“What was his problem?” Cashe growled as they marched away from the registration desk and towards the dock where the SS Ambition made berth. Cashe couldn’t get the man’s smug face out of his head. The way he had waved after them like the security personnel were at his beck and call.
“Bulba,” Bulbasaur complained.
Cashe came to a stop. He still had Bulbasaur’s vine tight in his grip and he was tugging on it for all its worth.
“Crap. Sorry, buddy,” Cashe let Bulbasaur’s vine go and it retracted into his bulb with a snap.
“Sorry. It’s my fault,” Lindon was looking at the ground, “I shouldn’t have cut in line.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Lindon,” Emilia said, giving the boy a reassuring pat on the back, “And Cashe, calm down. You’re upsetting people.”
“I’m upsetting people?” Cashe said, raising his voice. Emilia glanced at Lindon. He wasn’t looking at either of them and had his hands clenched into small fists. Cashe took a breath, pushing his emotions down to a simmer.
“You’re right,” Cashe said through clenched teeth, “I’m calming down.”
“I didn’t like the way he looked at me,” Lindon said, “It felt like he was making fun of me.”
“He was smug,” Emilia said, “But we are going to come across a lot of trainers like that. Everyone is trying to be the best and they will use any method to get there. We have to be ready for it and respond appropriately next time.” She gave Cashe a look.
“How is that fair?” Cashe said, “You shoved him first!”
“He insulted you!”
“He insulted you! And all I did was step into his space!”
“And you should have punched his lights out!” Emilia said.
Cashe blinked, “What?”
Emilia scowled at him, “Lindon cover your ears.”
Lindon dutifully covered his ears.
“Cashe, like it or not, you’re Blood Money,” Emilia said, “You’re tall, dark, and brooding, you use poison strats and your Mankey has a reputation for beating up kids’ pets."
"She does?"
"Yes. You need to lean into it. Remember what I said about needing to cultivate your image?”
“You’re upset I didn’t assault Mr Sunglasses?” Cashe said in disbelief.
“I’m upset you didn’t stand up for yourself. You should have at least battled him,” Emilia said.
“I don’t want to fight just because I’m angry,” Cashe said, “That way of thinking is for thugs and children.”
“A battle isn’t a fight. It’s structured, it’s organized, and most importantly, it’s a place where you can easily pick someone apart and show them you aren’t to be-” Emilia paused to make sure Lindon still had his hands over his ears, “-fucked with.”
Cashe took a step back. Emilia had moved within an inch of his face during her rant and was still staring daggers at him. Cashe put a hand on Lindon’s shoulder, lowering his hands down from his ears.
“Are you done fighting?” Lindon said.
“We weren’t fighting, Emilia just had to say some bad words.”
“I’m not a kid, you know,” Lindon said, “I know what swears are. Also, I could hear everything you were saying.”
Emilia blushed, “I was just giving Cashe a pep talk.”
“My mom says she’s educating my dad when they fight.”
Cashe snorted, “I don’t know if there was much education going on here.”
“There should be,” Emilia said, “I’m right.”
Lindon nodded, “Yeah.”
“You agree with her?” Cashe said. He thought Lindon was a nice kid.
“People say lots of things about my - someone I know. They do what Emilia said and play it up, but they are really nice in person,” Lindon said, “It used to scare me, but my mom says that’s just a thing they do for work.”
“I don’t know if I want to be ‘Blood Money’,” Cashe said, glancing at Lindon, “Or scare children.”
“You can’t control what people say about you, but you can use it,” Emilia said, “And speaking of masks, put on your best one. We’re about to experience the worst part of being a trainer.” She pointed in the direction they were walking.
Cashe glanced up. Ahead, the SS Ambition loomed over the dock. It was a large vessel, as expected of a cruise ship. From sea level, it looked impossibly huge, dozens of decks tall, with rows upon rows of windows along its hull. It was docked, and a long ramp ran from the port of entry to the dock, but no one was walking along it. Instead, a large crowd had gathered in the boarding area of the ship. Cashe recognized a few trainers mingling with a number of well dressed people.
“I don’t get it,” Cashe said, “Interacting with fans is the worst part?”
“Not fans, casuals,” Emilia clarified with a grimace, “Just wait, you’ll see.”
