Chapter 9: R8 | Who Will Win IPL 64?

The upset set the tournament on tilt. The next day, prior to the final two matches of the first round, the analyst desk gave their traditional predictions. For Toril Lund versus Lachlan Nguyen, both Iono and Cynthia predicted Toril to win. Bill Masaki shocked them both—and everyone watching—by calling it for Lachlan.

"Upsets are in the air," Bill said against the protests of his cohorts, palms upraised. "If Jinjiao can drop, Lund's even more vulnerable. Let's not forget how her group stage ended. Or how Nguyen's did—he surprised the Red Akahata to punch his ticket here."

"Ten years ago that might have meant something," Cynthia said. "But Red's in his thirties. He's no longer unbeatable."

"I respect the hustle Bill! Servin' hot takes for bigtime clicks, my favorite trick of the trade. But you're just bein' contrarian!"

"We'll see." Bill smiled and thatched his fingers behind his head.

Toril outsmarted Lachlan on the opening move. In three turns a Dragon Dance-boosted Baxcalibur loomed titanic over the arena. From then things proceeded exactly how they did in all of Toril's group stage matches bar one: complete and utter domination. Toril routed Lachlan without losing a single Pokémon.

She descended the trainer platform and, stone in the face, gave cursory, uninsightful, but extant answers to Fiorella Fiorina's questions, dodging further fines before vanishing from view. The stage then shifted, in unorthodox manner, to the match's loser. Lachlan Nguyen, during an uncommon loser's interview only minutes after his final Pokémon fell, faced all watching and tearfully announced his retirement from competitive battling at the age of twenty-five.

"It's been a long time coming." Lachlan wiped his eyes; Fiorella nodded respectfully. "Just glad I had enough left for a last dance to remember. Not everyone can say they beat Red Akahata. By my count, only twenty-three trainers can say that."

He went on to explain his intention to become a gym leader in his native Giday region and train the next generation of Gidayers so that one might one day hoist the Champion's Cup. The crowd gave him a standing ovation with more enthusiasm than they gave the frankly boring match that preceded. Then Lachlan Nguyen vanished from all human memory.

Later that week, hygienic necessity forced Toril from her hotel room to the lobby-adjacent convenience store. (Don't fucking dare ask for more info than that.) Black glasses, baseball cap, hood kept her incognito as she swiftly and surreptitiously placed the needed supplies on the counter.

While the clerk took excruciating time scanning, her eyes avoided contact and wandered to the stand beside the counter. There she saw it:

BATTLERS WEEKLY

Now that Jinjiao has fallen...

WHO WILL WIN IPL 64?

Under this question, consuming the entirety of the cover, two faces. Ostensibly the only two possible answers. One was Raj Viswambaran, first seed and current odds-on favorite.

The other was Aracely Sosa.

Toril's fingers crinkled the gloss pages as she stomped out of the shop. Who edited this? Did they seriously consider Aracely a contender? The magazine was an issue-wide special dedicated to the IPL quarterfinals. After basic reporting—box scores, an exposé titled YOSHINOBU ITO: MATCH FIXING SCANDAL?—came predictions, analyses, profiles on the eight remaining trainers. Toril turned to her page.

Toril Lund is here to prove she has what it takes to be World Champion. This rising superstar from Kylind, coming off a dominant regional sweep and even more eye-poppingly impressive undefeated group stage, has not lost a professional match in seven months... Blah, blah, blah... Overview of her team, her strategies, basic information all basically correct. This ice cold northerner is deadly from ahead and ingenious from behind. Expect to see her in the grand championship on October 12...

Then why the fuck wasn't she on the cover?! Did they realize that for Toril to reach finals she needed to beat Aracely? They didn't say a single negative word about her. They didn't even mention her near-defeat in groups. If they thought so highly of her, why wasn't her face next to Raj's? Was she a joke? Did they discard her arbitrarily? At least Bill had a fucking reason, what shithead wrote this drivel?!

She skimmed Aracely's profile, seeking answers. The writeup contained all the obvious surface-level criticisms. Technically a rookie. Prone to inexplicable blunders. Reliant on coaching from her father, former finalist Domingo "Domino" Sosa. Half the magazine's analysts predicted she'd lose to her next opponent. So why? Why her on the cover?

