimes.”

“And you think you can help me, somehow?”

“You might be surprised,” Drayton says with an indolent shrug.

She attempts to shake off her restlessness, which had the tendency to manifest itself in the form of unfettered frustration or agitation—to the dismay of innocent passersby. 

“It’s…everything, lately, I guess,” she admits in a voice tinged with exasperation. “It’s…Briar with all the extra bench work and reports she’s piled on me. It feels like I’m hardly at school for most of the time, even though it technically is school for me? And the whole thing with Kiki too…like, maybe if I’d been around more, I would’ve…I don’t know, picked up on signs more that things were wrong? That it wasn’t just some angsty phase or him being busy, but a full blown mental breakdown that I caused…I caused this—”

“Carmine, you can’t hold yourself responsible for everything. He has to take responsibility for his actions too, it’s part of life…”

“But I know I caused this, I have no doubt about it—”

“And how could you know that? It’s not like you were there, right? No one’s a mind reader….Unless you’re a psychic pokemon. Got anything to confess to me?”

“If you’re suggesting I’m a psychic pokemon in disguise, then you’ve got the eyesight of a Zubat.”

He snorts. “Seriously though. It’s not like you were in his mind at the time or anything. There’s no way for us to know what was going on through his head that made him turn out the way he is today.”

But…there was. Drayton had no knowledge about the memory swap that had occurred between Juliana and Kieran. Carmine couldn’t tell him…Juliana had made her swear on it. 

He gazes at her shrewdly, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. “Unless…he told you…? Or there’s something else going on…”

There’s one thing that Carmine has come to accept over the past year, and it’s the fact that she is a terrible liar. Her last attempt at a lie had resulted in this giant clusterfuck to begin with—it had spiraled way out of control. She has to try a different tactic.

“It’s none of your Combeeswax,” she utters in irritation, her fists clenched. “I don’t know how telling you all this was supposed to help me anyway—”

“I think you’re seriously burnt out.”

“...huh?”

“From everything. The stuff going on with Kieran. Your research stuff with Briar. You’re spread out way too thin. If anything, you gotta be more like me. You gotta relax more, stop and smell the Roserade—”

“Ninety nine percent of the time I see you in the club room, you’re sleeping in that chair! How would you know anything about burnout??”

He regards her carefully. There are subtle shifts—the casual slouch of his shoulders almost seems too forced. 

“How much do you know about the Dragon Tamer clans?”

The sudden change in subject throws Carmine off. She attempts to regain her composure. “Not much, I’ll admit,” she replies hesitantly. 

“Think of it as a cross between an awkward family reunion, a reality tv show, and a superhero cosplay convention. Like the most Type A personality you’ve ever met, with a penchant for spandex and capes. Zero chill. They’re super anal about traditions, keeping track of bloodlines, that kinda shit. The main hub is in Blackthorn City in Johto, where the get-up came from. Everyone tries to gun for the top position, to be like Lance and Clair.”

Carmine stares. She recognizes those names, at least from the times they would be referenced when she and her brother had watched regional tournaments on television, growing up. The previous Champion of Kanto and the strongest gym leader in Johto. 

“Wait…so are you related to Lance and Clair then??”

“Nah. Different lineage. There’s branch families…they make it unnecessarily complicated in my opinion. Opelucid is its own thing. But basically it’s intense—you’re always under pressure. My grandpa wrestles with dragons on the regular, Iris is a prodigy from the Village of Dragons—good enough to be a gym leader when she was only a preteen, an actual League Champion when she should’ve…she should’ve, I dunno, been attending school dances, enjoying her life, making friends.” He shrugs glumly.

“Was…she burnt out?” Is that where this is leading?

“Surprisingly not,” he hums thoughtfully. “She was always chipper, even when everyone was making her out to be the next Lance. Iris is a breath of fresh air, compared to, say, second cousin Leti. She kept me sane, honestly.”

Kept him sane…?

Then was he saying that he was the one who was burnt out?

Carmine has to ask. “Are they…is your grandpa expecting you to take over the Opelucid gym?”

He grimaces. So she was close on the mark, then. “Not for now, at least while Iris is running things. The League likes her—Grandpa likes her—so it’s all well, but Iris is in her twenties now, and who knows what she wants to do down the road? Plus it’s expected—what with all their emphasis on lineage, I dunno how Mr. Hassel got out of it—but…the thing is, in the Dragon Tamer clans, you’re never good enough. Never will be. You’re supposed to keep pushing and pushing yourself to be the best, to live up to the expectations of wearing the cape, but…”

He trails off, huffs a resigned laugh.

“...how can you hold a candle to the former League Champion of Unova? Why even bother if they’re going to give you shit anyway?”

Carmine stares.

So this was why. It made sense now. All that potential, combined with his notoriety for his lackadaisical mannerisms, his slovenly disposition.

It wasn’t solely attributed to an overt fondness for chairs or goofing off.

He was digging his heels in.

It was a form of rebellion.

His family life, his prodigy cousin, the expectations foisted on those of the Dragon Tamer clans—this was the end game for such burnout, playing out in real time. He had given up trying. Given the fact that he was still allowed to enroll in this school, to attend classes despite repeating the same year several times, his grandfather probably knew what was going on too—and he clearly wasn’t having it. 

Carmine internally berates herself—she should have seen it before. It clicks. His concern about Kieran’s rise to power and the toll it’s taken on him. She hadn't known Drayton when he had first started attending Blueberry—she had still been in Kitakami at the time. But it was possible that when he had looked at Kieran climbing up the ranks at meteoric speeds, pushing himself to the breaking point...

He’s seen it before—in himself. In his family. For years. 

And now he was seeing it in her. 

She hates it when he is right.

“I’ve had my suspicions for a while now,” Joanne begins, a weary, pensive expression apparent on her features. “You see, things went horribly wrong once my ex-husband had brought that painting back to Lentimas—to Reversal Mountain. It’d been a gift from a client in Lumiose, he’d said. They were renovating the building—converting it from an apartment to an office space—and the client had known that my ex collected works of art as a hobby. Said it’d already been with the building before it fell under ownership of an SCI and even before it was under co-ownership among the tenants. Apparently it was from a wealthy Kalosian family with estates in other regions…including Galar. I’d looked into the others, of course, but the only lead that bore fruit was the one in Hammerlocke—eerie, I’d thought, considering that ghost story that was making the rounds. A girl lapsing from a mysterious illness seemed to be too much of a coincidence.” She falls into a melancholic silence, her gaze distant, remote.

“This…this wouldn’t happen to be that story from Champion Gloria, would it?” Juliana asks hesitantly. 

“The very same story. So you’re familiar with it, too. It turns out that the location of the story and the estate were one and the same. I was desperate at the time and actually managed to get a hold of the man in the story—Frank’s—Ballonlea address.”

“You…looked up his address?” Juliana splutters. The woman before her had actually gone to such an extent, to track down the personal address of such a flimsy lead?

She laughs bitterly. “He’d thought I was crazy too. But what did I have to lose? I’d already lost so much. One stranger thinking I’d lost my mind was nothing in comparison. But I did pique his interest when I inquired about a particular painting. It turns out that he recalled seeing a painting fitting that exact description within the Hammerlocke estate—before it was converted into an academy”

Juliana had not heard anything about that before. Frank of Ballonlea actually had seen the painting before? How?

“How was he able to actually see the painting or enter the estate to begin with?”

“It turns out that he and his childhood friend, Paula, were both the children of workers there. Frank’s father had been a gardener with an uncanny green thumb—I’ve been told that it’s supposedly a Ballonlea thing, something about ‘feyfolk’ he’d mentioned—and Paula’s mother was a housekeeper. There was no one to really look after them during work and the head of the estate at the time was a kindly dowager Countess who let them do as they pleased. One day, they had brought in this painting from a property located in a far off, foreign region—belonging to the dowager’s youngest brother. Frank had heard talk of a great tragedy occurring there, although he could never figure out what had happened. There were rumors of a botched assassination attempt from Mr. Backlot's associates, but nothing concrete. Only that a butler that his father had known had passed away. He had also been told that it was a painting of the dowager's niece. Whatever the case, Paula had started to behave strangely.”

“How so?”

“She was terrified of the painting, for one thing. Said she had approached it to look more closely, and the next thing she knew, she was on the floor, being shaken awake by one of the maids. Had these strange dreams about the girl, too. Mentioned something about a ‘wish.’ Shortly after, Frank had started to see her less and less, until he had found out through Paula’s mother that she’d come down with some sort of debilitating illness that had left her in a fluctuating state—sometimes it appeared as if she were on death’s doorstep, but then she would rapidly improve. He had been confused about it, since she had seemed to be in perfect health whenever she spent time with him.”

Juliana stares, icy dread pooling in her gut. This seems awfully familiar.

“When he’d found out, they had an argument about it,” she continues. “He’d demanded to know why she’d kept her condition hidden from him, but she had insisted that it ‘went away’ whenever he was with her. Frank had thought it crazy—had told her that that’s not how illness works, it doesn’t just go away whenever a specific person is nearby. They’d fought over it in the way that kids do, until he’d finally stormed off in a huff. He’d meant to just cool off before he said anything more rash, but he hadn’t known that’d be the last time he’d see her. Turns out his grandfather back in Ballonlea was ailing and that they would need to move back immediately. They’d left right away. He’d sent letters, but she never sent any in return.”

Juliana attempts to swallow the lump forming in her throat. She knows why—knows how this story ends. The girl’s fluctuating state of health in relation to proximity was a near mirror of her own. It was too uncanny to be a sheer coincidence.

Then…had her confession been her wish, since she had supposedly moved on after the letter had been delivered to Frank?

“So, now that I’ve talked your ear off, let’s switch gears. When did you have your painting encounter? Assuming a similar situation happened?”

Juliana starts at the sudden shift. “Um…six days ago. It was last Friday.”

“And symptoms?”

“Well…lately I've been feeling more…exhausted, cold. Weak. Like I don't have the energy to budge, let alone walk around. Nauseous, occasionally, with one very weird nightmare. And…”

Juliana looks at Kieran hesitantly, before continuing.

“...when I get more than five feet or so away from Kieran, I completely pass out. I've been told I get as cold as a Vanilluxe when it happens. Kieran gets this weird chest pain when we’re apart at that distance.”

Joanne beholds them in complete consternation.

“...you said, your friend here has symptoms too ?”

It’s the way she says it.

Something’s not right.

Juliana attempts to push the feeling of dread slowly consuming her, her gut twisting in apprehension. “...yes? Is something wrong?”

“He gets symptoms too?” she repeats monotonously, in utter disbelief.

“Yes?”

“That can’t be right. None of them…Frank didn’t mention anything, nor my ex-husband…”

Wait.

Kieran freezes. Backtracks. The story that Frank had told her had one particular deviation that suddenly leaps to mind.

Frank could leave. 

He had seemingly been able to move to Ballonlea with zero consequences to himself. It had been Paula who had paid for that, with her own life. The woman had mentioned something about her ex-husband as well, which implied that—

“I’m sorry to bring this up,” Juliana fumbles, her fingertips digging into the fabric of the sofa, “and you can totally refuse if you want to, you have every right—”

Joanne looks at her expectantly. “You want to know about my daughter, don’t you? What happened back then.”

“—‘m sorry, we really don’t have to—”

The older woman before them runs a hand through her hair, gazing wearily out the window. Looking past the silhouette of the Ferris Wheel, miles away, regarding a long-abandoned, adobe husk seated at the base of a mountain—a monument to a forlorn tragedy. What had been a supernatural sightseeing tour for some backpackers, bloggers, or psychics had been a real, heartrending incident that had left its mark on real people, years down the line.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me about it,” she smiles wanly. “To tell you the truth, when I lost my daughter, I lost a part of myself. It never really goes away. But I’ve had help along the way—the family I have now. So…if it would help you…if it would help you survive whatever this is…then, I’m willing. Willing to tell you what happened. Whatever you need.”

Juliana nods somberly, chewing at her lip. 

Joanne regards them carefully. 

“I suppose some context would help. Almost two decades ago, we had moved to a property on Reversal Mountain. It had been advertised as a remote location immersed in nature, stark and gorgeous. A ‘desert jewel’, they had called it. I hadn’t known how isolating it would be. There hadn’t been much to do in Lentimas, either—unless you’re an avid fan of pottery. My daughter had grown up in this city and used to play with her Abra regularly on the outskirts—I believe where Marvelous Bridge is, currently. Getting accustomed to Reversal Mountain had been difficult for the both of us, and I was starting to have my own suspicions when my ex was frequently gone on business trips…”

She rubs at her eyes in resigned exhaustion, before continuing. “Anyway, I won’t unload that baggage on you. I’ll spare you that much. After one of his trips, he’d brought back a painting from a client of his in Lumiose. It wasn’t the first time he had brought back a work of art from one of his outings. But this one felt different. I don’t know how to explain it. I swore that there would be times that it would…blink. I thought I was going insane. My ex-husband had just laughed it off. But then one day, I found my daughter collapsed next to the painting, saying she had heard a voice in her head before she had lost consciousness.”

“What did the voice say?”

“You’re next.”

You’re next.

An ominous echo of what Juliana had heard on Monday, as the club room faded around her. 

The woman across from her mutely appraises her. “Same for you, I suppose, judging by that look. She also muttered something about a wish as well, although she seemed confused by it, herself. She grew exhausted, frail. Cold as ice, sometimes…became more bedbound, speaking of dark dreams that would occur more frequently. She appeared to visibly get better whenever her father was around, to the point he began to think she was acting for attention, more than anything. He could hardly leave the house before she started succumbing to those dreams of hers.”

“Did she ever say what occurred in those dreams?”

“That was the peculiar thing. She couldn’t really describe them to us. It was almost as if they were a…void. Just…everlasting darkness. It’s why I’d first started to suspect she had a run in with a Hypno. We had visited family in Striaton before the move and I’d heard rumors about an abandoned research facility to the east that’d been overgrown—a place where children would sometimes play. I feared the worst—some potential, ill side effect of Dream Eater. We had a library in the basement where I researched such things. Of course, we had brought her to several specialists before resorting to such measures. They had run the usual tests—blood tests checking for toxin exposures from the house, imaging tests to check for organic causes…nothing came up. The final diagnosis was that it was psychological—she was going into these states to prevent her father from leaving. ‘Factitious disorder imposed on self,’ they had called it.”

“So they thought she was lying about everything?” Juliana asks, mortified. She couldn’t even fathom the stress she would be going through if people didn’t believe her—if they thought she had been lying about her curse.

Joanne grimaces. “Unfortunately, that had been the case. Meanwhile, her condition was getting worse. She would begin to lapse into these episodes even when her father was near. He’d suddenly got it into his head that Darkrai was responsible—that there was one nearby even though it’s supposedly in Sinnoh—and that it was causing nightmares. But the peculiar thing was, it didn’t seem like she was having nightmares…It was almost as if there was nothingness where dreams and nightmares should be. Still, there was no getting through to that fool…he’d heard about a Lunar Wing from Cresselia alleviating nightmares and went off to find one.”

“Did he manage to ever find one?”

“He did, miraculously. It didn’t do anything, though. She continued to get worse…”

The room grew colder, dimmer. Words sear into Juliana’s mind—raw with terror.

In the dark dream...

I heard my dad’s voice...

Forget about the Lunar Wing...

Please stay here with me…

That isn’t her. That isn’t her. Who is that?

A residual memory? From the girl?

Juliana shudders, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“Tell me,” the woman continues, “when you pass out, do you remember anything? How would you describe it?”

She loathes remembering that feeling. Everything fading out of her vision. Growing cold, dark. Numb. Muffled, disjointed sounds in the background. An unending void, stretching out before her. Nothingness. Almost as if it were—

An everlasting dark dream…

An endless dream of darkness…

Dad, Mom, Abra…

Where are you…?”

She had been scared—frightened—trapped…

It hadn’t been a dream after all. Nor a nightmare.

What that had been…this entire time…with the girl on Reversal Mountain…with her in the clubroom…

Juliana knows now. 

She knows and it terrifies her.

Her—their—souls had been slowly becoming untethered to their bodies from the very beginning. And the pull was getting continuously stronger. Every time she had fainted, she had really been—

“It’s…the exact same thing,” Juliana murmurs in horrified realization, her blood running cold. “It’s the same thing when I pass out.”

She doesn’t have the heart to relate her sudden findings to the woman seated across from her. It would be too much to tell her that her daughter’s very soul had been torn away. 

Joanne leans back into the chair wearily, rubbing at her temples. “So…it really was the painting, huh. This entire time…”

“What made you think it was the painting, later on? Instead of a Hypno?”

“It was after my ex and I had separated. He had wanted nothing to do with the house anymore, so a friend of mine flew over to help move things from there. She apparently came from a lineage of mediums in Johto…didn’t know she had any abilities of her own at the time, though. She took one look at the painting and nearly had a heart attack then and there. Absolutely refused to go near it. It made moving all the more difficult, so I ended up abandoning some of our belongings. Without my friend there, I didn't have the heart to go back by myself. Anyway, that’s when I had my suspicions renewed. I had to at least take the painting with me, to get some answers.”

“An’ just to make sure, the father never had any symptoms himself?” Kieran asks cautiously. “He could come an’ go whenever he wanted to?”

“...yes? Frank also didn’t mention anything about experiencing symptoms. I see that you've come to the same conclusion about them as well, or that you can at least sense the pattern. Honestly though, it sounds like you’re the odd one out. Did anything unusual happen to you? Can you think of something?”

Kieran mulls over it. When he considers the entirety of that day—last Friday—the whole sequence of events had been bizarre to begin with. Was there anything not unusual that had happened in the first place? For one thing, he'd sworn that he'd left his supply of berries and potions in his dorm. Classes tended to run late on Fridays, and he preferred to make a Combeeline straight to his room to grab what he needed prior to training in the Terarium well into the night, rather than make a side stop at the club room and run the very real risk of bumping into Drayton. 

Which brought up another strange occurrence. Drayton hadn't been there in the club room at all, that afternoon. Kieran had practically considered him to be a piece of club room furniture—he was always in that damn chair around that time, at least until dinner time in the cafeteria. He had secretly fostered the hope that maintenance would one day discard their old chairs and chuck him out with them. But alas.

So where had Drayton been? And why was his own stuff in his locker in the club room, instead of his room? The only reason he'd thought to go check there in the first place was because it was an old habit of his, from back before that ill-fated school trip in Kitakami. 

And then there was that note on his desk. The one he had read, right before heading straight to the club room. 

It didn't make sense.

He had already been thrown off, flustered from the unanticipated change in his usual routine among other reasons, before he had burst into that room, only to encounter Juliana. Her scream had scared the living daylights out of him. And then there had been that argument, that painting falling towards her—

What had happened then?  

He had run towards her…reached out to put a hand on her shoulder…and then those memories had flooded his vision, right? 

No…there was something else…something in between those instances. It was indistinct—fuzzy and unclear, a searing, throbbing ache at his temple. The more he attempts to consider it, the more agonizing it gets.

“I remember her bein’ in front of that painting….I was runnin’ towards her…and then I put a hand on her shoulder and it all just—”

“You were there when it happened to her??” Joanne asks, startled.

“I…yeah. It was a coincidence, I just happened to be there…”

“And you said you put a hand on her shoulder?”

“...that's right.”

She pauses, considers. “Well…as far as I know, Frank wasn't there when Paula had her encounter. And I know for a fact that my ex wasn't there at the time...he had been running errands in Lentimas when I found her. There could be something to the fact that you were there.”

It hits him then. 

It was a phrase that the ghost girl of the Old Chateau had said in passing, in that dream. 

To think, all he had to do was touch you at that exact moment. 

Did that have something to do with it then? Had something happened when they made physical contact?

“There might be somethin’ to it,” he murmurs. 

“It marks your case as different, at any rate. I'm not sure if curses can be contagious in the way that viruses can…but there's also something else that's nagging at me about your situation.”

“What's that?”

“You said…five feet, correct? It had sounded like Frank and Paula were not limited in such a way—or at least to that extent. My ex had also been able to wander around the house without our daughter having any issues…at least, initially…”

She had brought up a pertinent point. Frank would have definitely noticed that something was amiss if Paula had dropped like a stone the moment he would step away. It also sounded like the most recent victim had not been bound to such a restrictive situation, either. Perhaps more so than in Paula's case, but the dimensions of a spacious home were much more forgiving than their situation had been—to the point where it had necessitated bathroom and bed measurements.

