As the auditorium echoed with a resounding cheer, Hoshi struggled with two revelations…
That his coworker had been a member of Team Rocket potentially the entire time he had known him, and that the man knew how to evolve machoke.
And though that second one was probably a lot more important in the grand scheme of things, the first one was what loomed large in Hoshi’s mind.
Son of a bitch! I told Casca- I told her I stole a Pokéball! She probably would have mentioned that to get me in as quick as possible… What if it got back to him? Did he put it together? Will he?
The sound died down as Hoshi stewed in his building anxiety, the Executives continuing their spiel.
“That’s right!” announced James. “The signature Pokémon of Kanto’s very own ex-Elite, Bruno!”
“A Pokémon whose pre-evolved form is strong enough to lift a dump truck with one hand!” continued Jessie.
“Previously so rare as to be nearly extinct…”
“With not even the current fighting-type Elite Four possessing one…”
“Who can say how strong it is?!”
Jessie put a hand to the side of her mouth, and spoke in a breathy, false whisper. “We’ll give you a hint… We have no idea!”
“Meow.”
“Just so! It broke every piece of equipment we tested it with!”
He’s not going to hold a grudge, right? If he even figures it out…
Standing next to the Executives, Dabi held himself completely differently from the man Hoshi was acquainted with; his spine was ramrod straight, his expression falling somewhere between annoyed and disgusted, not a hint of cringing fear. Under the stage lights his short, combed-forward hair and nearly opaque glasses seemed almost… menacing.
Hoshi couldn’t see his eyes, but it was easy to picture the man staring straight at him.
No, I’m imagining it. Just keep listening to the new bosses; pretend you don’t even know the guy.
Behind the two Executives the screen settled into its final configuration: a tournament bracket, with what looked to be six rounds. The second was odd, being mostly people excluded from the first round immediately jumping in.
Jesse and James struck another perfectly-synced pose. The redhead spoke again, and it suddenly struck Hoshi that no, there had never been any speakers, it was only the acoustics of the room and the strength of the Executives’ lungs that made their voices carry.
“Now we’re unfortunately just shy of the nice round sixty-four necessary for a six-round tournament…”
“But this is just a casual competition among friends, so a little unevenness won’t slow us down!”
“As you can see on the board, we’ve picked out a few of our darling Junior Executives and Rocket Scientists to give a bye – now you may be tempted to think we’re playing favourites…”
James flashed them all a huge, pearly grin. “And you’d be completely right! We’re exceedingly bribable, folks!”
“Meow.”
A few of the suits gave stately chuckles, while the black-uniformed grunts looked aggravated in a slightly performative way. “Damn you,” said Black, his fist waving, his voice flattened by the obviously scripted nature of what he was doing – an actor, the man was not. “When will there be justice for the working man?”
The pair looked at each other, then back to the audience.
James grasped his chin. “You know, what’s a good point!”
“It would be a bit unfun to have the Executives steamroll everything, wouldn’t it?”
“Meow.”
Further chuckles from the suits, along with a few playful boos. The persian stretched out along the top of the board, yawning, its wickedly sharp claws extending.
“Meow,” it repeated.
Jessie pointed to the Pokémon. “That’s a great suggestion, Meowth! It’s settled..!”
“It won’t just be a Rocket Cup; today will be a Rocket Little Cup!”
Jessie gestured with her remote, and the screen changed to show a drawing: pikachu and raichu, the raichu cartoonishly crossed out.
“There we are!”
“Unevolved Pokémon only!” The pair nodded to themselves. “That will put the deciding factor on trainer ability, rather than Pokémon alone!”
Another click of the remote, and the screen reverted. “We’ll give our contestants a few minutes to prepare, then we’ll start thing’s off!”
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Tackle, Quick Attack, and Tail Whip…
Those were the moves his Mini-Dex said that Rattata currently knew. Exactly what I’d have assumed. Just a normal rattata…
In the seats around him, his new coworkers were abuzz, talking about the tournament, and more specifically the prize.
“I can’t believe it! A machamp!” Moony was all but vibrating in his seat. It didn’t seem to have occurred to the juiced-up man that he couldn’t possibly win with just a sandshrew he’d never used; his eyes were glued to the Pokémon still on stage, who was reacting to the crowd’s attention by doing poses. “Do you think they stole it from overseas?”