The back half of the magazine was dedicated to an interview/personal deep dive with Raj and Aracely. Complete with photographs, key quotes emphasized in callouts ("Galar's a region of champions, but I'm writing my own story," said Raj. Meanwhile, Aracely: "Battling's fun, isn't it? I have a lot of fun when I battle"), all sorts of maudlin shit.

Something Aracely once said resurfaced. A story can only have one protagonist. Toril felt herself slipping away, slipping outside the frame, transforming into a minor character next to the full-page photo of Aracely extending a hand as though asking the viewer to take it.

Toril tried to rip the magazine apart but the glossy pages didn't rip right and she wound up tossing the whole mangled bundle into a wastebasket. Like Toril would've stood around for their interview anyway!

As soon as the false Aracely left her sight, she glanced up and saw the real one down the hotel hallway. Talking to someone—to Yui Matsui, who'd scraped into quarters. (Cynthia, predictably, had a lot to say about that on the desk: three female trainers in the Top 8!)

Toril crouched behind a gurney of folded white towels. Aracely had Yui by the door of Yui's room and spoke animatedly. Why? About what? It registered in Toril's mind that Yui was Toril's next opponent.

Aracely asked Toril for advice to beat Jinjiao. Now she was giving Yui advice to beat Toril?!

Toril's thumbnail twisted between her teeth. She inched the gurney forward, trying to hear. The words didn't carry. But Yui, usually bland in affect, smiled and laughed. What the hell?

Aracely waved bye-bye and Yui half-waved in return and disappeared into her room. Toril slinked back to ensure she remained out of view. Through gaps between the towels she watched Aracely stand in the middle of the corridor, looking at nothing—at Yui's door. Silent.

Finally, she said: "Okay Tors, it's safe. You can come out now."

Toril remained rigid. She rejected the idea Aracely knew where she was.

"Tors. Babe."

Footsteps approached. Reality became undeniable. "Peekaboo!" Aracely jumped onto Toril's side of the gurney.

Toril avoided looking Aracely in the eye.

"Interesting aesthetic choice, the hood and sunglasses. You look like a," Aracely fished for a word, "jealous stalker!"

"I'm not jealous."

Aracely held a hand to her. "Don't worry Tors, you're still the apple of my eye. Let's hang out."

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When Toril opened the door to her room, her Alolan Ninetales lifted his head, then hopped up with willowy white tails waving. After Aracely appeared in the doorway, though, he scurried under the bed until only his tails showed.

"It's okay Ingmar, you met her in the restroom, remember?" Toril went straight to her backpack and stashed the convenience store bag before Aracely saw what she bought. "He's shy," she explained as she tossed a treat to him. A brief snickety-snack and it was no more.

"Wow Tors, all this shed fur. The help must hate you."

Toril waved dismissively and checked the open laptop on her desk. It displayed a vista of outer space, made into a maze of spinning Minior.

"Oh! What's that?" Aracely bent slightly and placed her hands on her knees to look.

"Pogo's Adventure."

"You know, I've heard of that game. My bestie Haydn calls it comfy."

"I guess. It's Rune's favorite."

"Rune?"

"Porygon-Z. See him? He replaced Pogo."

Her ungloved forefinger traced the screen where Rune, transformed into a pixelized sprite, bobbed amid the Minior. The introduction of new data into the game occurred seamlessly other than moments where Rune wigged out and clipped through an otherwise impassable barrier.

"Wow. Actually kinda neat," said Aracely. "Why does it do it?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"I mean. What does it get out of it."

"He gets a kiss from Princess Clef for saving her. He loves Princess Clef. He hacked his PC box to make her his wallpaper."

"Cute!"

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"You think it's—cute?"

"What'd you expect me to say?"

"Weird, or something."

"Nope! And I would know. I am the cuteness arbiter."

"Your, uh, Rotom might like to play. In your phone, right? I've got a cord. Rune loves co-op."

"What a precious idea!"

