Chapter 86 - Pub Quiz

Celeste dashed through the puddle-ridden streets of Cinnabar, feeling each breath burn in her lungs.

Heh. Burn.

Puns, it seemed, were her defence mechanism against the indignity of bumbling like a Magikarp on land while potential onlookers watched her.

“Do take a raincoat, dear. December’s the rainy season on that blasted island,” Agatha’s voice echoed in her head. One day, Celeste might actually listen. Or maybe Agatha could stop cursing her with accurate predictions. That would be a real step up.

But, of course, like always, she’d brushed off the warning with a shrug. “I’m not a kid. Plus, Pat can handle a little rain.”

Sure, Pat could handle the rain. He just couldn’t handle a little running. Or teleporting. Or getting her to the pub dry and on time. Her options were walking or being timely, apparently. And since her window of opportunity was closing, it wasn’t even an option, really. Though then again, she came here following faint whispers and there was a very big possibility her source at Cinnabar Labs was wrong, or that the guy she was after changed his mind or that he already left.

If that was the case, being timely, breathless, and wet meant nothing at all.

That was depressing.

Celeste skidded around the corner, and there it was: some old pub that she usually wouldn’t see dead at. Its sign swung lazily in the downpour, illuminated by a flickering light that read, “Finals: Quiz Night Competition!” The exclamation mark was so big and flashy in bright Cinnabar red that it felt as if it were shouting for attention through the rain.

Breathless and dripping, she slipped inside, grateful for the low light and the thrumming noise of the crowd. Conversations overlapped, the smell of fried food mixed with damp coats, and no one spared her a glance. All eyes were on the stage, where Blaine’s shiny bald head gleamed as if it were his prized possession. He was deep in thought, moustache twitching with each contemplative tap of his fingers. Behind him, a corkboard boasted categories like Ancient History and Pokémon, each numbered from 200 to 1000 points. In his hand was a single red card: category Pokémon for 500 points.

Facing him stood a scrawny kid with a smirk and large round glasses that magnified the self-satisfaction in his eyes. A single Pokéball dangled from his belt, so he must be either a new trainer or not a trainer at all.

Celeste leaned against the bar, shaking out her damp hair, eyes only half on Blaine. “Come on,” she muttered under her breath. “You’re a gym leader. You should know Pokémon.”

“He does this all the time,” the bartender said, sidling up to her as he wiped some glass clean. “Pretends he’s struggling to enhance the tension, I mean.”

Celeste turned toward him, one eyebrow raised. “Is that so?” she asked, waiting for the inevitable procession of surprise to march across his face—the squinting eyes, the creeping realisation, the shock. His mouth hung open just long enough before he remembered how to breathe again. She then flashed him a smile, teetering dangerously on the edge of a flirt. “So, what was the question?”

“T-the question?” The poor guy stammered like he’d just encountered Ho-Oh itself. Maybe she’d rushed him a bit too much. Celeste shifted her gaze away, all nonchalance, but her eyes were sharp, pointedly scanning the faces of humans and Pokémon around her and failing to find the one she was actually looking for.

“Something about typing,” he said, regaining enough composure to croak out a response. “An ancient Braviary’s, I think?”

“Hm…” She barely nodded, eyes still darting from table to table as Blaine’s voice filled the air with overdone suspense. It wasn’t long before the bartender squawked out something about her order.

Celeste clicked her smile back into place. “Bring me your favourite,” she said. He returned with an amber pint of some obscure craft beer, just as Blaine finally revealed the answer. Flying/Psychic. The kid in front of him visibly deflated, his smirk turning to a huff as he yanked a 1000 point question about tech from the board.

She sipped her drink, turning back to the bartender, her tone deceptively casual. “I’m looking for someone. Only familiar faces around here are Blaine and Dr Ren Fuji. From Cinnabar Labs. Know him?”

The bartender blinked at her. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen him in here,” he mumbled.

Celeste took another sip, her smile tightening at the edges. So she dashed through the rain just to watch Blaine collect a trophy for stumping some kid. Honestly? If she wanted to see that, she could’ve strolled into the gym any other Tuesday afternoon.

A lost cause, but—

She glanced down at her half-empty pint, a sigh caught in her throat.

Plan B it was.

—*——*—

The final question of the night was worth 300 points. Blaine was already 500 ahead, but he insisted the kid see it through, even though victory was out of reach. This was one of his Gym Leader “life lessons.” Build character. Teach resilience. Yadda, yadda. Or, more likely, he’d caught wind of the whispers and sideways glances aimed at Celeste and was stalling now he knew she was here.