Why was the predetermined distance seemingly getting smaller?

“There's something you may need to consider, then,” she continues with a grimace.

Kieran had a bad feeling.

“...what'd that be?”

“You may have to consider that this curse has been getting stronger.”

The curse was…getting stronger?

It made sense, from what paltry information they had compiled. Paula seemingly had much more leeway, to the point that Frank hadn't noticed that anything was amiss when they had spent time together. Meanwhile, Juliana was on the verge of faceplanting no further than five feet away. 

“Are…you receiving any help?” Joanne asks hesitantly. “I'd just hate to think you two are dealing with this by yourselves. You're both so young…”

Juliana hums in acknowledgment. “I don't know that it's exactly on public record, but we’re getting some help from Shauntal. And Ryme, she's—”

“Shauntal of the Elite Four??” Caleb exclaims. It's the first time he has spoken up since his stepmother has related the stories. “And Ryme, the rap artist??” 

“I…yeah, that's right.”

The alumnus rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Okay, that's a pretty bold claim. It's almost too outrageous to be an outright lie—”

“Hey, we're not lying—”

“—so I guess, what I'm trying to say is…as insane as this all sounds…I believe you. I somehow believe you. And…”

He pivots in his seat, to face his stepmother.

“...I think I owe you an apology. So…I'm sorry. If I gave you a hard time about it before. I didn't really think curses or such things could be real. Honestly, it's still crazy to believe. But maybe if I'd taken you more seriously, I wouldn't have brought that painting to the academy…and then…” He trails off guiltily, casting a brief glance at the two teens sitting across from him. 

“You couldn't have known,” she reassures with a sad smile. “Most people would've done what you did. There's no shame in that. I know you wanted to help me, in your own way.”

The older woman before them had brought up a fair point. There wasn't exactly a surfeit of cursed paintings lying around, thankfully. 

“Anyway, I'm glad that you have people around to help you with this. If it's quite alright with you, I'd like to rest. I'd be happy to help you more if I could, but speaking about what happened back then…it does wear me out a fair bit…”

Juliana can see it in her eyes. Haggard, spent, resigned. Reliving those memories of her daughter had taken more out of her than she had initially let on. It had clearly taken a toll on her. 

“Of course,” she says quietly, slowly rising from her seat on the couch. Kieran takes the cue and comes to a stand as well.

“Thank you for your time,” he murmurs, subdued. “An’ thank you for all of your help.”

Joanne nods, before looking at him carefully, speculatively.

“Just…one last thing…Kieran, was it?”

“...y-yes?”

“...there's something special about you, I think. Frank and Paula…my daughter and her father…there's something about bonds in all this, I feel. Those men…they could walk away at any time. And they did. And we…we know what happened after that. But you're different, somehow. Something's happening to you too. And you…you stayed. I don't know how, but…I think that's important to all this. I'd think about that. Rely on each other, okay?”

Kieran tries to swallow the lump forming in his throat. There was something heartfelt about it, something—

It was a plea. A plea to break the chain, change course. To end this. To save a life.

“We…we will. Promise.”

Rely on each other.

“So, just to get this straight, you spoke to the mother of one of the victims, who in turn also spoke to someone connected to a previous victim, and she thinks that the curse has been gettin’ stronger with each passing?”

“That’s what she seems to think, at least.”

Kieran and Juliana had left the apartment after saying their goodbyes, before taking the elevator down to the lobby. They had opted for leaning against the wall in an alcove off to the side. It had been Juliana’s idea to touch base with Ryme on her Rotom phone, while the information was still fresh in their mind. 

Ryme gazes off-screen, lost in thought. “And there might be some patterns—that there’s another person close by that keeps the girl alive, and it’s a sort of debilitatin’ or coma-inducin’ situation as a symptom.”

“That seemed to be the similarities between the two victims. There’s still a third one sometime in between, we think—the girl in Kalos that my friend Penny found info on—but she didn’t bring her up.”

“But she said that it didn't seem like the people keepin’ them alive had any sorta effects whatsoever? Like no chest pain when apart—not bound in any way to ‘em at all?”

“It didn't seem like it. It sounded like Frank and the other girl’s father could come and go as they pleased.”

Ryme frowns. That part. That was the part that wasn’t adding up. Why would Kieran be the only one to experience any side effects? In addition, it seemed rather one-sided: it appeared as if the girls in the past had suffered as the distance grew between them and the other person, but nothing had happened to the other party. Considering the possibility that the other person was somehow related to their “wish” but wasn’t necessarily affected by it, then—

The binding of souls—the inability to separate—wasn’t the primary effect of the curse at all. It was something else.

The curse itself had been draining the victims of their life force the entire time—pulling at their souls, bit by bit, prying them loose. It would explain the recent symptoms of the Paldean Champion, at any rate.

“Juliana, mind if you can send me Shauntal’s number?” Ryme asks.

“Uh, sure. I can definitely do that. Any reason in particular?”

“I think it’s high time for us to do a collab.”

The situation had escalated. Two teenagers stuck together was an awkward nuisance. Two teenagers stuck together with one of them having their soul steadily being tugged away from them was an exorcist’s version of a Code Blue. They needed to consolidate information, and fast. 

“Hmm. One last thing. I gotta test somethin’ again. Scooch closer you two.”

They stare.

“Come now, hop to it.”

They shuffle closer to each other.

“Now hold hands.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it.”

As they clasp their hands together, Ryme hums in thought, staring at something imperceptible around them.

“Okay, now let go.”

They release their hold and she makes a peculiar, dissatisfied grunt whilst continuing to examine the space between them.

“This is why I prefer calls over texts,” she mutters, “can’t see shit in a text message, you don’t get the full picture. This isn’t great, but it’s not a lost cause either.” 

Can't see what? “What’s this all about?”

Ryme sighs as she pivots to address Juliana. “Here’s what I’ve figured so far. Based on what they’ve told you, the binding isn’t the only thing you’ve got goin’ on. It’s been pullin’ at your soul and tryin’ to pry it from you, like it did with those girls. Leaves you feelin’ weak, exhausted, till you go unconscious or your heart gives out. It’s been happenin’ at a glacially slow pace to the point where even I couldn’t see it before, but still—” 

Kieran dwells on the past few days. Now that he considers it, there were a couple of things that lined up with what Ryme had just said. When he had lifted and carried Juliana to his room from Crispin’s dorm, there had been enough jostling that she should have at least stirred—at least, before he had rammed her foot in the doorframe. And then there was yesterday morning—he had never seen her appear so sickly before. 

“—nd if it’s been getting stronger with each victim as they think it has,” Ryme continues, “it means that in theory you should be on the brink, girl. But for some reason, you still got some vitality in your reserves. Maybe it’s the salt, but I think it’s somethin’ else too.”

She turns to look at Kieran.

“I think it’s you, for whatever reason.”

He jolts, pinned to the spot by her piercing gaze. “Me? Why me?”

“Well, it matches up with their stories, right? Gettin’ better when someone is nearby. In your dream a couple of days ago, that ghost girl sure didn’t seem to like you, either. For whatever reason, it seems like you’re functionin’ as Juliana’s life support. Like you’re tetherin’ her here, somehow.”

I’m…her life support??

“I believe that aura…that rubber band effect that I saw around you last week…flares up as your life force is bein'—pulled at, extracted, whatever you want to call it,” Ryme continues wearily, turning to face Juliana. “But it disappears when there’s physical contact, and the same goes for now, too. There's a link between you two, but I mistook the nature of it. It's not flarin’ up because you're splittin’ up—it’s flarin’ up when your soul's bein' pulled at and that link to Kieran is tetherin’ you here.” 

…link?

Kieran starts, a jolt of clarity searing down his spine. 

“Would it have anythin’ to do with the soul link that ghost girl mentioned?”

Ryme stares at him.

It would.

It made sense. If those stories were true—that it functioned as a sort of Destiny Bond, among other things—it meant their souls were linked, which in turn meant—

“That's it,” she crows with a wicked grin. “That's why that ghost was so damn mad at you.”

“Huh?”

“A contract works both ways. Both parties are bound to it and its rules. Certain conditions have to be met. So if she said that the victim has to be a girl…”

Comprehension dawns on Kieran’s features. 

He bought her time…

“...but since we're linked, she'd…get my soul too, so…”

“...then she breaks her own damn contract. She nullifies the curse. And despite her supposed indifference, that's the last thing she wants to happen.”

“But that's…that's good news for us, right?” Juliana queries, her voice tinged with hope. “It sounds like it would be incentive for her to hold off...but if it works against the curse’s intentions, then how did the link happen to begin with?”

Ryme frowns. “That, I'm not sure. It seems like somethin’ about him bein’ there triggered a different set of conditions, no idea what yet. And then there's the other matter at hand.”

Dread gnaws at her gut. “...other matter?”

Ryme scrubs at her face in frustration. “I owe you kids both an apology—I'd thought it bound people as a main effect, and that’s where my hubris kicked in. We only really tested the outer limits of what you could get away with, last Friday. In reality, you probably shoulda been literally holdin’ hands from the get go. That accumulated time of your soul bein’ pulled at is wearin’ away at you. It adds up, in the long run. I'd still rather not play Combusken with a curse of this caliber, in case she does decide to throw caution to the wind and go after you both. That means you should probably stick close to each other as much as possible. I mean, really close.”

They both stand there, motionless, in mute horror as the implications slowly sink in.

“Wait wait wait,” Juliana interjects in a flustered panic, “so let me get this straight. So this entire time that I’ve been under this curse, it's been tugging away at my…soul…like some kind of ghost version of Magnet Pull? And the only thing that can stop it for now is if we hold hands?”

“I think any kinda touch, really, so whatever floats your boat. So until we finesse what can break the curse, exactly…hold hands, swing dance, arm wrestle, suplex each other—I don’t care. You can’t afford to keep pushin’ the outer limits of the boundaries anymore. There’s only so much that Nacli salt can do, you know.” 

Arceus, that meant though…

That meant that the parameters that they had established, their arrangements with the sleeping bag and the dorm bed…

Those arrangements wouldn't be good enough anymore. They hadn’t been, to begin with.

“W-wait,” Kieran falters, “but that…that means—”

“Look, short periods of time without are fine. I’m not tellin’ you to be bathroom buddies or anything of the sort, I’m not that cruel. But you gotta think about long periods of time, things that are within your control.”

He does think about those long periods of time. Sure, there would be the moments where they would be attending class, eating, or doing homework. Training. Maybe they could…hold hands more. As he recalls the sensation of her warm, small hand intertwined with his own, he decides that perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing. He briefly contemplates Ryme's absurd suggestions that were clearly meant in jest, to lighten the mood. How an arm wrestling match would go. Back in Kitakami—when he was in peak health—it wouldn't even be a contest. He hadn't exactly withered away—he could still carry Juliana, he still had some muscle—but he acknowledges that he has deconditioned a little bit, a side effect of not sleeping or eating enough. He then imagines her attempting to suplex him, which nearly elicits a snort from him. But then there were other times to worry about.

For the first time in months, he had begun to actually sleep at night again—more than the paltry 3 to 4 hours that he would normally allow himself. Six hours of sleep would still take up a fourth of the day, which isn't insubstantial, which meant—they would potentially have to—

Kieran can feel sweltering heat consuming him, a flush creeping up his neck. 

This…this couldn't be real, right? 

His grandmother had taught him better, it wouldn't be…it wouldn't be proper…right? That they would have to possibly share…

Arceus.

He is in danger.

“Juliana just texted me,” Carmine notes. “They're heading over here now.”

“Did she say anything about what they found out?”

“Not yet.”

Drayton takes a languid bite of his muffin. “Ah well, mmph guess we gotta ask ‘em when they get back,” he utters around a mouthful of pastry. 

“Chew your food, knucklehead.”

“You and my ma would get along,” he replies impishly.

Carmine rolls her eyes. “And exactly which Ultra Wormhole would I have to fall into ass first to end up in a situation where I'd be meeting your mom?”

“The one that leads to…say, winter break holiday dinner? You and Iris would really hit it off, I think.”

He was…inviting her to a family dinner??

Isn't that the kind of thing one would do with…a significant other??

“I'm going home for the holidays, bozo! My grandparents aren't getting any younger, you know.”

“What a coincidence then!” he declares with an roguish waggle of his eyebrows. “I've always wanted to visit Kitakami…y’know, expand my horizons a bit.”

“You, flying all the way out to Kitakami??” Carmine blurts out, taken aback. “I'm honestly surprised you're even out and about here, in Nimbasa with us. I thought your chair called to you more. Didn't you write that entire ode to chairs once, for a Lit class?”

Drayton's eyes light up in impish glee. “You remember that?? I'm honored. I even did it in haiku form, just for you—”

“—it was a travesty to every single haiku ever written in the history of—”

He heartily scrolls through his Rotom phone, to her impassioned protests.

“Ah yes! Here it is. Ahem—”

“Nope, stop, we're not doing this here—”

Drayton dodges effortlessly as she lunges across the table in a fit of desperation, mortified at the possibility of shitty poetry assaulting the ears of hapless, nearby customers. 

“Man, I sure love chairs

Standing up is tiring work

They are lifesavers”

Carmine barely contains her feral, guttural caterwaul of rage. Galarian styles were so fixated on that 5-7-5 syllable count, to the exclusion of everything else that mattered. That made it worse. 

This was some pseudo-haiku…a zappai—

“Okay, I have a zappai for you then, bozo.”

“A…zappai? Curious! I'm flattered—”

“Toothpaste-haired bozo

An affront to my senses

Go choke on some chips”

Rather than provoking the intended response—backing down, conciliatory gestures—he looks, to her utter chagrin, delighted. To her mounting alarm, he has pushed his chair back, going down on one knee with his arms flared towards her in peak melodramatic form. 

“I beheld your grace

Beautiful and furious

Choke me anytime”

Carmine screeches shrilly in suppressed rage, flushed to the tips of her ears. They're in a public café, what is he even thinking—

She scrambles to recover her poise. Two can play at this game.

“Methods of murder

Include death by Carvanha

You deserve much worse”

“Literary queen

Gorgeous and terrifying

How are you so hot”

She screams.

“You—”

“See? I told ya she'd be on the verge of killin’ him by the time we got back. I'm surprised there's not a chalk outline and forensics team here yet.”

Carmine swivels towards the direction of the voice as Drayton convulses with silent laughter in a futile, undignified effort to clamber back into his chair. 

“Huh, I dunno, I really thought I saw something going on between them on the way here…”

“Are ya sure the curse didn't mess with your vision too—oww ow okay—”

Carmine ogles at the sight before her in complete consternation: Kieran wincing, his smarting foot held slightly aloft as Juliana jokingly scowls, mock indignant. They are openly holding hands, their fingers intertwined. Her brows fly to her hairline.

“Make sure to send us the wedding invites first,” Drayton wheezes mirthfully as he glances at them from over his shoulder. “No, wait wait wait…make me best man, I'm dying here—”

“Fuck off,” Kieran says distractedly, with surprisingly minimal vitriol, “first of all, it'd be Crispin, you dipshit—”

Juliana makes a profound, stifled shriek of utter incredulity, her face flaming as he quickly realizes his blunder and backpedals furiously to Drayton's increasing laughter—

“—also n-nevermind, what wedding, fuck you indefinitely, there's an…an actual reason we have to do this now—”

Drayton cackles. “...the reason being that maybe—just maybe—you're in love???” 

“Sis, you're gonna have to get behind me in line. I get first dibs on caving his stupid grinning mug in.”

“Not if I beat you to it, Kiki.”

“Oh ho ho! How did it go again? Prepare for trouble and make it double?”

Carmine's eye twitches, on the cusp of a cataclysmic meltdown. “Because quoting a known crime syndicate is really going to be doing you favors, knucklehead—”

Kieran groans. He was going to have to pull out all the stops for this.

“...I don't have to bring up the bet, now do I?”

The sudden, ensuing silence is profound.

“You got me there, chief,” Drayton says nonchalantly.

Carmine looks at him sharply. “I will find out about this supposed bet, someday. Something’s really Qwilfishy about this…”

Drayton clears his throat. “Ahem, well…anyway, if you want to grab something to eat and fill us in, we're all ears.”

“That's probably a good idea,” Juliana replies, her voice tinged with amusement.

Drayton and Carmine proceed to watch in mute fascination as the pair walks up to the counter, hand in hand. They can just barely hear the faintest, concerned wisps of “is everything okay over there with those two” coming from a confused barista as the duo relinquish their hold to search their pockets for a wallet, only to—

Only to shuffle closer to each other, shoulder pressed to shoulder. Close enough to initiate a spontaneous three-legged foot race, if they needed to. 

Huh?

This proximity is continued as they return to the table to take a seat, Kieran with his apple danish and Juliana with her bagel. There's a discernable, bizarre shuffling that can be heard under the table as she seemingly frowns in concentration at her unassuming choice of brunch. Drayton slowly slumps, sinking further back into his chair as his eyes briefly flicker under the table's surface. 

Are they…are they playing footsie???

Sure enough, Juliana's foot is nestled against Kieran's leg. Her expression is vague and abstracted, but the flush that consumes Kieran's features is more than readily apparent. 

“So, you guys wanna tell us what happened back at the apartment?” Drayton inquires casually, more than intrigued at their sudden uptick in public displays of affection.

There is a notable shift in mood as the pair across from him lapses into a pensive silence. Drayton catches the brief, apprehensive glance that flits between them, before they quietly begin to relate the tales that Joanne had told them: of the girls who had met their premature demise, of her theories on the matter. They also speak of Ryme's new hypothesis regarding the curse, as well as her suggestions in light of the new information that they had received that day. 

“So…here's the Drayster take,” Drayton remarks blandly, after a somewhat deafening silence. “You guys are mandated by ghostly decree to be all over each other as much as humanly possib—”

Juliana fumbles for her bagel whilst Kieran internally screams. “You're missing the main point, you thick-skulled moron—”

“—le, ‘cause that's what I'm seeing here. No judgment here! This is a judgment-free zone. If the curse wills it to be so, right? Sacrifices must be made—”

“It's…it's about h-helpin’ Juli, okay??” Kieran splutters, in a last ditch effort to salvage the situation and his remaining shreds of dignity. “This isn't…it's not—”

“Anyway, ignoring the bozo here,” Carmine interjects as Kieran furiously wills the heat in his cheeks to subside, “this brings up a lot of potential issues doesn't it? Like…general living arrangements? Public restrooms?”

“Yeah…we're figuring it out as we go,” Juliana admits with a weak laugh, fiddling with her braid restlessly. “Ryme said it doesn't have to be all of the time though…just most of the time?”

“Which is still most of the time,” Carmine points out in exasperation. “Do you think it's still a good idea to go through with the Battle Subway then? Maybe you guys should take it easy.” She turns to face Juliana. “Especially you—you're crazy. If I found out that a curse was trying to pull my soul from my body, I'd be more focused on…I don’t know, trying to figure out how to stop it from happening?? Or if I couldn’t, I guess I’d just be relaxing and living the good life. Or ticking things off my bucket list. Or both.”

Kieran gives Juliana a concerned look. His sister had brought up a fair point. Would she wear herself too thin on the Battle Subway? Sure, she has the Nacli salt, but—

“Which is exactly why I'd want to do the Battle Subway!” Juliana counters pointedly. “I wouldn't miss it for anything! Bucket list, right?”

Carmine rolls her eyes. “You two really are made for each other,” she snorts, to the accompaniment of Juliana's dismayed spluttering. “On the brink of collapse, and you'd still rather spend your time and energy immersed in pokemon battles. You might seriously be the only one who's able to match Kiki's energy, and that kinda scares me to be honest.”

“S-sis!” 

“W-wait! Hold on a minu—”

“Just calling it like I see it,” she says smugly.

Kieran buries his face in his hands. His sister could be so…mortifying.

He glances at Juliana from his peripheral vision, noting the blush manifesting on the tips of her ears. She rubs at her eyes in weary exasperation, only to whip her gaze away skittishly when they make fleeting eye contact. 

“Hey…Juli,” he murmurs, “you sure you're feelin’ up to it? Just wanna make sure you're doin’ okay...y'know, after everythin’ we heard earlier.”

