There were certain days where everything came easy. Where his steps were light and his thoughts sharp, where everything was effortless. As though reality itself were nodding its head in his direction, approving.
And then there was the opposite, those days where progress ground to a halt… where it went backwards, even. Like two weeks ago, when the partially-reconstructed ectoplasm chamber had melted to slag for no discernable reason. Or the week before that, when one of the less… personable machoke had gotten frustrated and mangled one of its trainers.
But of course, most days were neither the first type nor the second – no, most days were simply normal. Where Professor Mokusen worked tirelessly from sunrise to sunset, and was rewarded with a tiny-but-noticeable step forward.
Today was, Arcus preserve his sanity, shaping up to be one of those days. “And you’re certain you don’t want to even attempt my methods?” spoke the figure to his side, large and slow steps matching the scientist’s small but quick ones.
Mokusen hissed through his teeth. “Of course not.” You mound of blubber. “Even in the absolute best case, it would mean halving our number of kadabra.”
Kiribo Kimigawa, grand-nephew of Kim Kimigawa, tutted behind Mukusen’s ear as though he were speaking to a child. “And how many will we have doing it the ‘proper’ way, with things moving so quickly? Time is in short supply, Professor.”
Most of the time, the professor found the man preferable to his older relation – he was competent enough at his chosen vocation, and didn’t stick his nose quite so far into where it didn’t belong. But then again, most of the time is only most.
He reached his destination and stopped, watching through the glass as Harry and the other kadabra meditated. “Even if we only get a handful of alakazam, that’s preferable. Don’t discount my kadabra – I’d pit them against any of the League’s psychics.” Each of them were hand-selected for their potential. I’d rather have three alakazam and twenty kadabra than ten – or fewer – alakazam alone. “I have no need for shortcuts, Kimigawa. Please escort yourself out.”
A light, faintly wheezing sigh. “Fine, be like that. But if you should change your mind- ah, who’s all this?”
The note of intrigue in Kiribo’s voice caused Mokusen to turn, and he immediately grit his teeth as he beheld three additional interlopers entering his small bastion of sanity. “Magnificent,” he hissed. “Senior Grunt. Why are you here?”
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“Senior Grunt,” Dabi said, his clenched jaw adding something ominous to the words. “Why are you here?”
Despite Casca’s numerous warnings, Hoshi still found it somewhat difficult to take Dabi Mokusen seriously as a gangster. Although he was clad in obviously fitted clothes, the man’s absurd shortness and slight figure made him seem like a child wearing his father’s suit. Or his mother’s, in this case.
“My subordinate here recently caught a lickitung,” he replied, getting straight to the point. “I did a bit of digging, but couldn’t sort the proper way to evolve it from all the dross.”
Dabi’s eyebrows disappeared under his thick glasses as he scowled. “And this is my problem how?”
Hoshi shrugged, projecting a confidence he didn’t quite feel. We're surrounded by other people – he’s not going to do anything crazy while there are other Rockets around. That was the theory, anyway. Time to use that ego against him. “Do you not know? Huh, I thought you’d be able to belt it out in a second.” Another shrug. “Well, if you don’t, then there’s no reason for me to borrow any more of your time. Good evening, Professor.” He turned, slowly taking a step.
“Hey, I didn’t come all this way to-” Kenny began, but a jab to the ribs from Casca shut him up.
Dabi, meanwhile, growled under his breath. “As if I’d fall for such obvious bait…”
Hoshi turned back. You say that… but here you are, replying. “Sorry? Didn’t catch that.”
He could see the angry little man all but grinding his teeth at the perceived insult – and then Dabi smiled, the curve of his lips painted with a subtle coat of malicious glee. “If you must know, I don’t know the exact trigger for that Pokémon’s evolution.”
Kenny groaned behind Hoshi’s back “Oh, c’mon…”
“But, it should be simple enough. Of course, I have my own work to take care of, all of it much more important than tending to a grunt’s Pokémon.” There we go. Bait: swallowed. “Yes… It just so happens your appearance might allow me to kill two birds with one stone.”