The kid squinted at the card in his hands like it would bite him. The category: Who’s That Pokémon? Blaine spun a darkened silhouette toward the audience—a perfect, nondescript sphere. It could’ve been a Voltorb. Or an Electrode. Or, maybe if you were really creative…

The boy straightened, chest puffed with confidence. “Jigglypuff… seen from above!”

Yeah, no. It was Voltorb.

The audience erupted in polite, pitying applause. As for Blaine, he patted the kid on the shoulder with theatrical gravitas. “Next time, you’ll burn brighter,” he said, already turning toward the door on the back.

“Not even wait for his trophy, huh?” Celeste muttered to herself, as the gym leader waved off a request for some parting words. He muttered something she couldn’t hear and slipped away with surprising speed. His bad back didn’t even seem to mind this once.

She glanced at her own shadow then.

Without a word, it peeled away from her like a wisp of smoke, slinking into the pub’s gloom, unnoticed by the crowd. She tapped the counter lightly, flashing the bartender a smile as she left a generous tip. With a quick wave to the few patrons gawking at her, she slipped off her stool and vanished after Blaine.

The back room was small, cluttered with chairs stacked haphazardly and crates that had seen better days. Another door stood at the far end, its edges draped in unnatural shadows that didn’t quite match the room’s lighting. Blaine was already there, fiddling with the handle, muttering curses under his breath.

Celeste leaned casually against the wall. “I remember you distinctly telling me you see all your opponents as little flames needing kindling to grow stronger,” she almost hummed, earning her a scowl from the Gym Leader. “You do know that kid’s out there sobbing to his parents right now, right?”

“Fire is unforgiving,” Blaine tried, finally giving up on the handle with a defeated sigh. “Fine. I don’t like losing quiz night. Happy?” He glanced at the shadows curling stubbornly around the door. “Now, would you kindly tell your ghost to let go?”

Celeste tilted her head innocently. “Ghost? What ghost?” The door slid open with a long, theatrical creak. She grinned at that, trying not to be that smug as she stepped forward and gave it a light push, letting it glide open fully. “Were you pulling?”

“I wasn’t pulling.” Blaine crossed his arms, his moustache twitching with the words.

“Of course not.” She gestured grandly, motioning for him to lead the way. She didn’t want to press him further. Not yet, and not too much anyway. Blaine huffed but didn’t argue, stepping outside first. The rain had stopped, but the air still carried the scent of the storms brewing.

As soon as Blaine stepped outside, his foot sank into a puddle. He muttered a low curse.

Twice in a day? She couldn’t resist.

“Language!” Celeste chirped, sidestepping the puddle with an airy skip. “Or is that just for the kiddos?”

“I was having a great day, you know?” Blaine muttered, yanking his soggy shoe free.

“Ah yes, nothing like the tears of a pre-teen to fire you up, eh?” She batted her eyelashes at him. “And now I’ve improved it further by showing up. Admit it.”

“Look…” he began, shooting her a sidelong glare, “I don’t know where—”

“Your new arena!” Celeste interrupted, her eyes lighting up, but not only with glee. “The one with the lava pit! You know, the one Lance shut down because he’s never heard of fun. Is it ready yet? I’ve been dying to see it.”

Blaine’s face froze.

“Oh, come on!” she pressed. “Up close, it must be even greater.”

“Celeste…” he muttered, running a hand over his scalp. “We’re still ironing out some kinks I—”

She just narrowed her eyes, not letting go of the smile.

His sigh was long-suffering. “It’s late.”

Her grin sharpened, the lightness in her tone fraying ever so slightly. “Oh fine. If not the arena, maybe we could visit your friend. You know. The one I keep asking you about.” Her words cut through the air like a blade. “Wanna tell me where is he?”

Blaine froze, his gaze slipping away to the horizon. He didn’t need to answer. She could see the guilt etched in the tightness of his jaw.

“Let’s just go,” he muttered, fishing the keys to his gym from his coat pocket.

Celeste followed, her smile dimming as she trailed behind him. For all her quips, the truth settled uncomfortably in her chest. He was still trying to protect him.

—*——*—

She wiped the sweat from her brow and reached for one of the iron chains holding the battlefield suspended above the lava. The instant her fingers made contact, she jerked back—searing heat racing up her arm.

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Celeste, contrary to popular belief, actually took the time to read Lance’s boring ass reports on literally everything, including this arena. The chains could break mid-battle. A powerful attack might throw the balance of the entire volcano out of whack. If something went wrong, the consequences could be catastrophic. Good points, sure, but Blaine wasn’t an idiot. He knew this volcano better than anyone, and underneath all the pose, he was a big softie. The kind who knew better than anyone how dangerous fire was, and how much safety mattered.