To be entirely honest with herself, she isn’t okay. Hadn’t been, not since she had put two and two together, realizing what the black outs and cold spells that she and the other girl had experienced really, truly meant. It is a terrifying notion to come to terms with.

And yet there is still hope. 

Kieran's presence had truly bought her time. She has a fighting chance. 

“Well…I'd be lying if I said I wasn't even the least bit freaked out about everything going on,” Juliana admits. “But as long as I’m with you, I think I’ll be fine!”

Kieran wills the incessant hammering in his chest to subside, her words etched in his memory. 

As long as I'm with you

“R-right,” he stammers. “Uh, gotta show ‘em what Champion-level trainers can do, after all.”

Juliana aims a feral, toothy grin in his direction. He finds it to be both mildly terrifying and extraordinarily attractive, a perplexing combination that he finds himself mentally filing away for later, panicked overthinking. 

“Agreed. Watch my back for me out there, ‘kay?”

She needn't have told him twice. He doesn't think he could ever stop watching her, even if he wanted to.

Chapter Text

They collectively falter in muted awe when the sight of the Gear Station concourse greets them. 

As they descend from the grand, central staircase, they take in the cavernous space within—the towering central column with its etched clock face, the bustling of numerous depot agents donned in green uniform attire, the muted hubbub of various trainers throughout, the acoustics reverberating within the vast, vaulted dome interior. Entryways to platforms are interspersed at regular intervals throughout the concourse, labeled with the subway lines and their corresponding colors. 

“Well, this is it,” Drayton remarks, once they arrive at the bottom of the staircase, stretching his arms leisurely above his head. “The famous Gear Station. Are you guys able to find your line from here?”

“We should be okay,” Juliana replies. “What are you and Carmine gonna do, in the meantime?”

Carmine hums in thought. “Good point. What are we going to be doing, toothpaste head?” 

Drayton huffs a dry laugh. “Carmine,” he says pointedly, “we’re in Nimbasa, literally known for its entertainment. There’s musicals to see, an entire theme park at our disposal, what is there not to do?”

She makes a noncommittal sound as she glances between Juliana and Kieran. “I still don’t think this is the best idea, in light of the new information we have, but it’s your choice,” she concedes, her voice laced with apprehension. “Just…stick close to each other, okay? 

“We will, Sis. We both got our phones too, remember? Don’t worry.”

“He’s right, Carmine,” Drayton reassures. “They’ll be fine. Tons of people take the Battle Subway all the time. They run a tight ship—or a well-oiled machine, as they like to say here.”

“I…okay, if you say so. We’ll see you guys later then. Call us the moment you’re back here, got it??”

“Yikes okay, no need to belabor it.”

As the older pair begin their ascent up the staircase, Juliana leans in close to murmur, “is it me or does she seem a little bit wound up?”

“She does a little bit,” Kieran agrees quietly. “She tends to get like that when she’s worried.”

“More so than usual though. Do you think it’s because she’s with Drayton?”

He looks at her askance, baffled. “What, like ya think she’s stressed to be stuck with him? I can’t say I blame her.”

“No no, like she’s on edge because she likes him.”

“W-what?? Seriously??”

“You don’t think so?”

“She’s always yellin’ at him though,” he counters, before an expression of revulsion pervades his features. “I mean, unfortunately, I can kinda see the other way around…”

“Ah, so you see that too then,” Juliana nods sagely.

“Eugh. He’s always been tryin’ to butter her up, ever since—”

“Can I assist you folks today?”

They both startle violently, with a sudden fright, whipping around to face the direction of the voice. A well-kempt man adorned in the telltale green uniform of a depot agent stands before them, his hands held aloft in a pacifying manner.

“I’m sorry,” he continues apologetically, “didn’t mean to startle you folks. I just happened to be passing by. Is there a particular line you’re looking to try?”

“Ah, yeah. Do you know where we can find the Multi Train?”

“Just turn left here and it’s the second one down, with the orange livery. You can’t miss it.” The depot agent pauses. “I take it that it’s your first time in Gear Station?”

Juliana smiles sheepishly. “That easy to tell, huh?”

He waves his hands in a conciliatory manner. “There’s no need for concern. I’ve been working here for a while, that’s why. It’s rare for first timers to take the Multi—usually our most popular line is the Singles. The one that runs on the Tubeline Bridge, if you’ve been there before.”

She frowns, mildly concerned. Is there something they don’t know? “Why’s that?”

“Easier to just jump on the Singles during the evening rush hour,” he answers with a shrug. “No need to coordinate schedules with someone, plus some people find the format to be easier than Doubles. Bad day at work? Got swamped? Just head for the station to blow off some steam, easy as that. Very popular with retail and customer service.”

She could only imagine.

“I bet. Well, thank you for your help!”

“No problem! The depot agent at the platform should be able to assist you two further. Have a good one.” He gives them a jaunty wave as he departs.

Just as he had stated, they can spy a flash of orange as they come across the second stairwell, leading down towards a sequestered platform with a corresponding kiosk and an electronic bulletin board with a map of the subway system on prominent display. Straight ahead of them, past the buffer, they can see the gray, stainless steel body of the Multi Train with its vibrant orange livery atop ballastless tracks and concrete. One could make out the power lines—overhead catenaries—suspended above the tracks and leading further into the shadowy depths of the tunnel.

Kieran notes some movement in his peripheral vision and swivels in place, to find another depot agent approaching him. 

“Welcome to the Battle Subway!” the man says cheerily. “I can guide you to the Multi Train here. Do you have any questions?”

“Ah, actually, it’s our first time,” Juliana replies. “Is it okay if you can run us through the rules?”

“Of course! I’d be happy to. First, you’ll need to choose two pokemon to take with you, and the same goes for your…” His eyes flit briefly to their clasped hands. “...boyfriend, I take it?” 

Kieran’s stomach initiates a peculiar somersault as he feels a warmth unfurling in his chest.

Boyfriend? 

“Ah! Uh—”

“O-oh, sorry, well, we—”

“I apologize! I didn’t mean to cause any discomfort! It’s not an uncommon activity for dates here in Nimbasa, so you’re far from the first, if that’s what concerns you.”

“Ah, no, th-that’s—”

“Anyway,” he continues to rattle off, heedless to their internal strife, “make sure that none of your pokemon are overlapping species. You may also not use any items in your bag. However, you can use held items. Make sure to give your own pokemon different items—but you and your partner can give one of your pokemon the same held item. There will also be terminals at the end of each car that can be used to heal your team. If you lose the battle, you may take a seat and wait for us to approach the midway point in Nacrene. If you win, you may proceed. As this is the Multi Line, you can expect a pair of trainers per car, with a mandated break every seven battles. If you successfully beat twenty pairs of trainers, you will have the privilege of battling our Bosses! Do you have any further questions?”

“N-no, that seemed pretty thorough—”

Juliana loses her train of thought as she hears an argument echoing further down the platform, which draws her attention to the noteworthy sight of a Yanmaha R1 Superbike and its burly, bearded rider precariously boarding the car further ahead. Off to the side, a clerk can be seen, her posture indignant.

“—so you're telling me that this guy can board with a fucking motorcycle, but my two pokemon can't both be holding sitrus berries??”

“Ma'am, those are the rules…your partner, however, can have his pokemon hold one of your sitrus berries if you so—”

“But…but a motorcycle?? Seriously?”

“The rules are the rules.”

A motorcycle? 

Unova was stranger than Juliana had bargained for. 

“I…sorry. I was a little distracted by the motorcycle. Aren't you worried about…” she trails off feebly.

“Damage to the train?” the depot agent finishes nonchalantly. “With all the battles, a motorcycle is the least of our problems.”

He has a point there, she muses.

“Anyway, please choose your two pokemon, and we will commence with boarding and departure procedures.”

They shuffle off to the side, to contemplate their strategy.

“Who were you thinking of taking?” Juliana asks.

“Um…Hydrapple and Politoed. How ‘bout you?”

She mulls over it. Politoed would match well with a swift swim pokemon, along the lines of a rain team. She did have a Kingdra with Swift Swim on hand that she had encountered during a Tera Raid, that she had been planning to use as part of Drayton's trial. That was a possibility. Paired with the Life Orb she had found at Casseroya Lake, there was some good offensive potential. But would Kieran mainly want to go on offense? Given his recent reputation and current status at the academy? When she had thought about the Battle Subway, the main thing she had wanted it to be was fun. Especially when it came to a Multi Battle, it was about teamwork and being in sync with your partner. It wasn't intended by design to be a poorly disguised excuse for one upmanship. 

It was an opportunity to enjoy the time she had with Kieran. If, perhaps, there was a way to…

She pauses.

Huh.

There is a pokemon she had caught in Kitakami, that she had occasionally used for double battles. She isn't Juliana's strongest by far, but she knew how to work well with others—which could prove critical when learning to work alongside a new pokemon for the first time, in a wildly different environment. She has her weaknesses, but she is fast and if she plays her cards right and utilizes the appropriate support moves at the right time…in addition to adapting to the limited confines of the subway car itself…

It could work. 

“A Kingdra to work with your Politoed…”

Kieran raises his eyebrows in a brief bout of surprise before he gazes up in thought contemplatively. He fiddles with the lock of hair framing his face, before nodding with a muted hum of approval. 

“...and…the other one will be—”

The sudden crackle of radio static cuts through the muggy, still air of the subway.

“Are you two ready? I've just received word that we're ready to depart, if you are.”

Juliana hesitates.

“It's fine,” Kieran reassures. “I'll find out soon enough anyway. We'll figure it out as we go.”

She nods. “Okay. We're ready then.” 

“Then right this way!”

He leads them through the opening and into the adjacent vestibule, before the doors close with a final, resounding clunk behind them. Overhead, they can hear the crackle of the PA systems furiously at work, a conductor in the midst of pointing and calling, accompanied by the jarring sensation of the floor shuddering and rolling beneath their feet, the feeling of breaks being released.

“Signal sixty. Break—huh, wait, Boss—”

“—afe driving! Follow the schedule. Everybody smile! Check safety. Everything's ready—”

“—break released, depart—”

“To our passengers, aim for victory! All aboard!”

The train lurches forward and Juliana finds herself teetering off balance with the sudden motion, only for Kieran to grip at her shoulder to stabilize her, tightening his hold on her hand as she widens her stance.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah, thanks. I didn't brace myself in time, sorry.”

“It's fine, I barely caught myself in time, honestly. Are ya ready?”

Juliana grins ferally. “As ready as I'll ever be.”

They carefully brace themselves as they walk steadily into the first car hand in hand, swaying somewhat in tandem to the oscillations of the rumbling compartment as the banal scenery of the platform whips past the windows, submerging them into a world of dim tunnels accented with flickering, harsh fluorescence. Hanging loops swing wildly from the ceiling alongside longitudinal seating. Across from them stands a flustered waitress in uniform and a sweaty, shirtless man (save for a sole, studded leather vest) sitting astride a motorcycle sputtering exhaust fumes. 

The waitress narrows her eyes in focused determination. 

“Meow, meow, it's a battle, meow.”

They stare.

Kieran blinks. “I…uh, what?” 

“That sounds stupid, doesn't it?” she whispers to herself half-heartedly.

“I mean, uh…” he flounders helplessly, “...what am I s'posed to say?”

Does she work for a Delcatty cafe or something?

Beside the waitress, the biker exhales gruffly. 

“I am a Biker,” he says grimly. “But I've never ridden a bike.”

Huh?

“Then…why?” Juliana asks lamely.

Instead of offering a coherent response, he releases a Scraggy, while the waitress—still looking somewhat forlorn—sends out her Purrloin.

A flash of light precedes Kieran's Hydrapple, his syrpentine heads crying out in fury. 

He turns as he witnesses a corresponding flash of light on Juliana's end. As the flare of incandescence fades, he vaguely sees the miniscule, fey silhouette, the delicate, gossamer wings—

Is that…

A Ribombee???

Juliana had planned to use a Ribombee???

“Purrloin, use Fake Out meow!”

“Ribombee, you know what to do.”

Purrloin lunges forward with a snap, darting to the side before swiping at the fey creature. Ribombee reels back slightly from the impact before launching off, a yellow blur zipping between the seats in an alternating pattern.

“How…” the waitress mumbles to herself. “It should have flinched—”

No…the ability, Shield Dust! It won’t work—

“After it Purrloin!!”

It scrambles after the Ribombee, who weaves through the hanging loops with an acrobatic grace. In a bout of ill-timed confidence, Purrloin leaps at one of the loops, only to shoot through and get tangled within its confines with an indignant yowl. 

“Quit messing with us. Scraggy, Crunch!”

Scraggy snaps its jaws at the nearby bug pokemon, only for Ribombee to flit away and up, weaving through another set of loops. As Scraggy rears its head back, it sneezes, before whipping its head in confusion. 

Where did all these webs come from?

Kieran gapes. That had been the entire rationale. Juliana was using Ribombee’s small size to her advantage within the limited space of this train car, utilizing the natural obstacles contained within as cover while zipping around in an attempt to distract their opponents. In reality, she had been setting up a sticky web all around the compartment. She was adapting to the terrain on the fly. It was rather clever.

He shakes himself back into the present. Sticky web would only delay the pokemon that would be switched in. They needed to slow their opponents down now. “Hydrapple, Syrup Bomb!”

Hydrapple commences to hock up the foulest candy syrup loogie in existence before launching it point-blank at the Scraggy in front of him. 

Along with the trainers who happened to be situated behind him.

There is a guttural scream as sticky candy syrup explodes within the car, splattering amongst the walls and coating everything and everyone in a viscous morass of crimson. 

“Oh shit,” Kieran says.

“Hey, it could be worse,” Juliana replies faintly, surveying the ocean of candy syrup and adhesive webs before them. “It’s not like you used a Flamethrower.”

“Right…uh, think positively here…”

“Meowwwwwww,” the waitress yowls, before her now-slippery, syrup-coated Purrloin wedges itself loose from the loop and attempts a Night Slash at the Ribombee, managing to nick the edge of her scarf and mostly resulting in a jagged gouge ripped into the steel walls of the car.

“Ribombee, Helping Hand!”

She quickly darts down towards Hydrapple to lend her aid, as Purrloin continues in hot pursuit.

“Scraggy, take a chunk outta that…whatever that weird apple pokemon is!”

Scraggy determinedly sloshes forth amongst the syrupy muck surrounding it, its eyes narrowed in focus as it hoists up its loose skin trousers. 

Kieran considers it. Scraggy had a Dark typing, so then—

“Hydrapple, use Body Press!”

Scraggy continues to wade through the morass as Hydrapple—boosted by Ribombee's Helping Hand—lunges his girth and slams viciously into it, sending syrup flying, spattering the seats and rails. When the ripples settle, Scraggy floats adrift in sweet, unconscious bliss in the newly created dessert hellscape. 

“Tch, return!” the biker mutters. “Go, Palpitoad!”

A Palpitoad materializes before their eyes—

Directly into the tangled mass of webbing that Ribombee had laid out earlier. 

Purrloin attempts to double back, lunging from a shredded seat to swipe with its claws, this time at the Hydrapple below it—

Before a flash of light floods the entirety of the car, reflecting off the polished walls surrounding them.

“MeOWWW my eyes!!!” the waitress wails.

Juliana has to blink the afterimages away from her vision as the light from Ribombee’s Dazzling Gleam fades away, leaving a dazed and weakened Purrloin fumbling to push itself back up. 

Palpitoad staggers further into the web as the biker commands it to release a torrent of muddy water in their direction. A geyser of liquified muck spews at them, Ribombee ducking under a seat as Hydrapple takes the full brunt of it. Juliana finds herself suddenly tugged to the side within the limited space they have, the back of her coat drenched in mud as she tumbles face first into Kieran’s chest—an arm wrapped protectively around her waist as her body presses against the warmth of his own.

“S-sorry, I had to think fast,” he stammers into her hair, their proximity making him heady and flushed. “I think…I think we might have to coordinate how we move on the train as we battle.” His hand whips up to grasp at a nearby hanging loop as their car shakes from the aftermath of a pokemon-induced earthquake located a few cars beyond their own, attempting to stabilize them both. 

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Juliana says, somewhat breathless. “So, we need to collectively dodge left or right based on the direction of the attack. I think if we’re close together it should work.”

Kieran nods, before he looks towards their opponents once again. He had to focus, more so on the battle before them and less so on how natural it felt to have his arm looped around her waist, her body heat radiating through the fabric of his hoodie. His Hydrapple had shaken off the attack easily, to the chagrin of the biker, whose brows were furrowed in concentration, almost as if…

As if he were trying to figure out what Hydrapple’s typing was.

He doesn’t know.

“Hydrapple, Syrup Bomb again!”

Ribombee and the waitress simultaneously duck behind the seats as another glop of syrup catapults through the car, setting off yet another detonation that leaves a viscous, red coating on everything. Palpitoad lies completely still, in repose amidst a syrupy demise. A one hit knockout. 

“Grass, then,” the biker mumbles to himself as he recalls his pokemon, before idly licking at his syrup-coated fingers. “Huh, not bad.” 

The waitress also finds herself having to retrieve her Purrloin, floating unconscious in a pool of syrup. When she releases her Poke Ball, they find themselves standing across from a lone Zorua, picking at the sticky webbing surrounding it. Ribombee had a type advantage on hand, so perhaps another Dazzling Gleam, or…

“Aerial Ace!”

Aerial Ace?

“Ribombee, Dazzling Gleam, quick!”

Ribombee manages to fire off a swift flash of incandescent light that sets the Zorua back, before it leaps swifty into the air and dives directly at Hydrapple, striking him. He winces with the impact, a hissed trill. Hydrapple launches himself, slamming his body against the Zorua, which wobbles unsteadily, barely hanging on to consciousness by a thread. 

“Give him a pollen puff!” Juliana shouts.

Ribombee flits over to Hydrapple, offering him a rolled-up ball of honey-colored pollen as Kieran blinks in confusion. This confusion quickly morphs into awe once he witnesses his Hydrapple chomping up the proffered pollen, quickly regaining his health. He had forgotten that a pollen puff could be used to heal allies as well. 

“Zorua, focus on that Ribombee!”

The Zorua switches tack and quickly launches itself at Ribombee, dive bombing her and launching her against the window with a resounding impact and a startled cry. She manages to flit away shakily as a menacing, apple-shaped shadow looms over the vulpine pokemon.

The moment that Hydrapple smashes itself against the Zorua, the fight is over. 

“Meowww…I lost, meowww,” the waitress declares dramatically.

“Uh—”

“Seriously, I am sooo embarrassed.”

“I…it’s fine, I mean we all—”

“I am a Biker. I’ve never won yet.”

Arceus, they were really beginning to feel bad now. 

Kieran and Juliana begin to sheepishly wade through the leftover candy syrup coating the floors of the car, brushing aside some residual webs as the waitress—thoroughly drenched—plops down on the longitudinal seating. They pause as they proceed to watch the biker ride his motorcycle on top of said seating, leaving visible tire tread marks in his wake. 

“This place is weird,” Kieran observes, flummoxed.

“Agreed.” 

After they utilize the terminal to heal their pokemon, they cross through an adjacent corridor and into the next car. Across from them stands a backpacker bubbling with enthusiasm and a roughneck donning a studded, embroidered Krookodile jacket, rubbing at his hairless scalp in absentminded contemplation.

“The name’s Ananda,” the backpacker says heartily. “I’m not an ordinary backpacker, ‘cause I’m a newlywed!”

“Oh! Uh, congratulations…” Juliana trails off awkwardly. 

“Thank you!” he continues merrily, undeterred. “This trip is our honeymoon!”

Is he…married to the guy next to him? They have totally different aesthetics, although I suppose they say that opposites attract.

Said guy next to him nods perfunctorily.

“Calisto. My shiny bald head is my secret.”

“What,” Kieran deadpans.

With no further preamble, the pair before them releases a Cubchoo and a Deino, respectively. In turn, Hydrapple and Ribombee heed their call, rejuvenated and ready for another battle. 

“Cubchoo, use Hail!”

In a train car??

It suddenly becomes pandemonium.

Irregular clumps of ice pelt from above through some bizarre, unknown force, hailstones ranging anywhere from a tenth of an inch in diameter to nearly the size of a golf ball smashing into myriad pieces upon contact with the floor. “You fuckin’ idiot,” Calisto snarls as a particularly hefty hailstone careens into his shiny, bald head. 