Nerine shook her head. “No way. We’d have heard about it. That short guy is one of the Professors; I bet he figured out how to get it to evolve.”
Puce’s soft voice floated just over the general murmur. “That makes sense… If they just had the one, they wouldn’t give it out in such a small tournament, right? The Executives would keep it for themselves.”
The Pokémon continued to pose with Dabi watching from the side. The Senior Executives had left the stage at some point; Hoshi wasn’t entirely sure when.
“Not necessarily,” said Ryan. “If they want as many people as possible to know about it, this is an organic way to do that.”
“Why would they want that, though? There are like sixty people in this room; someone’s going to talk…” Puce was basically Moony’s opposite, in that the moment the machamp had made its appearance, she had become still and even softer-spoken.
“If I had one’a those, I’d be singin’ it from the rooftops!”
Hoshi scoffed. Right. And you’d get it stolen out from under you just as quick. Ryan said something in a snide tone – probably putting to voice what Hoshi had merely thought – but he tuned out of the conversation. A few minutes. What can I do in a few minutes?
Obviously, winning wasn’t anywhere near the table; even if the older grunts were using unevolved Pokémon, they would still be trained. And it isn’t like they’ve been caught flat-footed – obviously they have tournaments like these regularly. The persian making a ‘good point’ was obviously just a bit of showmanship…
The other Rockets will be bringing ringers. This was just as much an initiation as a real competition; breaking the new guys down before building them back up as loyal soldiers.
But there are a few things I can check. Winning wasn’t a reasonable goal, but using the tournament as training was.
Hoshi ducked down in his seat, and removed the Mini-Dex from his rattata’s ball. “Go, Rattata.” he whispered, and the ball opened in his hand with the usual woosh-oosh-oosh. Somebody probably heard, but whatever; as far as he knew, having your Pokémon out was perfectly allowed.
The purple-pink rat coalesced, blinking and turning its head, its whiskers twitching.
“Hey, little guy.” The thing was smaller than average if he were comparing it to what he saw in the Gym – hopefully, it was just young, rather than undersized. “How much training have you got?” Probably not much, but…
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
He held his hand out, making a come-hither gesture. “Use Tail Whip.” The rattata froze for a moment, seemingly confused, before obeying. Hoshi received a sharp slap across his palm from the ‘mon’s curled tail, causing him to wince. “Okay, good. Dodge left.”
No response except a whisker-twitch.
Hoshi pointed left, exaggerating the motion. “Dodge left.”
This time, the rat took a quick hop to Hoshi’s left. Okay, wow, this thing is raw.
Pokémon tended to have a pretty good understanding of body language, even wild ones; that it understood his command wasn’t unusual, but that it had needed the gesture for something so simple was a bad sign. This thing probably hasn’t been out of its ball for more than an hour since it was caught. Hoshi repeated the dodge command a few times, before drawing his hand back. “Dodge left,” he said in a low but steady voice, and the rattata completed the action without the gesture. “Good rat. Dodge right.”
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“And that’s the first round! Amazing showing for our new recruits!”
“Three of the five have advanced, an auspicious number!”
“Meow.”
Garcia let the voices of his superiors wash over him, not raising his head. In his hands he clutched a Rocket Ball, its surface smooth and glossy, not yet worn by time and violence like the two at his side were.
“Will the round three participants please gather in front of the stage, thank you!”
“Don’t dawdle now, or you’ll be out like a light!”
He opened his eyes, and stood. Even in such a strange setting, using weak newly-caught Pokémon, there was a certain air to the room, an energy. Garcia had been a Rocket for two decades, and an unlicensed trainer for three, but he still felt the spine-tingling sensation that came before a real Pokémon battle, the same as when he was five years old with nothing but a pair of kakuna and a butterfree.
Already, the area around the stage was filling up. His eyes scanned the crowd, then the large list of names, and… Four of the rookies made it through? Impressive. This month’s crop might actually be able to get his blood up.
“Executive Seto?”
He half-turned, his eyes finding the black-suited grunt who had called his name. Not a participant. “Here to referee my match, son?”
The young man – everyone seemed to be so young, these days – nodded. “Over here,” he said with a gesture, beginning to walk before adding a belated, “…Sir.”