Dabi turned to the man next to him, who Hoshi had been ignoring up until that point – and as the Senior Grunt focused on the man’s face, he was struck by its familiarity. Is this Doc Hypno’s son? Damn, I’m starting to come back around on my evil clone idea; that’s the only way I can think for that guy to have reproduced.
“Kimigawa,” Dabi continued, confirming Hoshi’s assumption. “Since you seem so very concerned about our psychic Pokémon, why don’t you do something about it yourself?” He jabbed a finger into the man’s chest. “Take these grunts and go catch me some abra. At least twenty, and try to get exemplary ones; I’ve no patience for mediocrity.”
The man – he’s dressed more like a movie detective than a scientist; is he an Agent or something? – frowned, brushing at where Dabi’s finger had touched. “Professor, you well know that I’ve my own duties. I came down to give you advice on my own accord; I cannot simply drop everything-”
“As the Head of Research and Development I order you to obey, Rocket Hunter.” Hunter, huh? That isn’t one of the titles Casca mentioned, it must be really niche. “Don’t come back without those abra.”
The frown deepened. “Uncalled for.” Without another word to the scientist the younger Kimigawa turned, coat hugging his expansive frame too tightly to whirl, and took a step Hoshi’s way. “Greetings – pardon, I’ll speak to you in the hall, I find my continued presence here becoming somewhat nettling.”
The man swept past, steps lighter than Hoshi would have assumed from his weight, and made for the door. From the side came another groan. “Boss, come on, I didn’t sign up for some make-work bullshit," Kenny complained. “Twenty abra… Where are we gonna get the balls for that? They live out in the bush, no way we’re gonna get that done in an afternoon!”
The grunt’s words brought the faintest ghost of a smile to Hoshi’s lips. Actually… But he put the thought aside for the moment, smoothing his expression and bringing his focus back to Dabi. “He’s not wrong. Twenty abra’s a bit much, for something so simple.”
“Too bad,” Dabi replied.
His insufferably smug tone made a muscle in Hoshi’s cheek twitch. Okay, now I’m starting to get pissed off. He stepped forward, getting close enough it would have been uncomfortable without the pulse of his heart driving out any other emotions.
“Hoshi,” Casca whispered into the back of his head. “Fingers.”
I’ve worked with this guy for three years. It’s like you said earlier: nobody can hide their real personality. He’s a fucking worm. “Come on, Professor,” Hoshi said. “This is kind of petty, isn’t it? Just ‘cause I was fooled by your act? Isn’t it a good thing, that you managed to look so pathetic? That I thought you were an entirely different person with your spine straight?” He leaned forward, emphasising the difference between their heights. “What else would the disguise be for? Congratulations, you got me.”
“Hey Boss, this is getting kind of weird,” Kenny muttered in the background. “I take it back, I’m chill with the job – everybody’s lookin’ at us funny, let’s just-”
“Hoshi Mutsu,” Dabi spoke, his glasses reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights coming down from the room’s oddly-high ceiling. “You did better in that farce of a tournament than I’d have expected.”
Hoshi blinked. That… wasn’t what I expected him to say. I thought he’d be more emotional, and I could… With the anger giving way to surprise, the last ten seconds suddenly seemed immensely stupider. Get him to blow up and lose some face. Damnit, this was dumb – and it’s not like I can take it back.
So he tightened his jaw, took a small step back from the scientist’s personal space, and replied. “Thanks?”
“Yes. I can see why the Senior Executives promoted you. I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your plate.” Where the fuck are you going with- “I’ll be sure to let them know you’re on an official assignment for me, so they don’t try and give you too much work.” He flapped his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “You may go, now.”
Hoshi saw red. “Bastard,” he breathed. Even if I get Danny’s help, there’s no way I’ll get this done by Saturday – you’re fucking with my next assignment! Something tugged at his arm, but the sensation was far way and unimportant compared to the smug fucking quirk on this fucker’s lips.