***
“Superpower is a wonderful move for a young Mankey to learn,” an older gentleman with a mustache said, holding Cashe by the elbow. Cashe was guessing the man thought it to be a friendly gesture, but to Cashe it was a steel manacle, “I taught it to my own Mankey right away when I was starting out. Got us out of many a jam. You never know when a burst of power might be needed. A Superpower some might say.” The man chuckled.
“You might be right,” Cashe said, offering a polite smile and ignoring the fact that Mankey could not learn Superpower. It was the third person who had seen him and decided to offer unsolicited advice. He was seriously regretting not following another piece of unsolicited advice he received, namely that of playing up the part of “Blood Money”. Maybe people would have been more hesitant to speak to him if they thought he was a merciless poisoner and bullied children.
He glanced around the gathering, tuning out the older man as he did so. The boarding delay seemed to be for the express purpose of allowing the trainers and non-trainers to interact, or rather, allowing the non-trainers to badger and fawn over the trainers.
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It was worse for the most well known rookies. Cashe counted at least six of the top ten ranked rookies from Kanto in the crowd, and they were surrounded by interested parties, all cloying for the barest hint of attention. Cashe couldn’t understand why. Emilia had pointed out several celebrities as they made their way closer, but they did not get anywhere near the attention that the best rookie trainers were getting.
The whole situation made Cashe silently thankful he took time off for therapy and to explore Vermillion in the few weeks he was in the city. Not just because it was good for his health, but because if he had not, he would likely be much further up the rankings.
Lindon, even though he was far outside the top rookies, was also suffering, though from a very different sort of attention. He was surrounded by a coterie of women, all who were cooing over how adorable he and his Magnemite were. One startlingly attractive woman in a low cut sundress, who Cashe recognized as a movie star of some sort, was leaning over to pat Lindon on the head, causing him to blush furiously.
While Cashe was annoyed, and Lindon clearly embarrassed, Emilia definitely had it off the worst. With at least one extremely famous older sister - Cashe was still not sure on the full count there - and two famous parents, Emilia was both a recognizable face and promising young rookie. As a result, the crowd around her was even larger than those of any of the top ten trainers. Cashe recognized not a single person around her, and while she was laughing and joking with them, her smile did not reach her eyes.
At his arm, the older gentleman finally let go his steely grasp and thanked him for the stimulating conversation. Cashe nodded and smiled, not sure what the man was talking about, and tried to find a place to hide. He could already see a young man with the air of self importance eyeing him with interest.
There. Separated from the crowd was a man in a casual suit and green shirt who was doing a bit of hiding of his own. He had an advantage though, as there were a group of similarly uniformed people - employees probably - forming a wall around him, keeping others from approaching. They were standing haphazardly, chatting with each other in a casual manner, but Cashe could see what they were doing. The man behind them did not want to be making idle conversation.
If one person could do it, Cashe could as well. He made a beeline for the man. As he approached, the man’s employees shifted, coincidentally cutting off his path. He would have to move past them in an intruding and extraordinarily rude manner to get to the man.
Cashe paused, glancing at the man. He noticed, the barest hint of a smile touching his lips. He knew what he was doing. Cashe would need to commit to get to him. Cashe looked around. There were two people approaching him from behind, clear intent to chat written on their faces.
Oh well. Cashe barged through a pair of employees who were in the middle of a conversation.
“Hey, watch it, asshole!” One shouted, a young man. Cashe ignored him. Might as well start fostering his public image. Cashe stepped around another pair of employees who tried to cut him off and pushed another out of his way, finally making it to the man at the back.
He was in his fifties, with dark hair and thick glasses. He raised an eyebrow at Cashe as he approached, a bemused expression on his face. Cashe ignored him, stepping to the side and leaning against the dock railing, glowering back at the crowd of people, just in case someone planned on imitating his approach.
“You may not have noticed, but I am not actually looking to talk.” The man said. His voice was smooth and gentle, but carried a hint of teasing in it.
“Then why are you talking?” Cashe said, maintaining his glower.
The man frowned, “A word of advice, young man-” Oh god, not more “-but you catch more flies with honey.”
“Why would I want flies?”
The man blinked, then snorted and grinned. He brought a hand to his face, covering his chuckle, “Why, indeed? I gather you are pursuing a strategy somewhat similar to myself, then.”
“And following a friend’s advice. Cultivating an image. Sorry.” Cashe frowned, “Shit. Don’t tell anyone I apologized. Bad for the image.”
The man’s smile widened, “You’re not very good at this, are you?”