Aracely took out her phone and Toril connected it. Rather than manifest as a sprite, Rotom leaped from the phone to possess the laptop, turning it orange, with big Rotom eyes sticking out the top of the screen. The screen changed to display new configurations of Minior maze puzzles.

"Oh this is cool," Toril said. "Rune's played the game to death, he'll love fresh content."

She watched Rune zip through Rotom's custom stages, until the weight of Aracely's presence drew her away. "You keep calling Rune a he," Aracely said. "I thought Porygon were genderless."

"Well, he loves the princess, so."

"So girls can't love girls?"

Passage of an intense stare proceeded. Aracely serene, smiling. Toril became aware of the turgid sludge in her veins.

"Ingmar!" she said. "No. I told you—only one treat." He was crawling out from under the bed, sticking his snout into Toril's open backpack. At the snap he shot back and she felt crummy immediately.

"Yet you did invite me to your room alone, so..."

"Does it look like we're alone?" Toril swept her gloved hand at Ingmar, at Rune and Rotom.

"To me it does."

This wasn't—this conversation was not going where Toril liked it. She reeled it back. "Porygon, you know." She paced, pointed to the laptop. "Silph Co. designed the original model in the 90s. To do computer stuff. But it was faulty, caused seizures. They made a new model, then they found out Rotom did the same thing without the dev costs. So we have Rotom phones now, not Porygon phones."

Bobbing on daintily pigeon-toed designer shoes, Aracely leaned eagerly—hungrily—Toril-ward. "That's actually so interesting. You're kinda cute when you're being knowledgeable like that."

"Get away!"

"Omigosh Tors, chill. I'm just teasing." She laughed and Toril seethed. "But seriously, there's definitely an inner appeal to you that just needs the right trigger to draw out. Like when you went on that ramble about Jinjiao's team, that was super cute."

"Why do you calling keep me cute?!"

Aracely tilted her head. "Don't you want to be cute?"

"Ah! I get it. You're manipulating me. Like Bill and those robe guys—you get people to do what you want. You want my help to beat your next opponent, like before!"

"Omigosh. This is some serious PMSing, Tors."

"Who told you—how—"

"Relax. I only want to hang out with my new best friend."

"We're not friends!"

The serenity cracked. Aracely's inscrutable smile never changed, but Toril felt something anyway, an underlying pang. "You really believe that. I thought we had fun in Pewter. Why?"

Toril almost said because I hate you, a statement supported by obvious evidence—she was fake, superficial, bitchy, annoying, exhausting, lucky—but couldn't form the words. Under the bed, Ingmar whimpered.

"Being friends doesn't need to be this whole big thing," Aracely said. "You can just be friends."

"You're"—remembering the magazine—"competition."

"Oh, please. If you believed that, you'd have friends who weren't me. Unless you think everyone in this world is competition."

Maybe they are, Toril thought, and Aracely nodded like she heard it. "Why do you even care?" Toril said. "Go be friends with Yui Matsui or something."

"I think," Aracely started—then her tone cooled. Her fingers laced shily and her eyes peered somewhere else. Toril saw her this way once before. When they first met, and she described the end of the world, and being the final punctuation—that crap. "Let me be honest, Toril. Is that okay? I've found people don't like honesty, or maybe that's only what someone thinks when their honest thoughts are like mine. I thought you were pathetic. See? My lovely inner thoughts, right? Sad, lonely, and pathetic. I pitied you. The kinds of thoughts I wind up thinking about everyone eventually. Which makes me wonder if really—no, that's beside the point. The point is, I'm thinking new things now. I mean, you beat me, and I have to respect that, unless I don't even respect myself. Right? There's something else about you. Something you have, and I don't. Something like—"

"Actual skill," Toril blurted coldly.

She didn't know why she said it. Even she knew it wasn't what Cely—what Aracely actually meant. Aracely's fumbling speech sought something deeper. Toril simply couldn't take it. The intensity, the intimacy of where these words delved, and the counterweight realization Toril must necessarily make that Aracely also had something Toril didn't, something Toril might admire, might secretly crave.

The curt remark did its job. Aracely smiled sadly, but with understanding—as if she felt she deserved it. Everything returned to the surface and brightened.

"Well! You did give great advice for Jinjiao, after all."