Garcia followed the man to a cleared space, still clutching the Pokéball in his hand. Around the auditorium a few battles had already started up, dull thuds and high-pitched cries sounding out as the baby Pokémon scrambled around, not unlike human children roughhousing.
It made him feel nostalgic for the forest.
A second of basking in the emotion, and then they had reached their destination, a cleared circle outlined by traffic cones. His opponent was already there; another young man, perhaps a touch older than the grunt, wearing a grey suit. Ah, splendid. I didn’t expect to get a rookie today.
His lips twisted into a smile as the referee took his place. The new Rocket, who Garcia knew by face but not by name, also had his ball out and expanded – and interestingly, a distinctive bulge in his pocket. “Two Pokémon, son?” he questioned.
The purple-haired man’s face twisted. “Yeah. That a problem?” He spoke like he expected to be cut down at the knees at any moment; defiant, but a fearful sort of defiance. The tone of a man who had accepted the loss already, only fighting to spit in his opponent’s eye.
“Not at all.” The old bug catcher brandished his ball. “Don’t expect an easy win, though.”
The rookie grunted something that failed to make it across the tiny battlefield, and the impatient referee apparently took that as his cue to begin.
The uniformed young man raised his arm. “Rockets, prepare your Pokémon! This will be a standard battle; a winner is determined when their opponent’s Pokémon are unable to battle! Fatally injuring your opponent will result in both sides forfeiting!” A moment, and then, “You may switch freely!” Cheeky little bastard. The arm came down, and Garcia was already tossing, aiming for the other side of the arena before the referee could finish his exclamation. “Begin!”
His opponent cursed, throwing a fraction of a second later, and the balls very nearly collided in the air – but it didn’t happen; Garcia’s Pokémon came out that fraction of a second sooner, already turning, feeling the opponent's ball strike the ground with its sensitive feet.
“String Shot,” he ordered, raising his hand to catch the returning ball.
His spinarak followed the order gleefully, shooting sticky webbing from between its clacking mouthparts. “Rattata, forward!” came the order from his opponent, and the confused rat, its head swivelling around to look for its missing opponent, just barely bounded forward in time to avoid the first round of webbing.
“Keep it up! Close in!”
The thin man snarled, his expression worthy of a Scary Face. “Circle around! Right! Sprint!”
The rattata dodged around the continuing stream of webbing by virtue of speed more than dexterity or situational awareness; the tiny thing put its head down and bounded for all it was worth, outpacing his ambush-predator spider’s comparatively slow turning radius.
“Quick Attack!”
“Poison Sting, ranged!”
The attacks landed at mostly the same time, the rat darting in to land a swipe with its paw as his spinarak’s horn glowed purple, poison-coated hairs jumping off like blaster shots from an old sci-fi movie. A good number of them went wide, his spider’s aim thrown off by the hit, but a few managed to stick in the opponent’s retreating form.
Both Pokémon reeled back, and Garcia’s smile was sharp. I’m going to lose this one, I think. His spider had a large scratch across its green exoskeleton, clear fluid dripping from a damaged eye. “String Shot!”
“Dodge left!”
But spinarak’s attack, though undoubtedly lighter than its opponent’s, had done its job; when the rattata placed its weight on its front paws, it squeaked in pain and failed to move – the hairs digging deeper into its soft pads completely destroying its ability to run on all fours.
The stream of white silk plastered it to the ground. “Finish it! Constrict!”
The man gnashed his teeth, brandishing his Rocket Ball. “Return!” Before the spider could begin binding its prey the red laser stole it away, the rattata returning to its ball. “Damnit! I wanted at least one clean win…” A sigh, and he drew the second ball from his pocket. “Go, zubat.”
A rattata and a zubat? Quite the classic combo. Before the resounding sound effect of the Pokémon’s release had faded away, spinarak was already firing a spray of webbing.
But it seemed his opponent was more on-the-ball the second time around. “Fly up!” he ordered as his Pokémon went from red light to flesh and blood.
The zubat screeched and climbed, moving in an erratic spiral motion that was hard to follow even in the well-lit auditorium, though not necessarily fast. Once again the lines of sticky silk failed to find purchase, and the aging Rocket allowed a touch of sour to enter his expression. “Two manoeuvrable Pokémon, hm? Switch to Poison Sting, wide shot!”
His opponent countered with an order of his own. “Supersonic! Stay high!”