Kieran hisses between his teeth as he uses his arm to shield Juliana’s head from any wayward, pelting ice, her head ducking down on instinct. A normal, certified battlefield was usually designed to prevent any damage occurring to trainers or spectators. The dimensions took area of effect into account, with additional shielding technology in places that could afford it. The Battle Subway is no such place—trainers are equally exposed to such hazards. 

He eyes his pokemon with concern. Cubchoo could potentially be bad news. Not as bad as a Beartic by any means, but a decent blizzard sent their way could spell trouble for his Hydrapple, considering his quadruple weakness. Deino could also cause potential issues with any Dragon-type moves, although not nearly to the same extent. But would the trainer across from him know that?

“Ribombee, Pollen Puff!”

“Deino, Dragon Rush!”

Ribombee zips forward, flinching as a hailstone clips one of her gossamer wings, before summoning a rather poisonous-looking pollen puff and forcefully stuffing it in Cubchoo’s mouth. As it reels back, the Deino next to it charges forward, directly towards Hydrapple. At the last minute, Hydrapple manages to dodge to the right, along with the two trainers behind him. Calisto laughs.

“My pokemon can tell off the bat that you’re using a fellow Dragon-type. It won’t take me long to figure out what you’re playing at.”

Kieran smirks. So there were trainers here who could make reasonable deductions after all.

“Hydrapple, use Body Press on Cubchoo!”

Hydrapple slams the full girth of its body into the diminutive Cubchoo, doing a significant amount of damage. In retaliation, the Cubchoo slashes at it, rending a thick, jagged line across the apple’s surface. 

“Ribombee, finish it off with Dazzling Gleam!”

With one, final flash of light, Cubchoo teeters before collapsing on the train car floor. As it is summoned back, Calisto rubs at his smarting head, a clear bruise forming on its surface.

“Ugh. Deino, use Dragon Rush again!”

This time, it connects. Deino collides with a forceful impact that echoes within the confines of the compartment, sending Hydrapple reeling back with the momentum. Juliana glances at him before chewing at her lip in thought. 

“Ribombee, help out Hydrapple.”

Her Ribombee gets the message and quickly administers another pollen puff to Hydrapple, bolstering it, as Ananda brings forth his second pokemon—a Golett. 

“I dunno how you think that’s gonna help,” the roughneck sneers, “‘cause I’ll just keep using Dragon Rush!”

Deino begins its deadly charge forward, ramming head-first into Hydrapple. It trills in pain, before something in his eyes shifts. Something snaps, wrathful clarity. 

Kieran senses it as well. “Hydrapple, Fickle Beam!”

All of Hydrapple’s heads rear forth in rage simultaneously, combining their multitudinous power into a coruscating beam of light that sends Deino flying to the other side of the car, leaving a sizable dent in the wall behind it and rendering it immediately unconscious. 

“Shit. Return,” he mutters as he calls back his pokemon. “Go, Pawniard!”

As a Pawniard materializes before them, Juliana has her Ribombee offer another pollen puff to Hydrapple in an attempt to heal him further. Kieran pauses. 

Clearly, Juliana had been shifting her strategy to be predominantly supportive, so far: the sticky web set up for speed control, helping hand to boost power, the pollen puff utilization for healing. He had seen her fight before—he knew how she could be, when on the offensive. A relentless, indomitable force. It was almost as if she was holding back for his sake, focusing everything on bolstering his team. He appreciated the gesture, sure. But she wasn't utilizing her full potential, and he somehow felt that it was his fault.  

Kieran had been desperate to prove himself to her, to show her how much stronger he is now, but—

He needed to show her that he could support her, too. This went beyond him, now.

“Juli, if you want, you can switch to Kingdra.”

She looks up at him with a start.

“Kieran! Are you sure?” Juliana utters, her voice laced with uncertainty. “Ribombee can heal you as needed, though.”

He gazes down at her. Flecks of ice remain strewn about her hair, across her cheek and the bridge of her nose. Kieran tenderly swipes with his thumb, skimming the summit of her cheekbone as he brushes away the remaining crystals, to a hitched intake of breath. “Don't worry 'bout me. Focus on battlin’ the way you usually do. I promised I'd have your back, remember?”

Juliana locks eyes with him, frozen in place with an indiscernible look on her face as she gazes back up through thick lashes. She slowly raises a trembling hand to his lock of hair, carefully picking an errant fleck of ice off of his strands as he watches her, rendered motionless. 

“You did, didn't you?” she murmurs thoughtfully, before the corners of her mouth curl up in a display of bashfulness. “Maybe I'll take you up on that, then.”

She glances suddenly towards their pokemon, her Ribombee just having taken the brunt of Iron Head from the opposing Pawniard. The fey creature sways from the impact wanly. 

“Ribombee, return! Let's do this, Kingdra.”

As Kingdra materializes in front of them, Ananda gathers his bearings. Earlier, he had the look of one who wasn't entirely on the same plane of existence. This still holds true. 

“Golett, use Magnitude!”

Magnitude? Isn't that—

The car shudders violently, jostling everyone within its confines with a sudden, jarring turbulence that sends Kieran's heart leaping straight into his throat, his gut twisting in apprehension. He scrambles for the nearest hanging loop while Juliana careens into him, clutching at his hoodie in a blind panic as the car briefly lurches to the side unsteadily. On sheer instinct, he pulls her into a protective embrace, holding her close to him. This has to be—

A magnitude of nine.

Hydrapple pulls through with his resistance to Ground-type moves, as Kingdra winces with the disruptive blow. 

“You okay?” Kieran rasps, the sensation of his voice reverberating against Juliana's face and chest.

“I'm good, just…got startled. You?”

“Same. Let's take that Golett out first.”

They turn as one to face the battle before them.

“Hydrapple, Dragon Cheer!”

“Kingdra, use Hydro Pump on Golett!”

A victorious, draconic cry issues forth from Hydrapple, boosting Kingdra’s morale as she rears her head back, before a powerful jet of water blasts onto the Golett. The force propels it backwards, slamming it into the car wall and leaving a golem-shaped indentation in its wake. A critical hit. 

It slowly topples forward before a beam of light summons it back. 

Calisto mutters to himself.

“It looks like it could also be a Grass type, but not a hundred percent sure…well let’s try anyway. Pawniard, use Aerial Ace on that…somethingApple?”

Pawniard leaps into the air and cuts downward in a swift strike that cuts into Hydrapple, leaving him struggling to stay upright, his long, serpentine neck swaying in a daze. If he could hold on just a little more—

“Kingdra, Draco Meteor!”

There is a long, potent pause as the trainers in the car silently crane their heads up in unison, the air suddenly thick with foreboding.

They arrive just as suddenly—brilliant, incandescent meteors that come crashing down through the ceiling onto the lone Pawniard, obliterating sight and sound alike in the explosive flare of draconic annihilation. It is extreme overkill and also incredibly on brand for Juliana, Kieran ponders dryly. He had told her to battle the way she usually did. Famous last words. Would there even be a train car left? Were they in the afterlife? Whose brilliant idea even was this?

Drayton’s, that’s who.

Kieran vaguely wonders if he could potentially knock the upperclassman out and ship him in a box back to the nearest toothpaste factory. 

As the dust settles, to his surprise, he finds that the train car remains mostly intact, albeit with giant, crater-sized dents littering the steel floor as well as some notable punctures on the ceiling, made all the more noticeable with the sudden draft of mildewed air wafting in from above. In the center of one of the craters lies the Pawniard, no longer able to fight. 

The roughneck sighs as he calls back his pokemon. He then slowly looks back up at the two teenagers standing before him.

“You should have a shiny bald head to be stronger.”

“Fuck no,” Kieran grates adamantly. To his horror, the Caretaker immediately comes to mind. He shudders with the thought.

“This trip is our honeymoon…but I wandered off from my wife…” Backpacker Ananda mumbles solemnly to himself as he takes a seat. 

Oh. So those two weren’t married to each other after all…

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Juliana says, her voice tinged with genuine concern. “Another backpacker, I take it?”

“Yes! Her name is Wald! My lovely Wald—”

“If we run into her, I can let her know you’re here, if that would help?”

“You would do that?” he asks, his eyes shining with hope. 

“We can try. I’ll keep my eye out for another backpacker then.”

“Thank you so much!”

As they begin to walk towards the terminal at the end of the car, Kieran smiles in amusement as he sweeps the remaining flecks of ice off of Juliana’s hair. Most of them had melted away already, except for a few that were scattered throughout her brown strands. She blinks Noctowlishly at him for a moment, only to recalibrate, before standing on the tips of her toes to brush off some remaining traces of hail from his head, her fingertips carding through his hair and inadvertently caressing his scalp. The sensation sends a brief shiver down his spine—it feels strangely good, soothing and electrifying all at once. He tries to not dwell on it too much, how much he wants to melt into her touch.

After they heal their pokemon, they enter into the next car, only to find an incredibly upset woman wielding a parasol in an alarmingly aggressive manner. The hiker next to her glances at her skittishly, as if afraid to incur her wrath further.

Parasol woman’s eyes flit to Kieran and Juliana’s intertwined hands, before she growls in irritation. 

“My boyfriend left me on a rainy day. So I will take it out on you!”

Juliana grimaces.

“Kieran?”

“Yeah?”

“I get the feeling that we just pissed her off even more.”

“...same.”

“So, where would you like to go? I assume the ball game with the Virbank Victini isn’t really your kinda thing, although I could be wrong.”

Carmine shrugs, her arms still wrapped around her person in an act of self-comfort. There was the fact that her brother was out on the Battle Subway for the first time, the fact that she was here in a completely foreign, overstimulating, jam-packed city for the first time—

And then there was this bozo, casually sauntering next to her with seemingly not a care in the world.

She is self-aware enough to realize the complicated feelings that Drayton managed to elicit from her. Everything about him seemed to effortlessly push her buttons—his tendency to be lazier than a Slakoth while she had had to work her ass off to keep up her scholarship requirements, his habit of leaving opened, expired snacks all over the club room while he loafed off; how, despite this, he tended to skate by with his silver tongue, his infuriatingly charming comebacks that somehow manage to trigger frustration compounded by intense secondhand embarrassment and a betraying flutter in her chest. Witticisms and rejoinders that somehow make her feel more alive than she has ever felt before, on the cusp of screaming, the ever-looming threat of a responding laugh threatening to bubble up her throat, the intrusive thoughts telling her to seal up his mortifying remarks with her lips—

Where did that even come from?

And then he had to have the nerve to actually…to actually have a reason to be the way he is. It was the equivalent of having a rug pulled out from underneath her. That there was an actual, underlying reason why he keeps skipping class, repeating year after year. That he had once tried to live up to the expectations, that he had experienced burnout firsthand himself—

Her self-reasoning to keep her distance from him is slowly but steadily gaining fine, hairline cracks, and she hates it.

“Yeah, I gotta say, I have no clue who the Virbank Victini are,” she says distractedly.

“That’s fair. So what interests you then? In general?”

Carmine dwells over it. Opening up to the guy next to her always seemed to have the underlying threat of being a hazard—perhaps due to his penchant for scheming—but what choice did she have? She is essentially stuck with him, for the time being.

“Well, I guess there’s…fashion? And I’ve never been to a musical, either, I suppose.”

Drayton raises his eyebrows. “Well, there’s the fashion show that Elesa runs, if you wanna check that out.”

Carmine snorts. “And why in Arceus’ name would you want to go to a fashion show with me? To check out the supermodels there and ogle them?”

“Why would I do that when I could just look at you instead?”

She stops with a sudden jerk, nearly slamming into a nearby lamppost in the process. 

“How c-can—how can you say such things, you knucklehead??!”

He holds his hands up in a placating gesture, the corners of his mouth upturned in mirth. “It’s true, though. Seriously, Carmine, you’re prettier than all of those models on that catwalk, believe me.”

“Of course I’m prett—h-hey, how would you even know that anyway??”

“I’ve had to travel on gym leader business with my grandpa before, remember? I’ve seen the interior of Elesa’s gym a few times, along with a few battles.”

“So you were just checking those models out when you were a kid, then.”

“It just means I’ve seen enough in life to know when there’s true, natural beauty before my eyes.”

She wants to scream. “Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, buttering me up like this—”

Drayton sighs in exasperation, a mild hint of frustration on his features. “Look, I’m being serious, Carmine. I mean, have you ever looked at yourself in a mirror befor—”

“Have you?????”

Everything stops.

They stare.

Carmine slaps a hand over her mouth, her mortification at her slip-up swallowing her whole and sending her spirit astral projecting into the churning void of the Dimension World. 

Drayton then begins to laugh.

A true, gut-wrenching guffaw that sends him reeling, clutching at his sides as he convulses, doubling over and stumbling to the lamppost for support. It’s a high, reedy, genuine laugh that spills out of him unfettered, the threat of tears looming at the corners of his eyes as he roughly wipes at them with the heel of his palm. Carmine realizes that she has never truly heard him laugh before. Not like this.

“Sometimes, when I have the energy, I do,” he chortles brokenly, before breaking out into a delighted grin—as if he had been let in on a big secret. “How about a musical, then? I’ve heard good things about The Phantump of the Opera and The Pyroar King this year.”

She boggles at him, silently relieved that he at least has the grace and tact to not acknowledge her egregious fuck up. “Haven't tickets been sold out for those since the beginning of this summer??”

He rummages in his pockets, before pulling out a somewhat battered ID card, with some symbols on it that Carmine has never seen before. 

A…gym leader union card?

“I might get lucky. Sometimes it pays off to know people in high places.”

The platform feels heavy, warm and still as they temporarily disembark.

“Congratulations!” the nearby depot agent exclaims warmly. “You've successfully reached a seven-win streak! Since you've won seven in a row, I present you with these Battle Points!” A cheerful chime resounds simultaneously on both of their Rotom phones as they glance down. A notification stating that their Battle Points have been registered to a new Battle Subway account. 

“Anyway, please enjoy your time here,” he continues. “If you’d like to go back to Nimbasa City, please let me know. Otherwise, I'll inform you when we are ready to depart.”

Juliana thanks him, before they both wobble over to the nearest bench, plopping down with a sigh of relief. It almost feels as if they have freshly disembarked from a ship out at sea, their legs freshly accustomed to the oscillations and perpetual swaying of the subway cars. 

Their clothing was somewhat worse for wear, as well. Juliana had nearly been doused with mud and water multiple times, her coat still marked from their first battle. An errant sludge bomb from an overripe Trubbish had also managed to clip the edge of Kieran's hoodie, the acid eating away at the fabric before Juliana had quickly pulled him against her. The quiet gasp this motion elicited hadn't escaped her notice. Moving as one unit had proved more challenging than initially anticipated, but had been made easier the closer together they were. There hadn't been any time to dwell over whether such a hands-on approach was appropriate or not. They were operating on pure adrenaline as they grasped and pulled each other out of harm's way. After all, they didn't have the luxury of being able to dodge and maneuver freely like the other trainers on the subway. 

Juliana turns her gaze towards her friend sitting beside her. At some point, he had disrobed and put his hoodie aside, fanning himself with his tank top in the muggy, stale air of the platform. She idly observes the sheen of sweat glistening at his temple, pooling at the sharp prominence of his collarbone, his head tilted back in relief, his arms draped languorously across the back of the bench, skirting the nape of her neck. The strands of his lock of hair slightly plastered to his face as the rest wisps back. She briefly entertains the purely hypothetical thought exercise of what it would be like to skim her lips over the exposed curve of his throat, tasting salt and musk as she nips and sucks at his mole, contemplating the noises he would make; brushing at his jawline—

Juliana decides at that moment how truly unfair it is, how attractive her friend is. He is going to be the end of her. It takes the vast majority of her willpower to tear her eyes away from him. The heat of the subway and the heady rush of battle had clearly scrambled her brains. 

“I…uh, would you want some water?” she falters, choking out the words. Goodness, had her throat always been this dry? “There's a vending machine over there.”

“Oh! I think I'm okay. If you want it though, we can go over there.”

They slowly, laboriously rise from their seats, before swaying over to the nearby vending machine. Juliana places some Pokedollars in the slot, before a bottle of fresh water is dispensed into the receptacle. As they head back to their bench, she cracks open the bottle and takes a hearty swig. 

“Wow,” she breathes as she collapses back onto her seat. “I definitely needed that. You sure you don't need any water?” She tries to not let her gaze linger too long on the sheen of sweat he's accrued from their bouts of exertion.

He hesitates. That water actually did look incredibly enticing now. 

“I…actually, maybe. I just dunno if I need a whole bottle.”

“Then just split this one with me,” she replies. 

He stares.

“Oh. Uh. You sure…? I mean, if that's okay with you…”

She proffers the bottle to him with a smile. He takes it and gulps down a greedy mouthful of cold water, relishing in the invigorating, crisp sensation as he presses his lips eagerly to the rim of the bottle for another swig, only to realize—

Indirect kiss.

Indirect kiss, his mind echoes unhelpfully on repeat, as the nerve endings on his lips betray him, flaring to life, buzzing with euphoria.

He tamps down the feeling desperately as he takes another swig, before handing it back to Juliana—willing himself not to choke. “Thanks,” he murmurs distractedly, not trusting himself to look her directly in the eye. From his peripheral vision, he notes the brief pause as she looks at the mouth of her water bottle, before taking another sip. 

“So, how are you liking the Battle Subway so far?” she asks.

Kieran considers this question. Ruminates.

“I like it. It's intense though. I didn't realize how small the cars could be for a full-on battle. And the trainers here all seem to be weirdos. Is it just me?”

Juliana snorts. “It's definitely not just you. Seriously…‘my shiny bald head is my secret’?”

“Or the guy ridin’ his motorcycle onto the seats,” Kieran deadpans. “They might all have a few screws loose.”

She laughs. 

After a brief pause, Kieran asks, “why were ya mainly focusin’ on support, earlier?”

“Well,” she hesitates, “I wanted you to have fun on this trip, and I thought—well, since you’re the school Champion and with how hard you’ve worked—maybe you’d want to take the lead, you know? Considering how strong your team is. I’m totally fine with taking a support role for this excursion.”

So she had been holding back for him.

“I…it’s true that I worked hard and wanted to be strong. But…” How was he supposed to say this—

Kieran peers around the platform. It mostly consists of trainers going about their own business, idly chatting or scrolling on their Rotom phones. They are all strangers engrossed in their own activities. It is a peculiar sort of privacy granted by the anonymity of being in a big city. It is this privacy that emboldens him further.

“...I wanted to be strong ‘cause of you, Juli. ‘Cause—” He pushes past, rushes on as he hears her gasp, her sudden intake of breath—

“—‘cause you’re strong. An’ I wanted to meet you at that level, for you to see that. To…to recognize me, see me, I dunno. I thought if I could be like you, be that strong…I could become this cool person with all these friends. But…maybe I lost sight of things, an’…I don’t wanna see you hold back ‘cause of me, y’know? You’re…”

He has to push past the lump in his throat, to continue on. In a desperate bid to look at anywhere but the girl beside him, he fiddles with the lock of hair framing his face. Arceus, he was covered in sweat and now he was going to be even more sweaty from this deluge of word vomit, this had been a terrible idea—

“...aww man, I dunno how to say this right—I’m messin’ up—but you’re already great the way you are! I don’t want you to…to change yourself for me. You’re amazin’ already just the way you are naturally, an’ I wanna see that in battle too. So please…don’t hold back for me. Jus’ go for it.” 

When he reluctantly turns his gaze back, he finds Juliana staring at him, glassy-eyed. 

Arceus, did he make her cry? Is she going to cry because of him? He’d messed up, big time—

“Kieran…” she begins carefully, “do you know why I thought you were always cool?”

He starts, looking at her in mute consternation. He shakes his head slowly.

“I wasn’t saying that just because. I’ve met a lot of people before, living in Galar and Paldea. And…in life sometimes, we all have these layers we accumulate. Like…barriers. Sarcasm, joking around, snark. To get through the day, I guess. But…when I'd met you, it was like a breath of fresh air, for real. You were so…earnest, so straightforward and passionate with your interests in local myths and history. I didn’t have to…dig through all these layers to figure out what was going on with you—you were so you. You were sincere and sweet and I could tell you loved your pokemon and cared for them. You cared so much—about your team and the things you loved and…that’s what made you strong. What makes you strong. You've always been strong to me, Kieran.”