And honestly? Even if it wasn’t safe, Blaine’s side of the argument sounded way more plausible. This was a place where powerful Pokémon could truly let loose and reconnect with the wild forces of nature in their blood. It was dangerous, and it was right. One would think the so-called Dragon Master would get that.

Plus, you know… lava battles.

Blaine was yapping away behind her, droning on about reinforced alloys and stabilising mechanisms. She wasn’t listening. Instead, Celeste giggled.

Blaine stopped mid-sentence, narrowing his eyes. “What’s funny?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she measured the gap between their platform and the battlefield, taking a deliberate three steps back.

“Celeste—”

Before he could finish, she dashed forward and launched herself into the air. Her landing was less than graceful; she hit the battlefield with a loud thud, knees sinking into a layer of ash and sand that coated the surface. The platform didn’t even wobble.

“Seems sturdy enough,” she said, brushing soot off her hands.

Behind her, Blaine sighed long and loud. He grabbed a metal plank from the side and slid it across the gap like a bridge. “You’re not supposed to jump in,” he muttered, trudging after her.

She rolled her eyes.

“Are you happy now?” he asked, exasperated. His movements were gentle, however. He reached out, as if to lead her off the platform—and, if he had his way, off his gym and back onto a ferry bound for literally anywhere else.

Celeste planted her feet firmly.

“I mean, think about it,” she continued, her tone turning sweet and dangerous all at once. “A high-heat battle. Perfect for… what was it you said? Ironing out some kinks?”

He took a step back, sweat dotting his brow—and it wasn’t even from the heat of the lava, she noted with amusement. Who’d have thought, huh?

“Celeste,” he tried again, his voice dropping to something softer, almost pleading. “This… this has to stop…”

She said nothing, or else her smile would falter. Instead, she just arched an eyebrow.

In her silence, the Gym Leader finally found space to say what he really meant. “The reason you’re here. This obsession you’ve got going… it’s not healthy.”

Not healthy? Was he serious?

The edges of her lips strained, and her expression darkened. “I’m trying to be nice, Blaine,” she said softly. And coldly. “Out of respect for you. But we just captured a Team Rocket grunt with a Ditto.” Her voice hardened. “You know what that means.”

“They could’ve—”

“Don’t. Excuses won’t do any of us any good.”

There was a moment of silence between them.

“Did Fuji already run?” she asked finally, dropping any pretence. “My sources said he was preparing to leave. They said there was a chance he’d see you tonight. To say goodbye.” Her hand shot out, gripping Blaine’s arm hard enough to make him flinch. “He left you, Blaine. If you know where he is—if you know how to find him—I need to—”

Blaine’s jaw clicked, but no sound came out of him.

When she spoke again, her words were measured, deliberate. “I need to stop Madame. And you need to stop protecting him.”

“Fine.” The Gym Leader pulled his arm from her. “Let’s have your battle.” He turned sharply, already moving to the opposite side of the battlefield.

Celeste said nothing, just watched him as he released his Magmortar inches from her. The creature towered over the battlefield, radiating heat so raw that the air itself seemed distorted. Indeed, a Gym Leader willing to have an actual fight was always a sight.

She tilted her head, unbothered by the searing monster ahead. “You’d rather battle me than tell me where Fuji is?”

Blaine sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Ever since Amber… Ren—” He broke off, closing his eyes tightly. When he spoke again, his voice was strained. “Sometimes, people let the fire consume them. I don’t know if he can still be saved. But you…” He fixed her with a hard stare. “This hatred you have for Madame? You’re letting it burn too hot. Let some steam off before it destroys you.”

Celeste stared at him, then at his Magmortar, before letting out a loud laugh. “Too many fire metaphors in one sentence, Blaine,” she said, reaching for the pendant hanging around her neck—a delicate, pinkish stone with an iridescent shimmer.

Blaine’s eyes flicked to it. She didn’t miss the way his shoulders tensed.

She let her fingers drop, clearing the sweat from her brow again. Anger simmered under her skin, but not at him. She’d known from the start that intimidation wouldn’t work on Blaine. He’d protect his friend—his brother—to the ends of the earth, and trying to force his hand would only drive the Gym Leader away from her.

The trip was a waste. But…

She smirked, pulling a Premier Ball from her belt. “You know,” she said, releasing her Alolan Ninetales in a flurry of snow, “I did say I wanted a battle in a Volcano.”

Blaine let out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like relief at the sight of her Pokémon.

“You do realise this is still not gonna be easy for you?” Celeste smirked.