“Oh?” Dabi said, each muscle under his skin moving in a caricature of mockery. “You aren’t angry, are you? How inconsiderate; I’m giving you my knowledge, after all. A few hours of work pales in comparison.”
Hoshi’s fist moved – and then stopped. Without a single movement from Dabi one of the balls on his belt had opened, and the grunt was suddenly face-to-chest with a near-legendary Pokémon. The machamp held his hand with one of its own, and despite pulling with all his strength Hoshi couldn’t move at all.
Huh, came an idle thought as the rest of him panicked. This one is much taller than that other machamp he gave away… Ah, Elizabeth, that was its name.
Then came the pain.
The huge machamp tilted its head minutely, the motion travelling down its arm as the smallest of twitches – and Hoshi’s caught fist felt like it was exploding. A different shade of red washed through his brain as his legs threatened to give out, pain and rage combining and compounding as a hiss escaped through his teeth. “Fucking… Kill you, you…”
“So angry,” Dabi continued. “I’d ask how you functioned, but that would be beneath me.” Then he turned, giving his attention to the kadabra behind the huge glass window. “Andre, please show them to the door.”
Like a man picking up a kitten, Hoshi was twisted to face the door and dragged forwards by the machamp’s quartet of arms. Casca and Kenny hurriedly backed up, and within ten seconds they’d been dumped in the hallway – or Hoshi had, at least.
The door clicked shut softly, and the Senior Grunt gathered what was left of his dignity to heave himself up.
“Holy shit, dude,” Kenny said, his face twisted between several different expressions. “How’s your hand?”
“It’s fine!” Hoshi answered. “It’s- it isn’t broken, I think, just bruised.” Down to the bone – no, the bones are probably bruised, too. His right hand was starting to swell, the skin on the back and parts of his knuckles turning an unhealthy colour – but the anger was finally doing something useful; sending the pain away to some far-off corner of his brain where it was easy to ignore. “Fucker.”
Casca sighed, the sound torn between exasperated and relieved. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but-”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“You told me so, yeah.” Arcus. “Fucking- let’s just go.” Before I do some other stupid shit. Fuck! “I think I’ve got a way to get abra pretty fast, but not tonight; I’ll meet you tomorrow sometime around four, alright?”
Kenny shot him an incredulous look. “Arcus above man, your fist’s fuckin’ broke. I’m driving you to a damn hospital.”
“I don’t- I don’t need-” Hoshi tripped over his tongue, cradling his arm. “Fuck. Let’s get outside, I’ll think about it.”
They turned, but were interrupted.
“A-hem,” came a voice from the other side of the hallway. Hoshi took a moment to attempt to compose himself – which was partly successful, now that there was nothing to be angry at other than himself – and turned back. Oh, right. This guy. How the fuck did we miss him? He’s gotta weigh three hundred pounds.
First-name-unknown Kimigawa pushed off from the wall. “Oh my,” he said. “Ran afoul of the Professor’s temper, then? Let me guess: you made a crack about his height?”
“…Something like that,” Hoshi answered. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Kiribo Kimigawa, the Psychic Hunter,” the man introduced. He stuck his hand out – the left, so wasn’t a complete asshat at least – and Hoshi shook with a subdued grimace.
“Sorry, I’m not feeling up for a chat right now.”
“Of course, of course.” He talks like the doctor, too. All poncy and shit. “We’ll have plenty of time to chat tomorrow…” The man formed his own grimace. “Since I’ll be forced to accompany you.”
“Yeah,” Hoshi grunted. Ah, there’s the pain. Right front and centre… “I’ll… We’ll…”
Casca stepped in. “We’ll meet you here tomorrow, sir. C’mon Hoshi, let’s get you upstairs – there’s a first-aid station somewhere near the entrance I’m pretty sure…”
The man spoke one last time, calling across the length of the hall a moment before they shuffled around the corner. “It’s on the north side, right near the battle court!”