Oh.

“Wait…is that really…?” he trails off feebly, flushed at the praise he had received. Praise that—most importantly—came from Juliana. He feels her hand squeeze his own, her thumb tracing idle patterns tantalizingly over the back of his hand. 

“It's true,” she murmurs fondly. “I think…a lot of people are afraid to reveal how much they really, truly care. It takes real strength to open yourself up like that, to be so earnest and genuine. It's one of the reasons why I…”

The words die on her lips. 

Kieran gazes at her intently, his golden eyes fixated on her brown ones. “One of the reasons why you…?”

…one of the reasons why I love you.

…love?

Is this…love?

They are still young. Sure, there are strong feelings involved—she had been harboring a doggedly persistent crush for nearly a year now, but…it seemed so sudden, it seemed—

Arceus. 

I'm in love with him.

I've been in love with him. 

She gapes at him, fumbling for words, praying that he can't discern how clammy her palms have become. 

“I…uh—”

“We will be departing in a couple of minutes,” the depot agent calls out across the platform. “If you would like to continue, we suggest that you begin boarding now.”

As the myriad pokemon trainers begin to file back onto the subway cars, Juliana glances sheepishly at Kieran. 

“Sorry…I…”

Kieran searches her face before relenting, giving her hand a squeeze. “It's fine. Ya ready for the next battle?”

I'm in love with him, I—

“Y-yeah. I'm ready. Let's go.”

They soon find a rhythm.

The order of their team had already been established from the beginning, with the depot agent. There was no changing that. But there had been an unspoken agreement based on the composition of each opposing team they had encountered, based on criteria such as type advantages. One could generally surmise that trainers such as hikers would utilize Ground or Rock types, for example. The moment that a primarily Fire, Ground, or Rock-type opponent would appear, they would switch to their rain strategy. 

Politoed would start a drizzle throughout the compartment and lend his assistance with Helping Hand as Kingdra would wreak aquatic havoc with Hydro Pump or Muddy Water. They would occasionally switch it up, with Hydrapple using Dragon Cheer as support. Either way, the end result was the creation of entirely new bodies of water, a newly created system of lakes along the subway line, with the occasional case of point-blank meteor showers. Kieran silently hoped that the UTA budget could cover for all these repairs. They had to, right? This was just another Thursday for them, in theory.

In any case, Juliana was loosening up, relaxing more. She subconsciously shifted to a more offensive stance as they progressed through the cars. It became a total curb stomp battle—complete and utter annihilation. Even Ribombee seemed to be getting more feisty in the process—he hadn't considered the innate comedic potential of Ribombee force-feeding pollen puffs of dubious origin at lightspeed until he had witnessed it firsthand. People were beginning to create an entire host of new neuronal associations relating to fear or dread, the moment that they saw two drenched, wild-eyed teenagers approaching them.

It was in the midst of their relentless onslaught that they had run into yet another backpacker, in a state of aggravation that was not entirely dissimilar to the baker next to her—frantically looking for her loaves of bread throughout the train car. The backpacker—a woman this time—had been lamenting the heavy weight of her rucksack.

Before Juliana had had the chance to speak up, they had quickly released their pokemon—a Boldore and a Pansear. She and Kieran had made quick work of the opposing team with their rain team combination, dodging a poorly aimed Flame Burst in the process that had nearly singed the edge of Juliana’s coat, if not for Kieran pulling her safely against him at the last second. If it weren't for the turbulent chaos of the subway cars, one might almost think that he was finding excuses to hold her in such a way. It was only upon their victory that they had learned from this backpacker, Myrna, that she was indeed not Ananda's wife and that, in fact, his wife had gotten on an entirely different train altogether—the Super Multi. 

Despite this rather concerning outcome for the poor backpacker they had encountered earlier, along with the continuing pattern of bizarre trainers that they kept encountering, the pair found the experience to be exhilarating. It was a give and take, working in sync with each other. Kieran had always envisioned an intense match between them to claim the title of Champion. But he had never realized the thrill and satisfaction that could be found in fighting by her side instead. 

She was at her most vivacious when they battled. Stunning. Knockout. There was a reason that such adjectives came to mind. Juliana was a force of nature that managed to bowl him over with a raw power and beauty that effortlessly scrambled his feelings within the panicked recesses of his mind time and time again. 

She was strong.

But in this situation, even the strongest person cannot do everything alone. 

She had believed in him and his strength from the very beginning.

She was relying on him, just as he was relying on her.

He had finally found his place. 

He finally belonged.

“So, you’re saying that that card you carry around with you can get you discounts everywhere?”

“Well…not everywhere, but for some entertainment venues, sure. It’s mainly for hotels, inns, that kind of thing, in case you have to make a last minute trip to a conference or an emergency meeting—especially after the whole Team Plasma thing.”

Carmine lets this newfound information sink in. 

“...if it’s for gym leaders, then why do you have one?” she asks suspiciously.

“Oh, this is Iris’. She lets me bum off hers all the time. Cousin privileges.”

She rolls her eyes. It is incredibly on brand of him to bum off of someone else’s hard work—the whole fiasco involving Juliana and the League challenge being a prime example. Nonetheless, Carmine had to admit that it had been a huge boon to them, so far. They had managed to fit in not one, but two matinee shows, with time to eat at a diner in between. He had even paid for all of the expenses so far, to her growing consternation. It was with notable regret that she realized she had been actually enjoying herself.

Still though. 

While the shows had been a nice escape, she couldn’t ignore the fact that the crowds were beginning to wear on her. There were only so many times that she could excuse herself to the restroom for a breather, without having to come up with an embarrassing fake excuse involving periods or indigestion. Emerging from the subdued darkness of the theatre and entering the rush of pedestrian traffic had only exacerbated her overstimulation. She attempts to keep pace with Drayton, her fists clenching reflexively into the fabric of her sweater dress. 

“Hey…Carmine, are you okay?”

She turns to see Drayton looking at her levelly, with that same unnerving, analytical gaze that tended to surface when he was actually being serious. She watches that same gaze flicker down to her clenched fists, which quickly prompts her to relax them out of an abashed reflex.

“Yeah…I’m good. It’s just…bright out here, compared to the theatre, that’s all…”

His brows fly to his hairline, his eyes searching her face, the hunched, protective posture of her shoulders, the mute tension vibrating off of her. 

“You’re…not okay,” he mutters to himself, barely perceptible. A quiet revelation.

Carmine feels something carefully grasp her hand—gentle, yet firm—that leads her off to the side, towards a secluded area of greenery with a bench adjacent to the amusement park side. In the frazzled depths of her buzzing mind, it almost feels as if she had teleported to said bench. She blinks and suddenly finds Drayton sitting next to her, in a casual slouch that is almost at odds with the way he is leaning forward, gazing at her intently.

“Hey. Seriously, tell me what’s up.”

“It’s…the crowds. Sometimes it’s too much.”

He stares.

“Carmine…you travel with Briar though. All the time. How—”

“You realize it’s mostly field research, right?” Carmine blurts. “The airports are the worst, usually. But for the most part we’re collecting soil or water samples. We're not really in the metropolitan areas—”

“So you just…put up with it then?”

“It doesn't interfere with my work or anything! It's not like it's a deal breaker. It's just…compared to home, even Blueberry gets kinda crowded for me, to be honest.”

His gaze softens. “You could've told me, y'know. We could've just spent time in the more quiet sections, away from the crowds.”

“But then you would've just been…stuck with me. Wouldn't it be boring for you?”

“Carmine…” he says placidly, a pinnacle of patience, “I mainly just wanted to spend time with you.”

What.

“Wait…but Kiki…and Juliana…”

Drayton sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It was about them, mainly. At first. But after I saw the way they were around each other in the club room, I realized that they could take care of themselves. I wouldn't be surprised if they’re a couple of Buneary at this point—”

“Ewww, Arceus, this is my brother we're talking about, you bozo—”

“I was kidding, please don't kill me. Still though, these things happen all the time at the academy…no point turning a blind eye to it,” he shrugs. “But I figure, they're already pretty head over heels for each other. It's just a matter of one of them getting the guts to speak up, at this point. Which leaves us to our own devices. And honestly, I think you really need to relax and take care of yourself more.”

“But…there's my scholarship, with Ms. Briar's research…and Kiki, and…I can't just—”

He gives her hand a squeeze. It’s with a start that she realizes that they had been holding hands the entire time, during this conversation. “Carmine…just for today, try to let that all go.”

Drayton languidly unfolds to a stand, gently pulling her up with him in the process.

“Here, I have an idea.”

She doesn’t know exactly what unknown force compels her to follow him, to let him lead her by the hand. Perhaps it had been the fact that he hadn’t outright laughed at her, to her utmost surprise.

As she glances ahead, she realizes where they are heading.

The Rondez-View Ferris Wheel.

A couples-only Ferris wheel.

The romantic hotspot of Unova.

“W-wait…are we really going on there?” she stammers in a flustered haze.

Am I going on the Ferris wheel…with Drayton???

It's the equivalent of being dragged in by a relentless rip current, casting her out to sea. If that rip current bore any remote resemblance to a streak of toothpaste. 

“It'll be away from all the crowds at least,” he says reassuringly. “And it's a nice view from up there, I'd assume.”

“You assume?”

“It'll be my first time going on it, too.”

Right. Couples only. Which also implied…

“You've never brought a date here or anything?”

Drayton gives her a baffled look. 

“What makes you think I'd brought a date here before?”

Carmine flounders helplessly. “Well, I don't know, all those girls I've seen hanging off your arms around campus, maybe?? In the cafeteria, in the Terarium, so shameless—”

Realization dawns on Drayton's features like the world's most smug sunrise and she has the sudden epiphany that she has made a terrible misstep. “...Carmine, Carmine, Carmine. Were you perhaps…jealous???” he chortles gleefully. 

“No no no no,” she backpedals furiously. “Nope. Look, I'm just making a dry, purely scientific observation here—”

“Oh my Arceus you are jealous—”

“Noooooooo take that back you knucklehead—” she howls as she pummels at his shoulder futilely with her fists.

He quirks an eyebrow, ignoring her rage-fueled siege. “You know those were just casual flings, right? Nothing serious.”

“I saw you on all those dates,” she hisses. “I'm not blind—”

Drayton chokes back a startled laugh. “Carmine…I don't know how to tell you this, but this is my first real date.”

She suddenly stops in place as her brain promptly short circuits, nearly yanking Drayton to a halt in the process of getting in line.

This had been a date?

This entire time, they'd been on…a date???

“You're…just realizing now, aren't you?” 

“I…”

They had been on a date and she was having fun, of all things.

And this was his…first?

“I refuse to believe that this is your first date…” Carmine trails off lamely. 

He waggles his eyebrows. “Oh so you are acknowledging that this is a date now.”

“That's what you got out of that??”

“Are you having a good time on our…date?”

“Eugh—”

“C'mon, your carriage awaits milady.”

She briefly entertains the notion of booting him off the gondola from the highest point of the Ferris Wheel. Her heart could barely handle their current situation, as is.

However, as they seat themselves on the gondola and the ride begins with a mechanical shudder, she finds herself at a sudden loss for words. In the evening twilight, the lights of Nimbasa unfold as myriad constellations in an inky expanse, festooned with a kaleidoscopic arrangement of neon lights and vivid hues around the area of the theater and the stadiums. In that sense, Drayton had been right. It is a nice view, not to mention that it is much more placid and quiet the further up they go. From such a height, everything seems so small—her problems, her concerns. She could feel that persistent, nagging sense of worry dwindling away. 

As loath as she is to consider the notion, maybe there is some sense to his suggestion. Perhaps, just for today, she could let it all go. 

If one were to begin to look for the source of trouble that was to come, one would have to go back approximately one hundred and fifty years ago.

It harkened back to a pre-industrialized time, a barren path blanketed heavily in snow banks, with hardly a human in sight. It was cold and isolated, lying north of the Sacred Plaza within the Coronet Highlands of Hisui—Cloudcap Pass. If one were brave enough to make a sojourn to the Temple of Sinnoh, they would find their only company to be the stray Luxio or Luxray, the errant Gligar, the occasional, ambling Machoke.

As luck would have it, there also happened to be an impressive outbreak of Electabuzz that day, along with the grouchiest Alpha Electivire that one would have the misfortune to come across. The Electabuzz of this era had to put in a fair amount of effort to subsist on the electrical energy they so craved. Survey corps members had reputedly witnessed the pokemon scaling tall trees during looming thunderclouds, eagerly anticipating the next lightning strikes. It was, as some might say, very old school.

And yet, they made do. 

However, on this particular day one hundred and fifty years ago, a space-time distortion had happened to occur on this exact, barren path. This in itself wasn’t particularly novel.

What was novel was where this distortion had led too.

Traveling one hundred and fifty years into the future is no small feat. 

Travelling straight into the largest power plant in Unova, directly outside of Nimbasa City, is another feat altogether. 

The Electabuzz were elated, heedless of their spontaneous, temporal displacement. It was a veritable smorgasbord of electricity—a resplendent feast. They consumed and consumed, glutting themselves on potent electrical energy. The remaining Ground-type pokemon that hadn't been transported one hundred and fifty years into the past and were employed to deter such creatures—after all, Electabuzz were reputedly responsible for nearly half of all power outages in Sinnoh, or so the electric companies liked to say—were astonished, to say the least, when an entire herd of these power plant pests had seemingly materialized out of nowhere. They desperately set to work, taking out a few with a well-timed Bulldoze or Drill Run, only to find themselves submerged in a humongous, looming shadow.

They were ill-equipped to face the largest, meanest Electivire to ever grace the planet, for the first time in over a century. 

“I think…the next one will be the final battle.”

Kieran and Juliana hover over the threshold of the last car, their team freshly healed and ready to go. 

“So the Subway Bosses are supposed to be in the next carriage, then?” Juliana queries in a hushed tone. She doesn’t quite know what brings her to lower her voice in this way. Potentially apprehension. A tremor of excitement and dread.

“I think so. That’s what the depot agent said at the beginnin’.” He gives her hand a reassuring squeeze, his heart racing with anticipation. “You ready?”

“As much as I’ll ever be,” she replies with a lopsided smile, squeezing his hand in return. 

When they enter into the final car, they’re greeted by the sight of two men adorned in uniform trench coats with stripes reminiscent of railway tracks, crisp, starched shirts and ties; and standard conductor caps in contrasting tones of black and white, contrary to their near-identical appearance and stature. The man in black does appear to be slightly older, although it is difficult to discern whether this is due to the goatee that he sports. His bearing carries a strange sort of rugged athleticism that the other man seems to lack. 

The man in black clears his throat before starting to speak. “I am the warden Ing—”

He abruptly chokes on his words, followed by a split second of hesitation before he mutters something to himself in a language that Juliana cannot understand. Beside her, she notes Kieran perking up with a start.

“Kieran…what is it?”

“Juli, he’s speakin’ Kantonian. But it’s almost like…a really old-timey way of speakin’, like somethin’ I’d hear in one of my grandma’s period drama soaps. Where’d he even learn to talk like that?”

Kieran hesitantly begins to speak in Kantonian in return, a short sentence that immediately startles the man in black into the present. He blinks at him, before uttering a few more lines back in Kantonian.

“You understand him?” the man in white peers at Kieran with interest.

“Ah…uh, yeah. He’s speakin’ Kantonian, just in a…weird way. Why?”

“It’s a verrrrry long story! One we don’t have time for I’m afraid.”

The man in black rubs at the back of his neck, before he tries again. “My apologies. I am a… Subway Boss, Ingo. The fellow over to the side is also a Subway Boss, Emmet. Please forgive me for derailing my introduction, I am not quite operating at full capacity yet…but I do look forward to seeing how well you fight. However, it is difficult to win unless you and your partner are in total sync.”

The man beside him—Emmet—flashes a brief look of concern before he begins to speak. Kieran suddenly realizes that he had been one of the voices who he had heard over the PA system earlier. 

“Well then! Follow the rules. Safe driving! Follow the schedule. Everybody smile! Check safety. Everything’s ready! Aim for victory! All aboard!”

Emmet quickly sends forth his Durant, while Ingo releases his Garbodor. 

“Juli…” Kieran murmurs, “the guy in black—Ingo—he lost his memories.”

“What??”

“Yeah…that’s what he was sayin’ earlier. He was apologizin’, sayin’ he’s only recovered some of his memories.”

“That…that sounds awful…”

“I agree…still though, we shouldn’t let our guard down.”

Juliana nods as they send out Politoed and Kingdra, the car quickly becoming consumed by a downpour.

Garbodor immediately goes on the offensive, lobbing a potent Venoshock straight towards Kingdra, drenching it in poison. She flinches, shuddering from the aftermath of the attack. Durant quickly follows suit, slashing at Politoed with its mandibles and clamping down. 

It is already a bad start.

“Politoed, use Psychic!”

Juliana ducks down expectantly. “Kingdra, Draco Meteor on Garbodor!”

A jarring telekinetic force sends Garbodor hurtling through the car, straight into an oncoming meteor. As meteors rain down relentlessly through the train car ceiling, Juliana can barely hear a “yup, verrrrry impressive! But not for our budget” through the din, as Emmet blandly takes a step backward without so much as blinking. 

Garbodor wobbles in place, significantly injured but still capable of putting up a fight—Psychic had been super effective. It is this pokemon that is Juliana’s main concern. If they were down to Hydrapple and Ribombee, a few well-timed Venoshocks would immediately put them out of the running. 

Ingo declares something quickly in Kantonian, before backtracking with an awkward, polite clearing of his throat. “Garbodor, Venoshock.”

Garbodor turns to Politoed this time, ready to douse it in the same viscous substance that had poisoned Kingdra earlier. Juliana can hear Kieran mumbling to himself.

“What did you say?” she asks.

Kieran gazes at Ingo in confusion. “What did he mean by…Agile Style?”

Agile Style? What even is that? Is it a pokemon attack?

They find themselves having to quickly shake off their befuddlement, as the impact of the Venoshock sends Politoed staggering, shivering from the aftereffects of the toxins seeping in. If he could endure it though, another Psychic attack from him could potentially take Garbodor out of the picture.

There was another, strange shift in the oscillations and rumblings of the train car. Almost as if—

As if they are slowing down.

They detect a minute shift in the expressions of the Subway Bosses as their eyes flicker towards the windows. The tunnel lights are more distinct, whipping by at regular, sedate intervals instead of the usual blur of fluorescence that they had become accustomed to. In spite of this, Durant lunges towards Politoed with its mandibles, intent on another rendition of X-Scissor—apparently, Kieran's pokemon is perceived as enough of a threat that both conductors are honing their focus in on him. But the hit never lands.

Instead, the train shudders to a grinding halt, Durant skidding forward too quickly with the change in momentum. The ensuing silence becomes nigh deafening, the low hum of the HVAC system noticeably absent. Suddenly, the lights in the car flicker out.

Ingo looks up with a frown. 

“A disruption in supply to the OHE?”

“It’s rare for the supply to the catenaries to be interrupted,” Emmet replies, bemused. “Time to check in with dispatch.”

As he turns to walk through the adjacent compartment door, the emergency lighting painstakingly blinks into existence. Kieran can overhear Ingo murmuring into a radio walkie, “auxiliary power is active.”

“Kieran, are you okay?”

He glances down and to his left, only to see Juliana looking back up at him, her eyes frantically scanning him in the dim, ambient lighting with visible concern. In response, he gives her hand a quick squeeze, in an attempt to comfort her. He wills the lingering adrenaline in his veins to subside.

“I’m fine. Are you okay?”

She nods. “Yeah, I’m good now. What do you think happened? A power outage?”

Kieran grimaces. “It's possible. Hard to say though.”

“Do you think we should keep our pokemon out just in case? Although I suppose they would have established safety protocols, if it's anything like Galar.”

He mulls over it. They don't really know if there is a threat looming within the tunnel itself. Politoed would provide a measure of defense, despite the low visibility situation—

Visibility.

“Juli, try switchin’ in your Kingdra for Ribombee, in case we gotta use Dazzling Gleam for light. I hope it doesn't come to that, but…”

Juliana makes a hum of approval, before a couple, subsequent flashes of light indicate that she has switched her pokemon. Ribombee flits around in curiosity, mildly baffled at the unexpected suspension of battle.