As an answer?

Well, his voice roared like an explosion about to happen. “Fire Blast.”

What? No barriers? She laughed again. So much for safety.

“Let’s cool them off, Powds.”

—*——*—

A massive wall of ice erupted before Powder, so dense and thick that even the volcano’s searing heat could only lick at its edges. Blaine’s Magmortar unleashed another roaring blast of fire, but the flames splintered on contact, breaking apart into shimmering waves of steam and ash that whipped past Celeste’s face.

She didn’t flinch.

“Go defensive,” Celeste called out, her voice casual, almost lazy. The command wasn’t meant to turn the tides of the battle or anything important—just stretch it out a little longer. She wasn’t in any rush, and Powder didn’t need micromanaging, anyway. She hadn’t for years.

From behind the towering ice wall, Magmortar’s laboured breathing rumbled across the battlefield, each strained exhale followed by the low, menacing growl of the lava below, like there was some sort of conversation happening.

Powder didn’t care. She glanced back, her eyes catching the flicker of firelight that tinged their aurora hues with a faint red. She narrowed them at her trainer. This isn’t a challenge, that look said it all. When Celeste failed to respond—or pretended not to notice—Powder let out a deliberate, frosty huff. The gesture was as elegant as it was pointed. Battling in a volcano? That was Celeste’s idea of fun, not hers. If Powder could’ve rolled her eyes, she would’ve. Instead, she turned back to the wall, ready to get this over with.

“Just a little longer,” Celeste coaxed, hoping to make nothing into something. “I think Blaine said something about letting off steam? You could work with that, huh?”

Powder’s ears twitched in a very loud, silent “ugh”. Still, with all the dignity of a queen humouring her jester, she tapped her paw against the ground. Frost spiralled out from beneath her, spreading across the molten ground in intricate, lacy patterns. Steam hissed as the ice defied logic, expanding faster than Magmortar’s flames could melt it.

Celeste shifted slightly, catching a glimpse of Blaine’s face through the mist. His brow furrowed, the heat drawing sweat down his temples. He looked shocked, maybe a little annoyed, but mostly—resigned. Surely he didn’t think he could win, but maybe he had thought he could put up a fight? Or at least melt some of the ice?

“Didn’t think that was possible, did you?” she called over the roar of the volcano, playful as ever.

Blaine didn’t answer, but his Magmortar snarled, releasing another torrent of fire in a futile attempt to reclaim the battlefield.

Powder ignored it, though, letting the ice wall take care of the Fire-type. She had other priorities at the moment. Her frost spread with meticulous precision, carving elegant constructs into the now frozen surface, every swirl and flourish letting out plumes of steam that seemed almost deliberate.

It seemed the Ninetales had found something to occupy herself at least.

Celeste couldn’t help but admire her Pokémon’s work, but… well, there wasn’t much for her to do in this battle. And an idle mind… it wanders.

Her thoughts then drifted, unbidden, to Fuji.

Fuji, who had handed Dittos over to Team Rocket. Fuji, who no doubt was with them now. Fuji, who had technology to do horrible things. She couldn’t shake the image of Madame wielding his creations—those Ditto things morphing into anything, anyone, twisting the battlefield itself against her. And if they’d pushed that tech further…

Her fists clenched at the thought.

“Agh!” Mood ruined. “Let’s wrap this up, Powds.”

The Ninetales froze mid-gesture, her paw hovering over the platform she was still carving. For a moment, she looked torn—pleased to be leaving, but annoyed at being cut short. Finally, she tilted her head, allowing the fire to reclaim the battlefield. The ice melted in a controlled collapse, filling the air with hissing clouds of steam.

Celeste smiled faintly. “Make it pretty for me?”

And Powder did. From within the swirling haze, delicate fairy lights began to shimmer, their glow softly painting the mist in hues of pink and blue. It was graceful, almost hypnotic, and for a moment, the battlefield felt less like a volcano and more like a dreamscape.

Blaine’s voice cut through the haze, barking commands with a conviction that bordered on admirable. He had to know it was hopeless, but he kept at it, unwavering. At least he was consistent—he’d told the trivia kid to see things through to the end, and here he was, leading by example.

The mist lingered, thick and impenetrable, holding the moment in suspense. Then, with Powder’s grand finale, the droplets suspended in the air crystallised into gleaming shards, each one refracting the battlefield’s fiery glow. They burst outward in an explosion of light, scattering like tiny fireworks, turning the steam into a shimmering cascade of pink and blue brilliance.

A heavy thud broke the spell.