Kenny yelled something back, but at that point the pain was taking up too much headspace for Hoshi to process. Okay, definitely broken somewhere – fuck, this is my throwing arm too.
I’ve got a new mission in life: beat the piss out of Dabi fucking Mokusen.
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By the time they pulled into the sidewalk going up to Kenny’s house, the painkillers were mostly doing their job. Hoshi could still feel the dull fiery heat trapped inside his cast, but it was a two rather than an eight, if he were to rate it out of ten.
“Uh…” Kenny stammered, awkward. “Man, that was kind of fucked up. I don’t really know what to say.”
That’s a face I’ve never seen him make before. Casca dismounted and Hoshi followed, and he gave his not-quite friend a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“…Yeah. Guess you’ll be practising left-handed throws, huh?” A plastic smile, and then the man drove up his lawn towards the back of the house.
Hoshi took a breath. “Man, I really fucked that up, didn’t I?”
“Well..” Casca said, hesitant. “Honestly? Yeah. Could have maybe not done the macho-dude thing with a guy you knew could make machamp.”
Not that a machoke couldn’t have done the exact same thing – or a damn machop, for that matter.
Well, at least I learned one thing: my Pokémon aren’t trained enough to come out when I’m threatened. Not against a two-metre-tall powerhouse, at least. “Sorry I didn’t take you seriously. I just… there’s a Dabi in my head, one I’ve known for years, and I… mistook that one for the real guy. I didn’t think he’d be able to fake having an entirely different personality for that long, that consistently.”
His girlfriend rubbed at his shoulder. “Well, now you know. You said you had a plan to get those abra real fast?”
“Yeah. Danny sells ‘em, and I bet I can get him to trade enough for…” A chill wind cut through his flimsy summer shirt, and this one wasn’t nearly as comforting as the last had been. “Well, I’ll explain it when we get home.”
The two of them trudged down the street, the good feelings from their earlier joyride burned down to dregs.
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Fucking krabby nightmare, was the first thought that Hoshi had when he opened his eyes. As it had a handful of times over the past months, he’d been jolted awake by a red shape emerging from a tan seabed, a point of blue growing in the centre of its face before he was summarily dumped out of rest. Ow. Fucking hard to sleep in a cast, was the second.
But despite the awkwardness of dressing with one hand, he was feeling weirdly optimistic about the day.
Part of it was what Casca had told him the night before – he would actually be getting paid for this, if not nearly enough to make up for the fucking broken hand – and another was that his girlfriend was awake enough to join him for breakfast. Poison must be properly out of her system.
“So,” he started as they ate. “You were pretty quiet last night when I laid it all out. I promise I’ll listen this time: is this a dumb idea?”
She was silent for a moment, chewing her cereal with deliberation before answering. “…It’s not dumb, but I think it’s… A bit risky. Kenny won’t blab, and if you say Danny won’t either then I’ll believe you, but there’s this other guy…”
“About that. You’ve never met him before?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Never seen him, never heard of him. Kiribo Kimigawa…” Her face scrunched in thought. “I think I’ve heard the words ‘Psychic Hunter’ at some point, but I can’t say where.”
“Well, no reason he has to know. There’ll be three of us, and it makes good sense to split up if all we’re doing is hunting abra.”
“Four, Hoshi. Obviously I’m coming with you.”
Hoshi opened his mouth, but the withering look he received changed his mind.
“…Alright, I guess that makes sense. But don’t stretch things too far, alright?”
“Same to you, stud.”
Hoshi hummed affirmatively, and they continued eating. “Ugh,” he eventually groaned as they were cleaning the dishes. “Everheart is gonna gonna fucking implode when I show up with a cast. He’s been giving me the side-eye for taking so many days off…”
Casca responded with a quick peck to his cheek. “Good thing there’s so much work, or you might just get fired.”