“Sorry, we're not fighting right now. We might need you on standby, if that's okay though.”

Ribombee trills cheerfully in response, before circling around them and daintily landing on top of Kieran's head. She resolutely nestles into his strands, curling up cozily with a content sigh. 

“Is she…makin’ a nest on my head?” he queries, perplexed.

The sudden shaking of Juliana's hand in his makes him realize that she is doing her best to suppress her silent convulsions of mirth.

“She likes you,” she smiles impishly, her eyes twinkling in mischief. 

“She better not lay an egg on me.”

This time, she bursts into uncontrollable giggling, shaking as she leans into him for support. Something warm and wanting unfurls in his gut, despite the situation that they're currently in. That he could induce such laughter from her—

“Please forgive the unscheduled delay,” Ingo states apologetically, pivoting to face them. “We are currently addressing safety concerns. How are you two faring?”

“We’re okay,” Juliana replies. “Do you happen to know why we stopped suddenly?”

“We are determining the cause, but at a glance, it seems that there has been a disruption in the electrical supply to the overhead equipment. I apologize if our stop was rather rough…it was necessary to rely on the handbrakes, since the air compressors ceased to function. However, Emmet may be able to use his Eelektross to directly fuel the pantograph, which should allow us to…”

She blinks, somewhat bewildered at the onslaught of unknown train terminology. 

“Do you know how far we are from Nimbasa, at this point?” Kieran inquires.

“We should be close, just south of Nimbasa. I would hazard a guess that we are currently underneath Route 4.”

They are under the desert?

At this moment, Emmet enters the car, a slightly baffled look on his face. 

“Any news?” Ingo asks.

“The power grid is down.”

“The power grid for Route 4?”

Emmet pauses.

“The power grid for Route 4 and Nimbasa. The entirety of Nimbasa City has lost power.”

Chapter Text

“There’s no power? At all?” 

Icy dread pools in the pit of Kieran's stomach as his mind races with the implications.

Sis…is she okay?

“That is what they are reporting. Apparently, they encountered an unprecedented outbreak of Electabuzz within the central power plant, despite the safeguards in place. Along with the largest Electivire they have ever seen. They completely circumvented the preventative measures in place, almost as if they appeared out of nowhere. Verrrrry disruptive.”

A flash of recognition lights Ingo’s eyes, his brows furrowing. 

“An Alpha…the rift, perhaps?” he murmurs to himself.

“Rift?” Juliana asks. And what is an…Alpha?

“Electabuzz are rather uncommon here, although there have been sightings of Elekid within the Virbank Complex,” Ingo explains. “The sighting of an Alpha is definitely concerning though. They are larger and much more dangerous than the pokemon you are used to. It is likely that it came from a…rift. From another region, Hisui.”

Kieran nearly jolts out of his skin.

Hisui?

Why was he referring to Hisui as if—

“Do you mean…Sinnoh?” he asks tentatively.

“He means Hisui,” Emmet says, amused. As if he has had to make this particular clarification one too many times.

Arceus, the way he spoke…did it really mean that he—

“So…time travel? Really? Or some kinda…Ultra Wormhole situation?”

“I am…unfamiliar with these Ultra Wormholes,” Ingo states hesitantly. “But during my time in Hisui, there was a…space-time rift above Mount Coronet, as Professor Laventon put it. There were some other strange distortions as well. He had hypothesized that I had arrived via such a mechanism. Miss Akari had spoken to me about them—strange pokemon that seemingly came from another time. It is possible that such a thing is occurring, in reverse here.”

Juliana blinks. Professor Laventon…

Wasn’t he mentioned in Ms. Raifort’s history class? During their lesson on the history and development of the Poke Ball? But that would’ve been around…

One hundred and fifty years ago.

The way he had spoken about Laventon, it had been as if he had known him personally.  

“So these pokemon came from…Hisui then. Over a century ago…” she trails off.

“Indeed. However, if they arrived through a distortion, it is possible that they will eventually be transported back to their original time, if Miss Akari’s reports were correct. In which case, they should be able to restore power shortly. However, in the meantime, we may be able to get back to Nimbasa with some assistance. Right, Emmet?”

Emmet perks up. “I agree! It’s time to fuel up! We are already behind schedule as is.”

With a sudden flash of light, an Eelektross materializes before their eyes. 

“Eelektross, can you make it up to the roof? You may need to utilize Discharge on the pantograph, as much as you’re able to. I will give the appropriate signal when we are ready”

They watch in mild fascination as it sinuously weaves its way through the air, nudging through an emergency hatch on the roof before its body disappears out of sight. 

“We will have to go through our safety checks first, before we are ready to depart,” Ingo clarifies. “Emmet and I must ensure that the rest of the passengers are safe and still within the bounds of the train. We apologize for the delay. Will you be okay waiting here, for the time being?”

Juliana exchanges a quick look with Kieran. “We should be,” she says with a reaffirming nod. 

Ingo gives a polite incline of his head, seemingly satisfied with her response, before the two men briskly set off for the next compartment. Kieran follows them with his gaze, before his attention is drawn to a flicker of electronic light from his peripheral vision. He watches as Juliana worries at her lip, scrolling through her Rotom phone.

“Anythin’?”

She shakes her head. “No reception down here. There isn’t any way to get in touch with Carmine or Drayton right now.”

Kieran knocks his fist against his thigh to divest himself of restless energy. They really do not have any other options, short of throwing caution to the wind and running down the train tracks on Koraidon. Which would probably not be the best option, if the Subway Bosses were to restart the train soon, anyway.

They would have to bide their time and wait.

It had been over an hour since the Ferris wheel had ground to a halt. Since the city sprawled beneath them had been plunged into darkness. 

Carmine decides that she is not having a great day, after all.

She had attempted to call her brother and Juliana the moment that everything had shuddered to a stop—after all, she hadn’t been entirely sure whether the blackout would be impacting them, depending on where their train was or what power grid it was pulling from—but their phones had gone straight to voicemail. Potentially a reception issue on their end, then. That had been her hope, at least. 

It still didn’t stop her from being nearly sick with worry. 

“You’re worried about Kieran, aren’t you?”

Carmine jolts from her rumination, only to find Drayton sitting across from her, leaning towards her with his elbows propped on his knees, hands clasped together. The slight furrow to his brows looks out of place, given his usual, nonchalant demeanor. 

She grasps at the ends of her hair out of habit, agitation exuding from her lean frame. “Yeah…I can’t help it. Everything’s gone to the Dimension World in a handbasket out there, and we have no idea where Kiki or Juliana are. They could still be all the way near Striaton, for all I know. And I don’t know how safe it is with all those people milling around outside. Arceus, Drayton, it’s his first time here and—”

Drayton blinks. She wasn’t calling him bozo, knucklehead, or anything else from her usual catalogue of prickly endearments.

She really is out of sorts.

He slowly shifts forward to reach out towards her clenched hands, his fingertips brushing against her own before attempting to gently pry her grip loose. Her hands twitch suddenly under his touch, accompanied by a short intake of breath, before they slowly unfurl to let his fingers intertwine with hers. 

“Breathe with me, okay?” he says placidly. “Here's the Drayster take. I know Kieran is your younger brother, but he’s also the strongest trainer in our school. He’s also with a Champion-ranked trainer who has literally defeated members of an Elite Four before. And they’re both on a train with arguably two of the strongest trainers in our region. Between all of them, they could probably make a four-man army. I’m more worried for the people or pokemon around them.”

Carmine huffs out a wry laugh at the mental image that Drayton had managed to conjure. “I guess so. Maybe I’m just worrying needlessly.”

“Honestly, I think it’s endearing, how much you care about the people around you. I think you might just have to dial it back just a little bit though. Y’know, take care of yourself.”

She sighs. “I get it. It’s just hard to get out of that mode. Gran entrusted me to look after him, y’know? It’s just been us, Gran and Grandpa, and we made it work, but…”

“Hey, you did what you could,” he reassures, giving her hands a quick squeeze. “Look though, you both got this far! You guys have scholarships and you're studying in Unova. And you're both older now. Kieran's older now. He can manage.”

Carmine sighs, before her lips quirk up in a resigned smile. “I hate it when you make reasonable points, just thought I should let you know.”

“I'll make it my personal goal to make completely unreasonable points in the future then, just for you.”

“That's your baseline,” she snorts, rolling her eyes.

“Feeling a little better, at least?”

“Surprisingly, yeah, a little bit. Still though…”

She exhales slowly as she glances outside the window, scanning the park grounds below.

Drayton gives her a speculative look.

“Carmine…what are your feelings regarding property damage?”

This jolts her out of her anxious reverie and straight into the tumultuous void of complete bafflement.

“Why are we discussing hypotheticals about damaging buildings or belongings? I mean, I don’t think it’s great??”

Drayton snorts. “I’m not talking about buildings. I’m talking about things that are more specific to our current situation.”

Is he talking about the Ferris wheel?

“What are you planning on doing, exactly?” she asks suspiciously.

“I’m suggesting that we take matters into our own hands. You really want to go out there and look for them, don't you?”

To her regret, Drayton had hit the nail on the head. He isn’t wrong, by any means. She had felt so…useless just sitting and waiting, stuck in a compartment hovering over a hundred feet off of the ground, while Kiki and Juliana could be trapped in a subway tunnel for all she knew. Or hopefully a more optimal alternative—that they had arrived back in the city and are looking for them.

To further add onto their dilemma, it appears as if there will be no one coming up to rescue them. From her vantage point, she can easily peer into the other cabins of the Ferris wheel. In the darkness, she can barely discern human silhouettes, highlighted by the telltale glow of Rotom phones coming from within. However, based on the rocking of the gondolas and the movement within them, people are beginning to grow restless with agitation and worry. What does not help is the fact that there had been an ominous, purple dome of crackling energy that could be seen from a far distance, just beyond the outskirts of Nimbasa proper—where the infrastructure of a power plant had previously been. They had witnessed its appearance, just before the lights in the city had blinked out of existence to the accompaniment of startled screams.

There had been a number of strange, unnatural events occurring throughout the history of their world. Team Plasma’s castle rudely bursting through Elite Four property, Team Flare trying to (also rudely) annihilate all life with the Ultimate Weapon to start anew, the chairman of the Galar League attempting to (again, rudely) initiate another doomsday, among other countless events. There was always something. What she would give to live in uninteresting times, for once.

Whatever that thing is, Carmine decides that she will not go near it. She is over this. 

“So how exactly does property damage fit into all this?”

Drayton grins viciously as he taps experimentally on the windows surrounding them. “Tempered glass is five times stronger than regular glass, but it’s still breakable.”

Carmine blinks at him as the insanity of his implication sets in.

“Holy shit, are you out of your mind you bozo??? Are you proposing that we…we bust through the glass out of here???”

“Actually. Yes.”

“We’ll be banned from the park for life, knucklehead!!”

“It would be a memorable first date, one to tell the kids—”

“Kids??!?! Not if I have Sinistcha Scald your dick off first!”

He winces, shielding himself with his arms melodramatically. “Oof, anything but that—”

“And what would we be doing to get out of here after that, huh??”

“Simple. I have Dragonite with me.”

Arceus in a handbasket. He wanted to bust out of their glass prison and fly away from the scene of the crime like a maniac. 

“Shit, I don’t have Toucannon on me…” she mutters as she frantically rummages through her side pockets. She had only brought Sinistcha as a last resort for self defense, if needed. Full on battles had been the last thing on her mind, let alone flying off from the top of Nimbasa’s landmark ride.

“Carmine, you can just ride Dragonite with me. There’s room, you know. It’ll be nice and cozy.” 

She makes a vaguely strangled sound born of metaphysical pain as she contemplates the mental image that swims into view. An image of her and Drayton, riding off on his Dragonite into the proverbial sunset, breaking out into song. Carmine makes a mental note to refrain from seeing more than one musical within a single day. 

“So you’re really serious, about busting out of here,” she states blandly. “Even if it means potentially getting suplexed by your grandfather? There’s no way you’d be able to live it down.” She is no fool—she had heard the rumors: Drayden and his Haxorus were known to practice piledrivers, dropkicks, and Arbok clutch slams on each other with a frankly astonishing frequency. She would have to scrape up the leftover pieces of Drayton from Opelucid and put him back together like one of Burgh's modern art pieces.

Drayton makes a pained face. “Yeah, don’t remind me. Still though, I’ll do it for you. If you really want to go look for Kieran and Juliana, I can…expedite the process.”

Carmine mentally weighs the options in her head. Her little brother and her friend are potentially out there, among the chaotic swarms of panicked amusement park goers bustling below them. Drayton did have a point—Kieran is older now, and Juliana is with him too—but there are too many unknowns occurring, between the strange dome she had seen earlier and a power outage in a major city. She couldn't just sit around, doing nothing.

She decides that maybe, perhaps, she could comfortably spend the rest of her days without having to step foot in the Rondez-View Ferris Wheel ever again. 

“Alright bozo, let’s bust out of here.”

“Music to my ears,” he grins impishly. “Now, you might want to stand off to the side for this part.”

A flash of light bursts within the confines of their compartment, before Carmine is able to glimpse the outline of a Flygon hovering in place. At a decently sized six feet and seven inches, the space of the gondola is quickly becoming a claustrophobic’s nightmare. 

“Okay Carmine, crouch on the floor and keep as low as possible.”

She does as told, squatting to the ground and folding into herself, hunched and wary. She nearly jolts with surprise as Drayton suddenly pulls her into a protective embrace, shielding her with his body as he tosses his coat—the coat that he had not used throughout the entire day—over the both of them.

“Flygon, use Breaking Swipe!”

Carmine hears, rather than sees the subsequent crack, the crackle and pop of tempered glass shattering around them. When the din dies down, Drayton throws off the coat, sending granular chunks scattering off its surface and raining upon the cabin floor. Flygon looks at him with an inquisitive tilt of his head, unscathed. 

“You did great,” Drayton beams as he calls back his pokemon. He promptly summons his Dragonite, who perches carefully upon the drive rim of the Ferris Wheel, bracing herself against one of the spokes for stability. It would be an awkward angle, but the distance between Dragonite and the gondola is negligible.

Glass crunches underfoot as Drayton ambles to the edge of the cabin, gauging the distance nonchalantly as he brushes the remaining glass away from the edge with his coat. The compartment wobbles precariously as he clambers over the edge, before leaping off.

Carmine screams.

She scrambles from her position on the floor to peer over the edge, her heart pounding in defiance against her sternum. To her rage and relief, she finds Drayton lounging casually on his Dragonite—infuriatingly relaxed and at ease, for someone who is perched nearly one hundred and fifty feet above the ground. His posture and expression wouldn't be out of place back in the club room, drowsing lazily in his favorite chair.

She looks down, down, down at the ground. Which is very far from where she currently is. 

“Oh my Arceus,” Carmine says. “Fuck no.”

“Think of it as a trust fall,” he replies cheerily. “I'll catch you.”

“You'll catch me??”

Carmine quickly runs through all the worst case scenarios in her mind. Even if she were to hold on to her Rotom phone as she plunged to her inevitable demise, the safety feature of said phone would abruptly stop her from becoming a smear on the ground —so abruptly that she would dislocate both of her shoulders simultaneously in the process. She would be alive and in dire need of medical attention. And that would be the best case scenario, too—the one where her grip strength wouldn't fail her, the timeline where she wouldn't accidentally let go.

“I promise I'll catch you. Trust me.”

She searches his features for any traces of insincerity or jest.

He is being serious.

He has pivoted to face her, his legs locked in place around his Dragonite and further stabilized by the crook of her shoulder joints and wings. His arms held aloft, ready to seize Carmine at a moment’s notice. She glances uneasily at the ground one more time, before meeting his amber gaze with her own golden irises.

“You better not let go,” she mutters softly.

“They’d have to pry you from me with a Crobatbar, after this. I might owe you another date…say, Cafe Sonata?”

“You’re already thinking about other dates??” she shrieks. “Just focus on making sure that I don't…turn into a human pancake, or something.”

“Duly noted.”

She carefully boosts herself up on the rim of the compartment, bracing herself as it sways with her accompanying movement, skewing down and at an angle due to the uneven weight distribution. One foot up, and then—

And then once the other is balanced on the slim razor’s edge, she will have to fully commit. 

No big deal. Just jumping from a height of one hundred and fifty feet off the ground, into the arms of the biggest slacker in the academy, or risk plummeting straight into the headlines of the eight o’clock news. No sweat.

The moment her other foot clambers onto the railing edge, she jumps.

Carmine feels her stomach drop like a stone to the ground beneath her, but finds the rest of her body thankfully colliding with something firm and warm instead, eliciting a muted grunt in the process as arms ensnare her in a secure embrace. She cranes her head up from a wall of chest, only to find Drayton looking back at her, the faintest hint of a rare, rosy flush on his cheeks, despite his overall demeanor of confidence. 

“See? Told you I’d catch you.”

She stares at him, transfixed. If she were to just lean forward, she could—

“Okay, f-fine,” she stammers, “You did it. You caught me.”

“Your bozo in shining armor,” he says roguishly as he wiggles his eyebrows, briefly tightening their embrace. Carmine imagines that the whirlwind of Vivillon in her stomach is due to their previous meal, or nerves from dangling at such a great height from the ground. Yeah, that had to be it.

“R-right. Let’s go find my damn brother.”

When they arrive at the Nimbasa platform, it is surprisingly well-lit, given the circumstances.

“The back-up generators appear to be working, at least,” Ingo says approvingly. 

Through the windows, they can see the whirling panic of clustered trainers as well as the hurried bustling of various depot agents, one of them signalling the location of the buffer with their Lampent, as the train rolls to a stop. Eelektross slides its way down the emergency hatch with all the constitution of a limp noodle, looking somewhat the worse for wear after using up most of its energy stores to fuel their train ride back to the city. 

Speaking of transportation—

“I’m guessing that most of the trains would be out of order then,” Kieran notes.

Ingo inclines his head in acknowledgement. “This is likely to be the case, unfortunately. It’s difficult to say when they will be back up again, until we know more about the situation at the power plant. Do you happen to have any accommodations for tonight?”

Accommodations? The thought hadn’t even occurred to Kieran, until now. They have school first thing in the morning tomorrow, with homeroom at eight on the dot. The plan had been to take the train back to Castelia and catch the last outgoing ferry to the academy, which usually departed around eight at night.

Eight at night…?

Dread clenches at his gut with a slow, dawning realization. 

“Juli…what time is it, right now?”

Her eyes widen in unfolding horror as she slowly, painstakingly pulls her Rotom phone from her pocket.

It is already a quarter till nine. 

They had missed the last ship out. Their temporary delay under the desert had taken up much more time than initially anticipated. 

Of course, there were other options, if they were truly desperate. They could potentially brave the sandstorm of Route Four, using Koraidon, Dragonite, or a combination of both between all four of them. Then they could check into a hotel in Castelia or potentially get in touch with Amarys to request if they could all crash at her place—although this felt rather ill-mannered, considering how last minute this arrangement would be and how late they would arrive there with travel time accounted for. Amarys would definitely put them up for the night—despite her stoic countenance, she could always be counted on for her steadfast support—but Juliana still felt rather guilty about calling in such a huge favor, to host four last minute guests in her family’s apartment. It is a bad night to have left her Galarian camping gear behind.

Regardless, they would have to either catch the first ferry out in the morning or utilize their flying pokemon as a last resort. It would be a long flight from the coast to their school.

“Given the situation, we would be willing to help you both out,” Ingo says. “If you go to the Nimbasa Grand Hotel and tell them that we sent you there, they should be able to lend you assistance. You will be guaranteed room and board, at the very least.”

“Are you sure?” Juliana asks hesitantly. They would have to catch the earliest train possible to Castelia to make it back on time, but having a guaranteed room would also allay some concerns. She could imagine that the holiday could potentially make room availability an issue.

“Of course!” Emmet replies. “We wish for everyone to have a wonderful time here in Nimbasa! I am sorry that our battle was interrupted, as well. I get the feeling that you two are verrrrry strong trainers!”

Ingo nods. “Indeed. The both of you seem to be quite the efficient two-car train. The next time you are here, please ride the subway again and battle with us! We would like to see your full potential. For now though, I’m afraid we must assist the other attendants in ensuring the protection of the people in the station. Safety is our main priority.”