When the haze finally cleared, Blaine’s Magmortar lay sprawled on its back, defeated, with only a few stubborn embers flickering around it. The battlefield, and even the restless volcano beneath, seemed to fall silent, as if in awe.

In the centre of it all stood Powder, her elegant form illuminated by the lava’s glow. Her expression was pure smugness, her icy blue eyes glittering with satisfaction. She then tipped her head in a slow, deliberate bow—gracious, but self-assured.

Blaine sighed heavily and recalled his Pokémon. He didn’t reach for another. The match was over, and neither would try to extend it.

Powder most of all.

As soon as the Magmortar was gone, she shot Celeste a glare that could freeze the volcano itself. She wanted out of that hot inferno. Now. And preferably to never be called into battle in a place like this again. Celeste returned her to her ball with a sheepish chuckle.

“Next time, I’ll call for Aria,” she promised.

Blaine folded his arms, his expression unreadable. “Thanks for the battle. That was…” He trailed off, then shook his head.

“Something,” Celeste finished for him. Her voice sounded distant, even to herself, like it was fading into the background. She lifted her chin towards him, deciding to be serious for once. “You really should stop trying to protect Fuji. He’s not worth it.”

Blaine’s mouth opened, but whatever he wanted to say fell away.

The battlefield blurred around her. Darkness began creeping into the edges of her vision, the world fading like smoke dissipating into the sky. Yet her words floated in the void, over and over, like an echo.

He’s really not worth it.

You should stop… protecting Fuji.

… he’s really not… not worth it…

—*——*—

“Not worth it!”

Celeste jolted awake, startled enough to tumble sideways off the sofa, the book she’d been reading slipping from her grasp and thudding to the floor. For a moment, the room was still, save for the faint, pulsing glow of the lava pit outside. Its light cast long, distorted shadows across the walls, while her own stretched unnaturally in the eerie silence.

She blinked, groggy, and then noticed two bright yellow eyes blinking back at her from the darkness. Shy’s wide stare was fully visible now. Of course, Blaine wasn’t around—Shy would never be this relaxed if he were.

A blanket, half-draped over her legs, caught her attention. The Gym Leader must’ve thrown it on her after she’d dozed off.

“He probably left after I fell asleep,” she muttered, bending to retrieve the book she’d been reading aloud earlier. It was the one on fire-type anatomy, and she’d been halfway through the section on Fire Punch before she got bored her into sleeping. Shy had been really enjoying it, though.

She set the book on the table with a sigh.

“Nightmares are back,” Celeste said aloud, though mostly to herself. Her voice sounded smaller than she’d like. Her arm twinged when she shifted. The pain in that was back too, though she suspected it got worse due to the strain she’d put on it during her last fight with Ariana. “And I still can’t remember what they’re about… just fragments.”

Shy tugged gently at her leg, pulling her out of her thoughts. Celeste glanced down, catching the faint shimmer of their shadowy form stirring at her feet.

She laughed softly. “Been watching me sleep, you little creep?”

The ghost’s glowing eyes widened in indignation, and the red around their iris became redder. Kind of cute, actually.

“Relax, I’m kidding,” she added quickly.

It took Shy a moment to settle, their form recomposing into something vaguely human-shaped. Then they nodded and mimed a series of gestures—opening and closing hands, shifting their form, their movements quick but not really clear.

Celeste tilted her head. “Was I stirring? Or… speaking? That’s what you’re trying to say?”

A nod, followed by a dramatic sweep of their arm. Shadows rippled and pulled her attention to the mantelpiece, where they coalesced around a photograph.

Fuji. She could see it was Fuji.

Celeste frowned. “Was I… talking about him?”

Shy’s gaze lingered on the photo, and something in her chest felt heavy.

Quickly, she crossed the room and plucked the picture from its place. In the photograph, Blaine and Dr Fuji smiled broadly, the warmth of their friendship frozen in time. Her grip on the frame tightened as emotions she didn’t know bubbled. Anger, frustration… fear.

“Was I… talking about him?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

She turned the frame over in her hands, her reflection flickering faintly in the glass. Something about the dream—the nightmare—lingered at the edges of her thoughts, slippery and fragmented, but there. She didn’t know much, but she knew Blaine thought of Fuji like a brother. She knew he would protect Fuji no matter what.

“I didn’t need a nightmare to figure that out,” she muttered, placing the photo back on its spot. Her gaze shifted to the laptop Blaine had left on the coffee table, its glossy cover reflecting the lava’s faint glow.

She walked towards it slowly, only stopping when her fingers could brush against the edge of the device.

Shy hovered beside her, their form rippling in what looked like a warning.

“Maybe if I just…”