“Oh, don’t even joke about that.” The word fired had sent a white-cold chill down his spine. “Assuming I get about eleven grand like I’m estimating, my legit job still pays twice as much hour-to-hour.”
“Your first Rocket job paid half, while you were working another one full-time. I made twenty grand this month; you’ll get there.”
The number buoyed his spirits a little. “Right. Well, I should get going – you’ll meet me at the academy?”
They shared another kiss. “Four sharp. Let’s both try to go a day or two without some kind of adventure, okay?"
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Everheart did, indeed, rip into Hoshi’s ass for showing up in a cast.
Though at least half the man’s vitriol was directed at someone imaginary, so that was nice. “And you didn’t get the plate?”
“Guy didn’t have a plate, sir.” Thank you, asshole biker gangs, for being such an easy target. ‘Run down in the street by some asshole’ was a much easier pill to swallow than ‘got on the wrong side of a machamp’ – and it was a lot less his fault, too, which was a nice quality for a fabricated excuse to have.
“Damned criminals. When will the blues get asses in gear? We must have ten of those gangs cruising through town before breakfast!” Hoshi’s boss turned his pink gaze up as he chugged from his waterbottle – despite the decrease in temperature, he still went through water like a dehydrated golduck. “Pah!” he spat. “Whatever. You can still work right? This wasn’t on the job, so don’t think you’ll get any more paid vacation!”
Fucking ass. The thought was tepid; Hoshi felt more than a little contrite, since visiting Dabi had been his own idiotic idea. “I can work. I just broke a few knuckles; the arm’s fine. I can work.”
The man grumbled – and then got a suspicious glint in his eye. “Hey Mutsu, you aren’t pulling my leg are you? Broken knuckles sounds a lot like you got in some dumb drunken brawl.”
Hey, I’ve been clean for… going on four months now. “Do I look like I got in a fight, sir?”
Everheart’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment of scrutiny he let his employee off the hook. “Whatever. We’re burning daylight! Step to it, Mutsu!”
Suppressing his grimace, Hoshi obeyed. He spent the day knocking down and then partially rebuilding the shitty Pokémart – the shoddy thing had half-collapsed in the rain – leaning on the company’s Pokémon a little harder than he maybe should’ve; a few times they got confused and almost broke something, but he managed to get through the day without any major fuckups.
He also got through the day without ‘accidentally’ dropping a beam right on Dabi’s stupid kiddie haircut, so he gave himself a pat on the back for that, too.
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There was a certain trepidation in Hoshi’s chest as he approached the school. Or maybe its mostly in my fist. Hah.
The guard let him through with only a glance, and… Oh, thank Arcus. Hoshi had been half-expecting some new problem to have arisen when he got to the Electric Academy, but he walked through the gates to see a skinheaded grunt, beautiful woman, and hopefully-not-as-fucking-weird-as-his-uncle fatass already waiting, seemingly discussing something in high spirits.
Okay Hoshi, remember: don’t insult this guy, don’t even breathe too hard on him. Let him say and do whatever dumb shit he wants. You are a fucking calm little stream, blue and happy as shit.
And for fuck’s sake, don’t call him a fatass, even in your head… Even if he kind of looks like a damn chestnut. Damnit, now I can’t unsee it…
“Hey,” he called as he got within speaking distance.
“Hey Boss!” Kenny replied. “Good news: we don’t have to pay for balls!”
“Yeah, Casca told me last night.” ‘If he’s using his position to make us do shit,’ she’d said, ‘Then it’s an official capture mission. I’ve only done like two of those – I prefer people type missions – but we should be able to get the supplies on credit. Basically free, as long as we actually get the Pokémon.’ “That is good. And, uh, hey there, Hunter Kiribo. I hope I didn’t make too bad of a first impression.”
The fat- the Rocket Hunter waved him off. Getting a second look at him, Hoshi’s own first impression was reinforced; the man looked like some sort of noir detective, the kind that’s been out of work for a long time before getting back in the game from, like, a murdered housewife or something.