Nothing to do but move on. "You're out of luck if you want anything on your next opponent. I've never battled Gladion. Or even met him. I've only met his mom."

Aracely's enthusiasm spontaneously ignited. "Really? You met her? When? Where?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Just curious!"

Toril studied her, suspicious. She couldn't tell if this exuberance was faked, a way to glide past what came before. "Five years ago. Before that whole disaster, before they banned Ultra Beasts from the IPL. Every serious trainer needed an Ultra Beast then, and the best way to get one was the source."

"Alola."

"Right. Anyway, then—Seriously, why do you care?"

"Because it's an interesting story. You've lived an interesting life."

Toril never thought about that, but she realized it might actually be true. She tried to remember back then, dredge up detail, make it a real anecdote. Something to impress?

"I wanted to be a serious trainer. It was all I wanted. So I went to this bumfuck region in the middle of the ocean. It's hot, it's humid, I hate it, I'm sweating my ass off. I trudged out to the facility where they were opening holes in space-time or whatever—"

"Aether Foundation."

"Sure. They were screening every trainer before giving them the equipment to catch Ultra Beasts. They said it was for safety reasons, but they were probably just throttling supply to drive up demand. I'd cleared the Kylind gym circuit by then and thought I was hot shit, figured they'd let me have one. So they sat me in this waiting room—sterile white fluorescent—the whole thing gave me a migraine. Then the secretary says, Dr. Mohn will see you now—"

"Dr. Mohn was her husband."

"Well it's what they were calling her. Her husband was dead by then I think. Anyway I walked into her office. Weird place. She had these cases full of—I don't even know what they were. Pokémon embalmed in glass boxes."

"Fake Pokémon. Damien Hirst. Modern art."

"Whatever. Anyway, I walked in. She was at her desk. She didn't look like a scientist at all, she looked like a supermodel. She took one glance up and down, and said—she only said one word. I remember it. She said: Unfit."

"That's all?"

It was all. Toril wished it wasn't, that her story might have some grand climax. Maybe if she pretended she fought back, yelled something witty, but it would only be lies. It was easy to tell your story, but hard to make it matter. Didn't Cynthia say that?

Toril realized Aracely was trying to get her to open up, after Toril rejected the same from Aracely.

"Then they sent me home," Toril said. "And it turned out okay, because a month later they almost blew up the island and Dr. Mohn got eaten by a jellyfish."

"She lived."

"And they banned Ultra Beasts. That's it though."

Aracely pressed her palms together and divided her face with her fingers. "But what did you think of her?"

"Of who? Gladion's mom? I hated her. Obviously."

"Why?"

How to phrase it? "Because she was a rich beautiful bitch and she called me unfit." Similar to someone else she knew. "What more do I need?"

"Don't worry, Tors. I think you're very fit."

That bizarre statement ushered stillness into the room. Toril glanced away, at the laptop. Rune fired energy pellets at Deoxys, who emitted a web of lasers that covered ninety percent of the screen.

"Anyway," Toril said, "I hear Gladion doesn't even talk to her, though everyone still gives him shit about it. Point is, none of this will help your battle."

"That's fine. Don't take this wrong, but I don't need advice from you or anyone anymore."

"One upset and you're that confident?"

"More than that. I feel—like I'm seeing things, lines, I didn't see before. Against Jinjiao, I knew exactly what he wanted to do, I felt it, and the more I play this game the stronger these feelings get, the more right they get, you get it? I like this game. It's fun, and I'm good at it, really good. I know I told you before I'd win, but now I really, actually know it'll happen. I can't lose. The lines, they're connected, everything makes so much sense. My mind is expanding."

Her fingernails flashed. So did her eyes.

"It doesn't matter how expanded your mind is," Toril said, "if your Pokémon won't listen to you. I noticed you didn't use Ziggy against Jinjiao."

The twinkle dispersed. "Bad matchup. Composition-wise."

"That Azumarill battles like your dad. If you really think you're a contender, you need your ace to battle like you."

"I'm working on that. Oh look! They beat the game."

On the laptop screen, Rune gave Princess Clef a literal peck on the cheek. A pixelated heart emerged from the site while elaborate cursive text scrawled: FIN.