“No. I mean, shut up.”
“I know why I am avoiding company, but why are you? It did not look like you were being particularly bothered out there.”
Cashe narrowed his eyes. Was he watching him? “Avoiding casuals.”
“You mean fans?”
“I thought so too, at first,” Cashe said, “But I quickly discovered the difference. Fans come to you for advice, casuals come to you with advice. Do you know how annoying it is to be told how to raise your pokemon from people who clearly have never trained one?”
“I was never much of a trainer myself, I can’t say I have had the pleasure,” the man said.
“It’s aggravating. Gets right under your skin.”
“And only three people was too much for you? I feel sorry for your friends. They have it much worse.”
He was watching him. “I had a rough day yesterday, I’m still not feeling great,” Cashe said carefully, “How do you know who my friends are?”
“It’s harder not to know your friends,” the man said with a raised eyebrow, nodding to Lindon and Emilia, both of whom were still surrounded by inquisitive people, “It is you with whom I am unfamiliar.”
Right, that made sense. Cashe stood out all the more next to an Oak and the son of the city’s gym leader.
“So if you’re not a trainer, why are you hiding?” Cashe said.
The man gave him a long look, “I suppose there is no harm in telling you. I know one of your secrets, after all,” the man smiled, “My peers,” he nodded to the crowd, “have not been kind to me or my beliefs, despite having recently been proven wholly correct."
"You would think that might help them change their minds."
"And yet it only seems to make them resentful. Many put a significant amount of work into ridiculing me. Now that they know I am correct, they expect me to return the favor."
"But you're not."
The man smiled, "It infuriates them, now that they know not only am I correct, but also superior as a person. I do not stoop to their petty insults and backhanded compliments. I find it easier to maintain a comfortable distance between myself and them for the sake of my revenge.”
Cashe blinked in surprise. There was real hatred in the man’s voice.
“Mr Maple, we are boarding now,” one of the employees, a woman, approached them. She had light green hair and wore glasses with little stars embossed on them. Cashe noticed her blazer had a stylized ‘S’ embroidered on it.
“Ah, it seems I must depart,” Mr Maple said, “My apologies, I will be leaving you to your fans,” he winked, “I will see you later in the tournament, I am sure. Best of luck, Apollo.”
With that, Mr Maple turned and left. Cashe watched him go.
***
“Please try not to talk the entire time,” Blue said, straightening his tie as he peeked around the curtain, looking out onto the stage. Lights flared and the audience cheered as the host walked across the floor to his mark. Cameras swiveled to follow the man as he started his opening monologue.
And aide in a headset pushed Blue back from the edge of the curtain and held up a hand. Five minutes.
Red smirked. He was loving this. The man was always one for the spotlight, despite disappearing for nearly fifty years. It was probably why he never shut up.
“Knock that stupid grin off your face. I’m serious,” Blue said, “There will be other guests besides us. They get a turn as well. And don’t forget this entire mess is your fault.”
Blue had tried to stop it. He tried so hard to prevent it from becoming ‘a thing’. Blue had enough ‘things’ in his life, even before his daughters decided to move through the world like the Forces of Nature having a particularly bad day. Because of this, he knew he would fail.
He tried anyway. It almost worked. He managed to get Sally Joy to promise to keep it a secret. He had kept Red from telling any of the other staff who he was. For nearly a month, he had stayed in Blackthorn with Red, catching him up on the world of pokemon and interrogating him on his training methods. All he needed was another week of peace and quiet and he would have had enough to publish.
But Red ruined everything.
Having decided he had “caught up” on the modern battling strategies in only a month, he barged into Blackthorn City’s Gym and demanded to challenge it.
He hadn’t been able to, of course. Red hadn’t been in the system for fifty years. He was barely registered as a trainer by modern standards. But as it turned out, he was registered.
Handing over his worn and ancient Trainer ID was the breaking point to a cascade of problems, and now here they were, about to go onto an internationally televised talk show.
The aide held up a hand again. Two minutes. Red grinned.
“Whatever you do, do not mention you know what. Understand?” He didn’t want that bastard Sycamore to get a single whiff of this until he read it on the front page of every scientific journal in the country.
Red gave him the thumbs up. The audience cheered. The aide pointed to the stage, “You’re up.”
Blue marched into the light, trying not to look like he was walking into a disaster. He knew he would fail. He had been here before. Still, he tried.
*****