He was more attractive than his uncle, mostly by virtue of being properly fat rather than the latter’s horrid mixture of bloated and skeletal. And he’s only got like, a fifth of the leer. He just looks like an ass, rather than a sex crime made flesh. He wore a dapple-patterned brown greatcoat, the spots scattered and the colour subtle enough that he would probably disappear against most types of foliage. His chin was dusted with a sparse goatee, only slightly more than stubble, and both it and his eyebrows matched his slicked-back hair; dark brown, like chocolate. If Hoshi were forced to guess his age, he’d say early thirties.
If this is what Hypno looked like when he was younger, then the years hit him like a fucking truck. Maybe his brother got all the best genes.
“No need to worry,” Kiribo replied. “I’ve seen many people come out of that room equally maimed. But pardon, allow me to reintroduce myself…”
He shifted, striking a pose, and Hoshi’s heart sank just a little bit. Another weirdo, just… fantastic. At least-
The thought cut off as the heavy coat shifted, and Hoshi caught something his initial inspection had missed: the man was openly carrying a sword – or at least a sheath, with the same dappled brown pattern painted on its smooth surface.
A dangerous weirdo. Joy.
“I am Kiribo Kimigawa, Rocket Hunter – or as I prefer to be known, the Psychic Hunter!” One hand pointed skyward, while the other went to the handle of his sword, and Hoshi felt his chances of getting through the day without something ridiculous happening plummet.
Casca clapped, genuinely enthusiastic, while Kenny badly stifled a laugh.
“…Hoshi Mutsu, Senior Grunt.” I wonder if the instructors only admit people with a screw loose. The thought made him look back at the past few days, and his lips thinned. I can’t even use myself as a counter-example, can I? “I’m… Sure we’ll all get along.”
“Excellent! Now as you may have guessed by my moniker, I specialise in hunting down psychic Pokémon; though it be a grand misuse of my talents, Professor Mokusen was not incorrect to assign me this task. Verily, I’m certain we shall have this done by the first hours of the week’s first dawn!”
The word verily slapped Hishi in the face, sliding down his skin like a slimy fish. Arcus. I take it back; he isn’t a noir detective, he’s an overgrown middleschooler playing pretend. “Sounds great. Since you three look like you’ve been here a minute…?”
Casca nodded. “Yup, got the balls. We’re only allowed to take ten at a time, so if we somehow manage to fill ‘em all in a day we’ll have to come back.”
“Or clock out,” Kenny commented. “I’ve heard stories about abra hunting. Good thing there aren’t any cliffs ‘round here…”
Yeah. Even if they can’t attack normally, I can think of a hundeed ways to fuck somebody up with just teleportation… “Hopefully we don’t have too much trouble – but speaking of the terrain…” Hoshi looked down. “Kenny, those shoes aren’t good; the north is swampier than usual from the rain, your sock’ll be drenched twenty seconds in.”
“I’ve got the bike, man.”
“Still. We’ll get you something good and waterproof on the way – I’ll get something better too.” My boots are fine for walking up to the junkyard, but tromping through the route proper? I don’t feel like experiencing trench foot today. “And Casca, good thinking with the sandals, but you should probably get some boots too.”
She rolled her eyes. “Hoshi, I can handle a little water.”
“The man is not unwise, young lady,” Kiribo chimed in. “Those waters conceal all manner of nasties – leeches and submerged thorns and such. You’ll want something like these.” He extended a foot and tapped his heel against the ground, producing a heavy thump.
Huh, Hoshi thought, impressed despite himself. Those are actually even better than I’d thought looking casually – and worn, too. Maybe this guy’s more competent than he looks.
“Eh,” Casca grunted. “Fine. Been a while since I went shoe shopping anyway.”
After some cajoling Kenny also agreed, and Hoshi left the academy grounds with the faint hope that today wouldn’t be harder than he could imagine.