Glowing hairs filled the air like anti-aircraft cannonfire – but unlike the heavy bolts of Vermilion’s defenses, his spinarak’s attacks were barely scratching its opponent. Too far away, and zubat’s own toxins make it resistant besides.
The bat’s screeching took on an entirely different quality, and Garcia nearly fell despite not moving, as his sense of balance shorted out. It was twice as bad for his spinarak; perceiving the world mostly through vibrations, the spider must have been effectively blind and deaf.
“Hang on!” It isn’t over just yet. If it goes in for a melee attack we should be able to catch it with a surprise Constrict-
But either his opponent had seen into his thoughts, or was simply cautious; he withdrew his zubat and sent the rat back out – without the hairs hampering its mobility, and his spider reeling in confusion, the battle was short.
The rattata landed a Quick Attack – from behind this time – and Garcia withdrew his Pokémon. “Spinarak, return.” He sighed. Of course I would draw a speedy opponent on my first round. He had chosen spinarak to catch the slow-but-strong drowzee and magnemite that the scientists tended to favour, since they were local Pokémon that made up the bulk of his opponents. “Ah, unfortunate. I suppose this is my loss, young man.”
The victorious grunt didn’t look it; rather than jubilant or satisfied, he stared crossly at both Garcian and the referee, who only shrugged.
“You won, man. Go over and get your team healed up; round three will start soon.”
A moment of silence, before the rookie recalled his Pokémon. “Right.” He nodded Garcia’s way, at last seeming to let his battle fury peter off. “Thanks for the match. I’m gonna… go do that.”
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Hoshi turned away from the thirty-something man in his rich red suit, frustration pursing his lips. Another match I would have lost with either of my Pokémon alone. His first opponent had been a senior grunt with a staryu, and the thing had nearly taken his zubat out of the air with a single well-placed Water Gun. In truth that first match had been a lot closer to the edge; he’d gotten lucky confusing the starfish Pokémon at the last minute, and rattata had been able to pin it down before it got its head- uh, before it got itself straightened out.
Even face down, the water type had made the fight drag on by hardening until Rattata’s teeth could barely scratch it – which might have been a tactical error on the opposing grunt’s part, since if it had been able to flip itself over Hoshi could have easily lost.
In comparison, this last fight had been pretty easy – if still beyond his abilities as a trainer; had he been fighting one-on-one, that Johto Pokémon would have trapped his own, then crushed them in its oversized jaws.
Damnit. I won two fights, I should be feeling good about it. He came up on the nearest of the three healing machines – stripped-down versions of the larger ones that existed in Pokécentres, they would have his Pokémon back to a hundred percent within seconds. He absentmindedly handed his two balls to the grunt manning the machine.
It’s just frustrating. Surge’s Pokémon are all a lot stronger – from where I’m standing, this seems like a downgrade. He got his balls back, and for about the twentieth time wished he had a proper belt to put them in. I probably look ridiculous. Well, whatever, it’s not like I can do anything but-
“Young man,” intruded a voice, disrupting his thoughts. Hoshi turned, meeting the eyes of his previous opponent, the man in the red suit. Damnit. Is he going to hold a grudge? If you couldn’t beat me then you were doomed from the start, you rich ass!
“…Hello.”
The Rocket Executive – assuming that’s what he was – lowered his head in a brief, shallow bow. “Pardon. I just wanted to get your name. I have a feeling you’ll be someone to watch, in the future.”
Implying that I’m nothing much now, aren’t you? “I’m… Hoshi.” My name and face are on the licence, so there isn’t much point in keeping anything to myself. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
The Executive hummed. He wasn’t the oldest person here, about the same age as the Senior Executive pair, but unlike them he walked with a certain weight to his bones, seeming older than he was. “And I am Garcia Seto. This month seems to have a few standout recruits – and I think you might be one of them. Don’t make me embarrassed to have lost to you, my boy!”
He stepped past, firmly patting Hoshi’s shoulder as he went, and Hoshi was silent for a moment, digesting the encounter. Huh. Weird old guy. Are we really doing that well?
His eyes found the scoreboard, and he scanned the tiny names from across the room, looking for the ones he had picked out ahead of time. Oh, it looks like we actually are – Puce washed out in round one and Moony just lost to one of the guys who got through with a bye, but Nerine and Ryan are still in it.