"By the way!" said Aracely. "Didja see my interview in Battlers Weekly?"

"No. I didn't."

"Omigosh Tors, you totally did."

Toril crossed her arms and groused.

"Tors. Babe. You're not jealous, are you? Oh, you so are. You are! You're jealous!"

"I'm not jealous! I hate interviews."

"But you want people to know you're the best, don't you? Yep. I see right through you. You want them to respect you."

"I don't care what they think. They're idiots. I do this for myself."

"Do it for yourself. Ooh. Good line. Bu-u-ut! You're still jealous. Don't worry Tors. I know the secret. We'll get you recognition in no time. Two words, no wait, one word: Make. Over. Two words? Makeover. Make over. Hm."

Toril stood dumbfounded until the nonsensical series of syllables constructed some signifier. "No. Nope. No way."

"Yes way. We'll do it right before your game against Yui. You'll go onstage looking divine. I've already picked out clothes. I must say it was a little difficult to shop in your size, you're so tall. But, I persevered. There are five potential outfits, only the freshest designer brands, we'll try them on and see which works best. Though I already have a pretty good idea—"

"You bought me clothes? You—how do you even know my size?!"

"Come on Tors, I have eyes." Aracely boggled them for effect. "I also bought you makeup. Don't worry about paying me back. I'm magnanimous like that. Under ordinary circumstances I'd totally be willing to let you use my own, but our complexions, yeah, not exactly matching."

"No. Flat no. There's no power in the world that can compel me to wear makeup."

"Oh, really? You're not the least bit interested to know what I talked to Yui Matsui about?"

Incredible. Blackmail now? She spilled Toril's weaknesses to Yui as leverage. All along, a manipulator, Toril knew it. Righteous indignation said a punch was warranted. Toril withheld, and instead levied the accusation in a reasonable manner: "You sabotaged me."

"What? No! Tors! Really? You think—? Omigosh Tors, I thought we trusted each other more than that!"

"Why else would you talk to her? When have you talked to Yui Matsui before in your life?"

"Right after I beat Jinjiao? She and Raj and Dad showed up to celebrate? And you didn't? She's actually way cooler than I expected. In like a bitchy, alt way? You know, kind of punk? She plays the bass. I thought that was so cute. She's also super awkward if you can get her to say more than like, five words at a time. Par for the course at this tournament. The woman-of-few-words aesthetic plays to her strengths though."

Toril's eyes wandered to the game, where Aracely's Rotom animated Princess Clef to stage an elaborate zero gravity dance sequence. Ingmar halfway emerged from the bed to watch the Minior that streaked the background.

"So why do I care?" said Toril.

"Because I know her weakness. I'll tell you if you let me experiment on your look a little."

"I studied her film. I know her team's strengths and weaknesses."

"No-o, not her team. Her weakness. Yui's weakness."

"What, like a personality flaw? I don't care."

"You should care," said Aracely, and the playfulness drained out of her voice, and something serious overtook her, strong enough to send Ingmar scurrying back under the bed, strong enough to cause Rune and Princess Clef to stare out the screen. "You should, because if you don't, you do not have a ghost of a chance against me in the rematch. You saw me beat Jinjiao. How do you think I did it? By analyzing his team? Or by analyzing him?"

Something Aracely had, that Toril didn't.

Toril forced herself to loosen, tendon by tendon. Her mouth remained screwed up, though, no matter what. Moving her lips only caused them to shift into a new uncomfortable position.

Finally, she muttered something.

"What was that?" Aracely said.

Toril muttered it again.

"I can't hear you."

"Fine," said Toril.

"Perfect. It's a date." Aracely poked Toril on the nose, a gesture to which Toril wanted to respond by biting her finger off but could not find the nerve. "I promise you won't regret it."

After Aracely left (she almost forgot Rotom), Toril sat on the bed stroking Ingmar's upraised belly. She replayed the full conversation beginning to end, trying to unearth Aracely's true goal. Her mind kept coming to the moment she cut Aracely off. She shouldn't have done that. That moment became pivotal, everything hinged on it. Something would be different, if she didn't cut Aracely off. She only had no idea what.