They look outside at the carefully controlled chaos of the subway platform. The Subway Bosses would have their hands full. 

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Juliana asks tentatively, her concern evident on her features. 

The corners of Ingo’s mouth twitch upward. “I appreciate the kind thought, miss. However, we will be just fine, thank you. In a way, you remind me of Miss Akari…it would be a pleasure to battle you both again sometime. Until then, we wish you a safe journey!”

They thank them once more before stepping off the train, onto the muggy platform. Once they make their way up the stairs into the central concourse, Juliana pulls a Poke Ball from her side pocket. 

“Koraidon should help us maneuver outside faster,” she explains. “It could be pretty chaotic, and I don’t want us to get split up in whatever commotion might be happening out there.”

Kieran considers this. There is a nonzero likelihood of her pokemon accidentally bowling over hapless bystanders in the process, but Juliana is right. If something were to happen, where crowds would tear them apart, her life would be at risk. He is not willing to leave it to chance. 

“Right. Let’s go.”

She summons Koraidon, to the muffled outbursts of surprise around them, before quickly mounting and giving Kieran a hand to get settled behind her. It’s a situation that is not entirely unfamiliar to him now. Despite this, the temptation to curl into her warmth—the heady press of their bodies, back to chest—never seems to fade away. An entire section of his brain appears to be solely dedicated to memorizing the sensation of her breath rising and falling against his sternum, her heartbeat melding with his own. He leans in, his arms wrapped around her waist as she stutters an exhale in response, before kicking lightly at Koraidon’s sides and loping up the grand staircase. 

When they reach the surface, they are greeted by the confused, tumultuous milling of tourists and residents alike, guided by the glow of their Rotom phones, the prosaic beams of flashlights or the more subdued, ruddy hues or violet embers of various Fire-type pokemon—Lampent, Chandelure, Darmanitan, and Magmar, among others. In the distance, they could spy a few, well-lit tents with back-up generators, providing aid along with either flashlights or glow sticks. These assistance efforts are, strangely enough, led entirely by what appear to be supermodels with their Electric-type pokemon. Potentially Elesa’s crew, then. Juliana has to admit: between the Subway Bosses and the Nimbasa Gym Leader, this city really has some professionals looking out for its populace. 

Suddenly, Juliana can feel the muted vibration of her Rotom phone in her pocket, usually an indication that she has received text messages. She pulls Koraidon off to the side before fishing it out of her pocket, only to find a slew of missed notifications from Carmine. It became all too clear to her that the reception in the subway tunnels hadn’t exactly been optimal.

“It looks like Carmine has been trying to text us this whole time,” she says as she cranes her head past her shoulder for Kieran to hear. Up this close, he realizes that if he were to just lean forward slightly and to the left, he would be able to brush his lips against hers—

“O-oh, shit, really?” he stammers, attempting to recover his poise. “What’d she say?”

“Well…it looks like…she’s stuck on the Ferris wheel?? With Drayton?”

“Arceus, that sounds like an actual nightmare scenario,” Kieran winces. “Maybe we can try to get ‘em out of there…”

After Juliana sends a quick text stating that they had recently arrived back at Gear Station, she almost immediately hears the telltale ring of her Rotom phone blaring into existence.

Well that was fast.

“Carmine?”

“Hey!!! Finally!!” she hollers in reply, somewhat drowned out by the ambient, discordant roar of an apparent wind tunnel in the background, whipping her voice away. “Are you still outside of Gear Station?!”

“Yeah? And also, why does it sound like you’re in the middle of a hurricane right now? Where are you??”

“We’re flying right now! Looking for you guys!!”

Juliana cranes her head up towards the inky night sky on autopilot, scanning for any signs of an aerial-borne Carmine plummeting in their direction. 

“Did they finally get everyone off the Ferris wheel?” she asks, intrigued.

The hesitation that follows this question is nigh palpable.

“Uhhh…well, let’s talk about that when we meet up,” Carmine says lamely. Well that seems ominous. “We’re on a Dragonite. We’re heading your way now, stay put.”

“Okay. We’ll wait just outside the station, next to the big sign that’s in front of one of the flag posts. I can have Ribombee use a few Dazzling Gleams to signal our location too.”

Kieran starts. That’s right. Ribombee is still on top of his head. Has been this entire time. She had the nerve to actually fall asleep in her new, violet-tinged nest. The utter audacity.

“Hey, that’s your cue,” he says blandly, nudging gently at the sleeping form nestled in his hair.

“Beeeee~eh,” she drowses.

“What.” 

Was she trying to say…bleh???

“She really has taken a liking to you,” Juliana muses.

She turns to face the fey creature in Kieran’s hair.

“Ribombee, we need you now. Can you fire off a Dazzling Gleam or two? I have some friends who need to be able to see us from a distance.”

“Beeeeeeeeeeeee.”

“Yeah, you can later. I’ll ask him to be sure.”

“Ask me what? Do I get any say in this?” Kieran asks.

“Just roll with it.”

Ribombee flies up a fair distance, before emitting a powerful, incandescent flash of light that happens to elicit a few cries of anguish from hapless onlookers, their retinas freshly seared. Kieran hears a responding cry in the distance, from far up above. If he squints hard enough, he can discern the pale orange silhouette of a Dragonite swooping down from above, carrying two riders—one of which bears a startling resemblance to an anthropomorphized streak of toothpaste. He reluctantly acknowledges that the upperclassman’s distinctive hairstyle has come in handy, for once.

The moment that Dragonite alights on the ground, Carmine swings herself over and makes a Combeeline for Kieran, pulling him into a hug that promptly knocks the wind out of him. 

“Sis, hey, it’s—we’re fine—”

She steps back to look at the two teens, her eyes skimming over the both of them for any signs of injury. Her expression of concern quickly morphs into one of befuddlement.

“Uh…why are you guys covered in mud?”

Juliana fumbles with her braid awkwardly. “Well…it turns out that a lot of trainers on the subway happened to have pokemon that also happened to use Muddy Water…and my Kingdra might’ve had something to do with it too…”

“I thought you guys were having pokemon battles, not mud wrestling,” Drayton grins mischievously.

Carmine swiftly puts him in a headlock without so much as batting an eye. “What we need is a bathroom, then. For both of your sakes. Since you guys are here, I assume the trains are still running? Maybe we can make it to Castelia at least and crash at Amarys’.”

Kieran shakes his head. “We only got here ‘cause of Emmet’s Eelektross. Ingo said that the subway is probably gonna be down for a while, but he did mention a hotel? The Nimbasa Grand…somethin’.”

Drayton’s eyes light up in recognition. He taps at Carmine’s forearm in an effort to be released from her hold. “The Nimbasa Grand Hotel, you mean,” he wheezes in mild relief.

“Yeah, that’s the one. How do you know ‘bout it?”

“That’s the one my Grandpa goes to when he comes here.”

“Ingo basically implied that if we name dropped them, we could probably get a room without any issues,” Juliana says.

Drayton holds up his union card. “I got this as well. So even more so, then.”

“How are we going to get back to the academy on time, though??” Carmine exclaims. 

“We’ll probably have to wake up pretty early,” Drayton replies with a grimace. “Catch the earliest train out of Nimbasa and go from there.”

“Wake up early? Is that even possible for you, bozo?”

He makes a face. “If I had my Drayster druthers, I’d be sleeping in like a Snorlax. But that’s the way the cookie crumbles, I guess.”

“So should we head there then?”

“I guess I’ll lead the way. Let’s stroll on over.”

As they make their way down the boulevard, Kieran tilts his head inquisitively at his sister.

“So Sis…how did you guys finally manage to get out the Ferris wheel, anyway?”

Carmine winces, her expression contorted into an amalgamation of existential pain and apprehension. She guiltily turns her head to glance at the Ferris wheel in the distance, almost as if she were afraid of getting caught.

“Well…”

“We broke out of the gondola,” Drayton says.

Kieran considers this. “I thought they locked up the exits to prevent these kinds of things…”

“We made our own exit.”

He stops completely in his tracks as he attempts to process this new information, Juliana nearly slamming into his back as a result.

“W-wait…you what?? You literally broke out? Like you guys broke the window and flew out??”

Carmine groans. It is going to be a long walk to the hotel. 

Booking a room at the Nimbasa Grand Hotel had been much easier than anticipated.

The moment that Juliana had mentioned Ingo and Emmet by name, the weary, put-upon demeanor of the front desk clerk had immediately shifted to one of equal parts deference and congeniality. The respect that the Subway Bosses commanded in Nimbasa was almost awe-inspiring. 

The moment that Drayton had also shown his union card, the manager himself became involved, booming amicably about he had nothing but good things to say about Drayden, how was he doing these days, how has school been, and a request to pass on a hello to little Iris—who he was subsequently informed was also, in fact, no longer little. 

They were given immediate access to the last two rooms available in the hotel at a heavily discounted rate—partially due to the inconvenience of the power outage, partially due to Drayden’s apparently frequent patronage at the hotel, during past conferences, and greatly due to Ingo and Emmet’s clout. The backup generators appeared to be fully working along with the assistance of the manager’s own Zebstrika and Galvantula, although the clerk had also given them flashlights and glow sticks, for the worst case scenario. All four of them had decided to stop by the first room, which revealed two plush chairs with a coffee table in between, a fluffy, queen-sized bed with a matching nightstand and lamp; a flat screen television, and a doorway leading to the bathroom. 

What they all suddenly hone in on is a particular, rectangular piece of furniture in the room, the sole one of its ilk present. 

They pause, as the reality slowly sets in.

A queen-sized bed.

One queen-sized bed.

And they had the last available rooms in the entire building.

Carmine stares.

“Well…I mean…Juliana and I can bunk up, maybe?” she laughs weakly, boring holes nervously into the one solitary bed lying before them, her mind racing at a breakneck pace. A million, unspoken implications suffuse the unassuming piece of furniture that manages to take up a good portion of the room.

In the sudden, ensuing silence, Carmine’s gaze flickers to the girl beside her, only to startle at the expression of realization and horror that consumes Juliana’s countenance entirely. She is as pale as a sheet. 

“Juliana…?” Carmine asks hesitantly.

She continues to stare at the bed, her mouth moving wordlessly, before she finally musters up her vocal cords to emit speech.

“...the curse, Carmine. Remember? We…oh Arceus…”

Carmine’s blood runs cold. 

That’s right. She and Kieran, they—

Holy shit.

The realization occurs to Kieran around the same time, gaping in silent mortification like a Magikarp. A cold clarity douses him as he recalls Ryme's advice from earlier that day. The exhilarating rush of the Battle Subway had consumed most of his attention for the duration of the afternoon and evening, and had left him with little time to consider the very real implications of her words.

The implications were one thing.

But actually seeing that there is physically no other choice in the matter is another thing entirely. 

“Honestly, I thought you two were already…” Drayton trails off lamely.

“No!!” Kieran squawks, feeling the beginnings of a flush creeping up his neck.

Juliana scratches at the back of her neck awkwardly. “Ah…you see, well…I had a sleeping bag around and…”

“This whole time?”

“Yeah.”

“That's…rather commendable, actually,” Drayton says faintly. “I mean, people wouldn't blame you if you wanted to, well, y'know…”

“Wanted to what?” Carmine asks tartly, further cementing the reality that he is steadfastly digging a hole for himself, approximately six feet under. 

“I’m just saying…they’re in an unusual situation, that’s all, and, well—”

“We’ll, uh, figure it out,” Juliana reassures, mentally envisioning the cliff’s edge that Drayton is hurtling towards. She has to save him from himself.

Carmine gives them an appraising look. “While you do, you guys might want to use the shower here. You both look like you’ve been trampled on by a Mudsdale.”

Kieran takes the opportunity to glance between the two of them. His shins and calves bear splotches of dried mud throughout, while Juliana has some residual flecks on her face and hair, her coat and shoes seemingly bearing the brunt of their subway excursion. He imagines that he does not look all that pristine, himself. 

“Fair point.”

“How about we meet up back at your room in, say, an hour?” Drayton suggests airily. “Carmine and I still gotta see what the deal is with our room.”

To her burgeoning horror, Carmine realizes that he has a point. If Kieran and Juliana have to share a bed due to the extenuating circumstances of the curse—and if the sole remaining room in the building had a similar layout to theirs—then she and Drayton would have to—

“You okay, Sis? Ya look like ya just went through a Rowap berry eatin’ challenge.”

Carmine futilely attempts to relax the scrunched expression from her face. 

“I’m good,” she replies weakly. “See you guys in an hour.”

As Carmine and Drayton continue down the hallway, Juliana and Kieran walk further into the room to survey their current living quarters. They briefly pause to doff their muddy layers—her coat and his hoodie, respectively—and place them on the nearby chairs. Although the night outside had been rather crisp, the HVAC system is still down inside the hotel due to the heavy energy-consumption that it would require, lending an unfortunately stuffy air to the room. Kieran sucks in a breath through his teeth when Juliana continues to doff yet another layer off, revealing a simple, white camisole that clings to her frame. The sudden ambient temperature of the room increases manyfold. 

He doesn't exactly want to be rude and tell her to put her long-sleeve back on—not when it's this muggy—but how is he supposed to be able to think coherently? 

He starts when she absentmindedly grasps for his hand, almost as if it were second nature to her. In his bewildered fugue state, he lets her lead him to the bathroom, assuming that she would need to check out the current dimensions. Kieran silently beseeches Arceus to let them have a toilet within five feet of the door. 

Apparently, Arceus felt at least that much pity for their personal situation. The toilet is thankfully situated a few feet away from the bathroom entrance. 

However, due to the karmic balance of the universe, it comes at the cost of the shower.

Juliana had seen these set ups for showers before in Paldea—there is no apparent partition, curtain, glass door or otherwise present. Simply a shower head and drain open to the rest of the room. Supposedly, it was for easy upkeep for housekeeping, costs, and other assorted reasons: curtains harbored bacteria, less likelihood of mold build-up, and so on. Normally, this wouldn't be an issue to the average, bunking travelers, who typically weren't bound together by life-threatening curses, soul links or other such things. One could simply close the bathroom door for privacy.

This is not the case for them. To her increasing dread, she determines the shower to be much further than five feet from the door.

“I mean, nothin’ wrong with some dirt,” Kieran mumbles wanly, growing increasingly flushed the more he looks at and considers their bathroom arrangement. Or rather, their room arrangement as a whole.

“Well…we might be able to…improvise?” 

His head whips towards her with a look of disbelief. “Y-ya can’t be serious, right? I m-mean, are ya suggestin’—”

Juliana nods at the wall-mounted, handheld shower head across from them. “We might be able to just get away with hosing off what we need to. It mostly got your legs, right?”

He wills the furious hammering in his chest to subside. For a brief, insane second, the thought of them showering together had burst forth into his mind like an unwelcome, particularly horny guest. In this nightmare scenario, his hormones would commandeer his body to do things that would result in his friend never being able to look him in the eye again. He had barely managed to get by during their time in the Coastal Biome, as is.

Okay, this is fine, he could work with this current option, without internally combusting. It is true that the mud had mostly gotten on the outer layers of their clothing. 

“Yeah, that’s what it looks like.”

He pauses as Juliana works the shoes and socks off her feet, only to reveal that the aftermath of several Muddy Waters had thoroughly worked its way in, as well. At this revelation, Kieran pries off his own shoes, only to find a similar situation. He has a feeling that coming back to school tomorrow in their current attire isn’t exactly going to be a cakewalk. Students were bound to notice and talk, unless they were to arrive on campus at the crack of dawn to avoid detection.

Leaving his shoes behind, Kieran slowly pads to the shower stall and grabs the handheld showerhead along with the complimentary soap, before cranking the dial and seating himself on the low rim separating the stall from the rest of the bathroom floor. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a sudden waft of air gust to his right, as Juliana plops down next to him, her arm and thigh pressed familiarly against his own. She had apparently rolled up the hems of her pants up to her knees.

“At the same time…?” he trails off feebly.

“Yeah, I mean, I figure…might as well?”

It takes a decent amount of willpower for him to concentrate on the matter at hand instead. Mud had splattered and caked itself dry, up to his knees. He sprays off what he can, scrubbing off flaking pieces with his thumbs while working in the soap and rinsing, before passing the hose for Juliana to do the same. He briefly surveys his handiwork before he hears the sound of the shower head being turned off. 

“I think you missed a couple spots,” she murmurs. 

Before he can think to take the nozzle from her, his breath hitches at the sudden sensation of her fingertips skimming the back of his leg, kneading carefully at a particular spot above the prominence of his ankle bone in a way that rivets him to the spot. There is a strange attentiveness to her motions, that leaves behind a chill born of absence when her hand pulls away, skittish from nerves at the realization of her impulsive action. His gaze flickers briefly from the ghost of the sensation that the pad of her thumb had left behind, towards her own trembling hands, before—

“Wowzers…you got some up there, too.”

She follows his gaze to her own forearms, flecked with dried mud up to her elbows, but most notably on her hands. How on…she had been wearing long sleeves, for Arceus’ sake, why—

Kieran doesn’t know exactly what drives him to do what he does. It is a strange ache that rises unbidden within him, that he has to touch her in some way, to feel the warmth of her skin against his own. He can feel his pulse thrumming rapid-fire in his veins as he reaches for the nozzle, to pry it from Juliana’s suddenly nerveless grip as he runs his fingertips gently down one of her forearms, curiously noting the trail of goosebumps he leaves in their wake. He makes an attempt at that same attentiveness she had displayed earlier with him, tenderly swiping with the pad of his thumb or kneading away at the more stubborn smudges before rinsing them away. Kieran traces a path past the numerous, silvery remnants of long-forgotten scars that stand as a stark contrast to the last remnants of her Paldean tan, grazing his nails down the back of her hand to idly run the press of his thumb over her knuckles, raking at the grooves in between. The air is strangely thick.

“Kieran,” she says quietly, “w-what are you—”

He blurts out the first thing he can think of. “You have a glove tan,” he says lamely.

There is a brief silence as heat blooms within his cheeks.

Juliana suddenly explodes into laughter beside him.

“Rude!” she chortles, before lunging to grab at his right hand. “See, you do to—”

She lifts his hand up, only to find a complete and utter lack of any tan lines. Damn, she'd sworn that she had seen some before. She had really hoped to give him a hard time for having one peculiarly tan thumb, thanks to the unusual design of the Blueberry Academy uniform glove. 

He suppresses a laugh as Juliana puffs her cheeks in retort. “Okay, look,” she says archly, “just because I haven’t spent most of my time in an underwater facility completely devoid of sunlight doesn’t mean—”

“So what exactly were you tryin’ to prove there?”

Juliana impishly digs her heel into the bridge of his foot in retaliation. “That you missed a spot here.”

Kieran fires off a brief burst of shower spray at her feet, which has her lunging for the nozzle. She grabs his hand and inadvertently squeezes, only to get a geyser of water straight to her face. 

“Juli! Shit, are ya oka—”

She quickly twists the nozzle in his hand before squeezing again, letting loose a torrent of water aimed point-blank at his forehead in retribution. He splutters in watery surprise, looking more like a drenched Litten than any other time she has seen him before. “Turnabout’s fair play—”

He lurches forth with a vengeance, attempting to wrest the shower head completely from her whilst simultaneously managing to get water everywhere with chaotic bursts of spray spewing about. In a day that involved everything from being in a steel can hurtling down the tracks, wading through syrup, mud, and water; to meteors, to insane bikers and bakers alike, this manages to somehow take the cake for being the most absurd situation yet. Juliana makes a futile attempt at an elbow lock to release his grip, only for her to make the rookie mistake of ever trying to go up against someone who has years of experience grappling with a sibling for a television remote. He quickly gains the upper hand as he redirects her momentum, accidentally sending them both tumbling entirely into the shower stall in a windmill of flailing limbs, maniacal cackling and shrieking. Kieran manages to pin her with his body weight—which admittedly feels a little bit like cheating—before attempting to pry the nozzle out of her fingers. 

Up this close, he can feel her heart hammering against his through the soft yielding of her chest, her puffs of breath panting against his neck. To make things worse, by pinning her down on the stall floor, she is nearly soaked. He feels a wave of guilt and remorse wash over him—he had been aware of their difference in growth over the past several months, but he hadn’t fully accounted for how easily he could overpower her, outside of pokemon battles. He had actually been having fun and got carried away in the process. 

“H-hey, um, ‘m sorry, let’s—”

Suddenly, in a surge of bravery or feral insanity, Juliana turns to bury her face in the crook of his neck and bites down.

She isn’t quite sure what inspired her to do so. She had attempted to bite just hard enough where he might be surprised enough to let go of the shower head. At this point, in fact, she’s not even sure what game they’re playing anymore, if it is a game entirely. The physicality of it had sent heat coursing through her, setting her mind ablaze with blissful incomprehension. 

What she had expected was for him to let go of the nozzle.

What she doesn’t expect is the startled moan that escapes from his lips.

Everything jolts to a stop.

Mortification blazes through Kieran like an inferno as his brain short-circuits from the horror of the sound he had just made in front of her. He can hear the blood roaring in his ears as time grinds to an achingly slow procession, the echoes of ragged breathing reverberating within the walls (his breathing? Hers? He cannot tell). What even was that? Whatever it was, it leaves him heady and dazed, his heart stuttering, fumbling from the aftershocks of arousal that seemingly came out of left field. The sensation of a shudder beneath him jerks his attention back into the present. He cranes his head back to look down, only to find Juliana staring at him as if she had just died and seen Arceus, who had promptly discussed the secrets of the universe with her over tea and biscuits. 

That sound was going to be etched and memorialized in the perverse depths of her mind, comparable to the ancient carvings found in the Ruins of Alph. 

She wants to hear it again.

Suddenly, the ring of a Rotom phone screams into existence, reverberating loudly against the bathroom tiles. It swoops from Kieran’s pocket to hover helpfully over them both. 

“G-gramps??” Kieran splutters.

“Your grandpa’s calling?? Now??”

He rears up to take in Juliana’s appearance, before a flush consumes him entirely and he scrambles back against the damp wall. His fingers fumble against the slippery fabric of his tank top as he seizes the hem and yanks it off in one go, before tossing it at her. 

“Put it on, quick.”

“Huh? Why?”

His eyes automatically flicker down to her chest before he pivots away with a blush and she follows his gaze down to her now-soaked shirt. 

This is becoming a theme, she thinks resignedly. She had thought she would be safe wearing white as an inner layer just this once, but she clearly had thought wrong. At this point, she is more exasperated than flustered. 

He double checks as she pulls his tank top over her camisole and briefly has to reign himself in at the alarmingly primal satisfaction that consumes him—how gratifying it feels to see her wearing his clothes. It hangs oversized and loose on her lithe frame, with the arm holes on the sides gaping wide open, but it would cover her front at least, if she happens to come into view of the phone. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. They quickly dart back into the main room, settling onto the bed with an air of feigned nonchalance before he answers the phone, angling it away from the girl sitting next to him. 

“Kieran! I hope it's not too late to call ya. Carmine gave me your number.”

He feels a sudden dizziness overcome him. He has to squeeze his eyes shut, to push past the unanticipated wave of vertigo. Juliana's…bite…had really blitzed his brains out, apparently.

“Nah, it's not too late," he reassures. "Sorry Grandpa, it's just been a…crazy day. What's—”

“—keep it to yourself!”

Kieran rubs the heels of his palms against his eyelids in weary exasperation. Geez, why call him if he is going to be that cranky about it?

A mild protest begins to form on his lips, when he hears another voice altogether.

“But, Grandpa—”

Wait.

Carmine???

Is it already time for us to meet up again? She's sure quiet. Snuck up on us like a Ninjask.

Kieran's eyes snap open and he freezes.

He is home.

There's no mistaking the wisteria tree overlooking the pond with their Magikarp fountain, nor the varicolored flowers that his grandmother had planted, nor his grandfather's kei truck. The heady, floral musk of wisteria mixed with the recent odor of upturned earth pervades his senses, as he wheels around to face his grandfather and Carmine. Carmine, who is still dressed in her deep blue jinbei. 

Her jinbei?

His gut twists in apprehension as he reluctantly glances down at his slim, tapered hands, the unfamiliar yet terrifyingly familiar curves in places where there shouldn't be, the verdant green of his jinbei. 

These were Juliana's memories.

It wasn't so much that it was Juliana, but more so this particular memory that haunted him. This was the day that everything had changed for him, the day that he had felt betrayal. No matter how much he tried to bury this memory—this feeling—to move on with his life, it kept coming back to endlessly mock him, to remind him of the time that Juliana had betrayed his trust and lied to his face. 

He is stronger now, he had found a new exhilaration fighting by her side. He had found someone that liked his accent, who admired him for who he was. Things…things are better now.

So then why…

Why did this keep coming back?

"The villagers believe their own version of history. They revere the Loyal Three—so how would they react to being told that they've got it all wrong?”

Kieran knows this—knows their conversation by heart. It was burned into his memory. Carmine would say something along the lines of how the villagers would feel upset—

“They'd probably get…angry?”

There it is. And then his grandfather would talk about how their ancestor attempted to convince the townsfolk, only to end up being persecuted…

"Exactly. Back when this all first occurred, the mask maker—that is to say, our ancestor—tried desperately to tell the truth of the matter. But nobody would take him seriously. In fact, it's said he was persecuted as a heretic.”

Reliving this memory is going to be a serious thorn in his side, Kieran decides. He continues to listen in on the exchange—a strange lump forming in his throat, at the knowledge of his old self hiding beyond the gate walls.

"I dunno,” Carmine mulls. “He just really seems to like the ogre... He's practically obsessed. And he's been trying to one-up me—as if he knows more about Ogerpon than I do.”

This is the part where he remembers storming off in a huff, to go change out of his jinbei. It had been too irritating to hear his sister go on like that. It is still annoying, even now. He really doesn't need to hear more people bad mouthing him, but unfortunately finds himself riveted in place. Forced to hear their continued mockery of him—

"Well, I can't say what's going on with the boy...but he always was a sensitive child,” his grandfather muses. “It wouldn't surprise me if he's somehow intuited the truth. I promise to tell Kieran the whole story when the time is right. Until then, take care not to breathe a word of the truth to anybody!”

What.

“Okay, Grandpa...Now I REALLY can't tell Kiki we met the ogre…”

Wait.

Hold on.

He can practically feel the reluctance bubbling up within Juliana's small frame. “But—”

Kieran knows that look from his grandfather, the expression on his face that brooks no argument. He feels her clam up in place, withdrawing into herself even as frigid ice courses through his veins in dreadful realization, his stomach twisting itself into thick knots. 

His grandfather had told Juliana to keep quiet in the first place?

Then…she hadn't lied of her own volition? 

And this entire time, he had thought—

“—why exactly do you not have a shirt on?”

Kieran snaps back into awareness, his mind still reeling from the implications, exhaustedly trying to catch up. 

“Um…just got outta the shower, sorry,” he replies distractedly, his mind still racing frantically. This whole time, Juliana had been—

She had been ordered to withhold the truth from him. From everyone in the village. 

“Right…anyway, after Carmine and I talked the other day, I figured that I owe you an apology, for keepin’ the story of Ogerpon from you. I thought it'd be for the best, for our own safety to keep it under wraps, but I underestimated the compassion of the villagers and more importantly, I made the mistake of underestimatin’ you. You've grown up more quickly than I realized. Both of you. So I apologize, Kieran. I just hope you understand that it was my decision to withhold everythin’, not your friend's….”

Yukito pauses. “…Juliana, right? She is a lovely girl. By the way, we’d be delighted if you were to bring her with you the next time you come home.”

Kieran can feel the tips of his ears burning, can feel Juliana's stare as he wills himself to phase through the planet's core and drift off into the merciful void of space. His grandfather doesn't know that she is right there, listening in on their conversation. 

“Grandpa, I—”

The sound of a door slamming open makes him nearly jump out of his skin. 

“Kiki, we tried calling you but the line was busy—”

Kieran looks up with a start. His sister still had that tendency to burst into any room he was in, unannounced, to the surprise of no one.

He watches in mute terror as her eyes fly around the room, taking in the bizarre tableau before her.

“Is that Grandpa that I just heard??" she blurts. Her sharp gaze quickly snaps to Kieran. "And why on Arceus’ green earth are you shirtless?!”

Her head then whips around to face Juliana accusingly.

“And last but not least, why does Juliana have your shirt on?????”

“Is that Carmine I hear?” Yukito asks, confused. “And…did she say Juliana is there?”

Arceus. Kieran wants to disappear off the face of the planet. If only an errant Hyper Beam could take him out in the process. 

He shuts his eyes painfully, willing everything to fade away. This is a complete disaster. “Sis, hold on, I can explain—”

“Wait, do you mean…”

“We…nothin’ happened, I swear!”

This isn't entirely true. Something happened, something that he is still trying to figure out. He had happened to make the most embarrassing sound in his entire existence in front of the girl he has feelings for, and he is cursed to have the scenario unfold in his brain on repeat mercilessly. 

“...that kid we just saw... They ran off toward the mountain... C-could that have been the ogre?!”

What?

“From the story on all the signboards?” Carmine continues in a tone of disbelief. “Are you saying that story was TRUE?!”

What kid? And what about the ogre?

"I mean, they did drop a mask...so they really must be…”

Kieran blanches as dread washes over him, as his eyes flutter open to take note of the distant lights of the shrine courtyard, the winding stairs leading up to the precipitous path to Oni Mountain. He is in yet another memory. And another memory of the school trip, to boot. He is quickly losing control, amongst the sudden onslaught of recollections as well as the chaotic situation in their hotel room. Penny had briefly mentioned in her hypothesis that one of the triggers could be a heightened emotional state, but this is getting ridiculous.

“What’re you guys doin’ over here?”

Hold on, was that—

Was that him??

He whips his head in alarm towards the new voice…his voice. It’s him…a notably younger version of him, in his white jinbei. It's the festival, all over again. He is Juliana, all over again. 

Why is this happening again? He can feel the pressure building in his head, the build up of irritation manifesting in the clench of his jaw. He already knows his grandfather’s role in the way that events had unfolded. Does he have to live through yet another moment of humiliation? This has to be when they encountered Ogerpon together, the moment that Carmine had told his grandfather about. They had kept it a secret from him that night—Juliana had kept it a secret…

“There was an ogre here, and—”

His heart stops.

It’s the first time he had ever heard this sentence uttered. It shocks him to his core, to hear it issuing from his—no, her lips, full of urgency and anticipation. Wishing to share the entrancing experience they had just had—an encounter with the real ogre. He had been too far away at the time to notice, before his sister had suddenly—

“HEY! Wait—stop stop stop!”

But…that meant…

Juliana had tried to tell him.

She had tried to tell him from the very beginning.

He tries to pull himself back. It’s difficult when he feels Juliana’s own, genuine bafflement intertwining with his present frustration and grief. 

"—on't scare me like that—blabbing for the whole world to hear! Don't you have any filter? See, Kiki really likes the ogre. Like, really, really, REALLY likes it. So, if he found out we'd seen the ogre without him... I guess I was afraid he'd feel bad, y'know? Feel left out or something... Am I overthinking it? 'Sides, I didn't want him running up the mountain to follow the ogre at this hour, either."

Kieran’s mind scrambles to catch up, his mind whirling in pain and regret as the implications slowly begin to settle in. 

She hadn't wanted him to feel left out? Well, that had backfired spectacularly, he thinks to himself bitterly. Carmine's action had accomplished the exact opposite of what she had intended originally.

"Well, in any case, we already lied about it, and that's that. Let's keep this whole thing our little secret, okay? And maybe hold off on showing Kiki that mask you just picked up, too."

So it had originally been his sister's idea? To keep their encounter with Ogrepon a secret? To keep the mask a secret?

Arceus, so Juliana really wasn’t the one to—

"So, uh, y'see...I wanted to talk to you a bit. You haven't told anybody about the, y'know...the thing that happened yesterday? Right?!"

Kieran blinks rapidly, bewildered, and it’s suddenly morning, outside the community center.

“No, I haven’t!” he protests, exasperated. He can feel his—no, her hackles rising. She actually feels irritated. He didn’t even know Juliana could feel irritated like this. She was usually pretty laid back, despite her eccentricities. There’s irritation and…resentment? Is she actually resenting Carmine?

“You better not be lying! If I find out you blabbed, I’m gonna make you swallow a Koffing whole!” his sister declares. 

This was pretty standard fare for her, in the form of absurd threats. He has been accustomed to them for a while, growing up with her. Some of them could even qualify as comical. 

But to someone like Juliana, this is new. He can tell, from the mixture of amusement and apprehension flooding his body. She was actually a little intimidated, clearly deferring to Carmine in this matter. She hadn't particularly derived joy from this situation, either. 

It is a far cry from the mental image he had of that day. He is still reeling, dumbfounded from what he had seen play out before his eyes. 

Juliana had tried to tell me from the very beginning.

They made her keep quiet.

And all this time, I'd thought she—

“Kiki? Kiki, are you okay?” 

A tremor runs through his body as he brings himself back into the present. He is met with the concerned gazes of multiple onlookers: his grandfather, his sister, Drayton—who had apparently shown up at some point during his forced stroll down someone else’s memory lane. Kieran can barely bring himself to look at Juliana, knowing what he knows now. 

She had been held back from telling the truth this entire time. By his own family, no less. 

No…she had wanted to tell him the truth, she was about to. He had heard it for himself.

And he had been an asshole to her, ever since she had arrived as an exchange student in his school. 

Fuck.

“Kiki? You need to talk to us. What’s going on?”

It is too much all at once. He can barely hear his sister, through the ringing in his ears. There are too many people right now. 

“Gonna make her swallow a Koffing whole, huh?” Kieran murmurs faintly.

He can sense both Carmine and Juliana freezing at that sentence. Mortified realization dawns on his sister’s features as she processes what she has just heard. She looks to Juliana, only to see her shake her head in stunned shock.

“Is this…another memory? Kiki…look, I’m sorry, please. Just—”

Something prickles at the back of Kieran’s mind, that he doesn’t have time to register. What was it about that sentence? “I…just need some space for a sec. Sorry Grandpa. Can…I call you back tomorrow?”

Yukito nods slowly, mildly baffled but also cognizant of the fact that something else is unfolding before him. “I understand. I’ll talk to ya later, Kieran. Take care.”

“Please, hold on Kiki—”

He takes in a deep, shuddering breath. “Can I speak to Juliana alone?”

Carmine clenches her fists as she makes to move further into the room, desperate to explain herself—only to find a hand grasping her shoulder, its weight steady and reassuring.

“Just give him some time, Carmine,” Drayton says calmly. “You heard him.”

“But…”

“It’s not forever. Just give him a breather and we’ll reconvene later, okay? We still gotta get to school tomorrow.”

She gives one last, remorseful look in Kieran's direction, before she lets herself be led away from the entrance to their room by an unusually solemn Drayton. 

Kieran briefly sways in place, still somewhat light-headed after being inundated with visions—visions that had turned his worldview upside down. Most of his actions, his reason to strive forward and push himself beyond his limits, had been predicated on what paltry information he had been able to gather at the time, to make sense of his pain. To form a cohesive story, to process the chaotic whirlwind that had been the school trip. His friend had betrayed him, had treated him like an outcast. He hadn't been strong enough to deserve these things that she seemed to obtain effortlessly—friends, freedom, respect. He had had to pour everything into just being able to meet her at her level, to defeat her in battle and to prove how wrong she had been to look down on him. That he is worthy of her recognition, her respect. To show everyone how wrong they had been about him.

Instead, he had been very, very wrong about her. 

She had been in his corner the entire time. 

All the signs had been there, looking back on their time spent together. It made sense now. Any preexisting dissonance had dissipated with his realization, which is also now accompanied by a feeling of anxiety gnawing its way into his gut. Why doesn't she hate him, after the way he has treated her—after the way he had pushed her away, before the curse? 

Kieran internally braces himself, turning to face her. He can clearly discern the visible apprehension in her posture, the uncertainty.

“So…Carmine and Gramps…" he begins tremulously, fidgeting with his lock of hair, "...they really told you to keep silent about Ogerpon, huh?”

This confirms Juliana's suspicions of the visions he had seen. She exhales shakily. “I mean, yes, but…but I let it happen. I shouldn’t have, and I just passively—”

“But you…they pressured you to lie. That’s…that’s not on you…”

“I still played a role, though! It’s my fault! If I had just been more—”

“Still, it wasn’t your intention Juli. After what I saw, I trust you now more than either of ‘em.”

“But you shouldn't trust me!”

It bursts out of her as a torturous wail, her eyes welling up as the line of her mouth crumples. She doesn’t deserve this. This feeling of trust from him. He doesn’t know.

She has to come clean.

“Juli, why—”

“I told Carmine. About your memories.”

Kieran stops in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat. 

So that’s why Carmine had said what she had said at that moment. Juliana had told her about their memory situation. They had never come to any sort of formal agreement, sure, but it was generally accepted that memories were private—

He feels that first, initial reactionary tug at his heart—the gut instinct to lash out, to run away. The swirl of tumultuous feelings inside him. He recognizes that tug now, akin to observing a rambunctious Mankey itching to start trouble. 

But something feels different this time. Clarity blooms within his mind as he begins to recognize a pattern within Juliana. After the memories he had witnessed, he could trace things back to their origin. And after all of the training he had made himself undergo, if there is one thing he knows, it is recognizing patterns.

“Juli…did Sis put you up to it?”

She fumbles, clutching at the fabric of Kieran's shirt, desperate to look anywhere but in the direction of her friend. “It…it doesn't matter, I—”

“Be honest with me. Please.”

It almost comes out as a plea. If his suspicions are correct, then—

Juliana chews at her lip, before taking in a shuddering breath. “She…she might've thought it would be a good idea, to see how to…to help you…but, well—”

That confirmed it. It was all he needed to hear. 

“...ya gotta learn to say no sometimes, y'know?” he says gently, his voice wavering even as he can feel his eyes beginning to burn with the looming threat of tears. He is still processing the fact that he had gotten the wrong idea about Juliana, after all this time. “I know Sis can be pushy though. I guess…maybe, just, I dunno, talk to me? In the future?”

Juliana quivers in place. The future? He can still imagine a future with her in it? After everything?

“I…I know,” she mumbles forlornly. “It's always been hard for me to…I just don't like to disappoint people you know? I'd understand if you'd want some…some space after the curse is broken. I could go back to Paldea, if you wan—”

“What I want is for people to stop assumin’ what's best for me,” he blurts in a desperate rush. “Please, don't just assume that that's what I'd want, Juli.”

“Then…what do you want?” she whispers.

“Don't go.”

Don't leave me.

Juliana feels the vague temptation to chuckle at this statement, to distract herself from her own grief. After all, she couldn't go, not with the threat of the curse lingering. But deep down, she knows this isn't what he meant by that. It is more than that. 

“I'm not going anywhere,” she rasps, giving him a watery smile accompanied by a barely suppressed sniffle.

He slowly, tentatively opens up his body posture, extending one arm out in an awkward attempt at a reassuring hug, only to feel all of the air part from his lungs in an undignified wheeze as Juliana collapses into him with her full weight. She clings to him fiercely, chest pressed to chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. He can feel the faintest hint of wet lashes fluttering against the hollow dip, sending his pulse pounding in his veins in response. Juliana’s hands seemingly dance across him, quivering over his skin—he can feel the sensation of fingertips grazing up and down his bare back, leaving flared nerves and goosebumps in their wake; carding through his hair at the base of his neck. It is almost as if she needs to reassure herself that he is physically there. That he is real.

“So…you really would’ve told me then,” he murmurs into her hair.

He feels her embrace tighten minutely around him.

“...I thought you would’ve wanted to know.” 

It hits him then. 

He feels an entire, alternate future unfold around him. One clear of misunderstandings. One where he had kept in regular touch with Juliana through letters. And on one particular day, he would receive a letter from her, stating that she was accepted into the trial exchange program for Blueberry Academy, and he would feel a wave of elation that she was coming to his school. On the day of her arrival, he would be the one to greet her by the school entrance. He would be the one who would watch her marvel over the breathtaking wonder of the Terarium for the first time, who would show her around the academy. And for all that is holy, he would have been the one to take her on that supposed lunch date to the cafeteria, not Drayton of all people. That still got under his skin, after all this time.