Jessie and James had told Hoshi that they would punish him once things were less volatile, and in the moment he’d naively believed that meant he was safe until the League was destroyed – or at least brought to heel.

  But, no, their punishment began that very day, and it was terrible indeed.

  “These are our sorriest remaining Rockets!” James exclaimed, gesturing to a lineup of grunts who grumbled softly at the put-down.

  “The slime at the bottom of the barrel!” Jessie reinforced.

  “The rind to our collective cheese!”

  “Meow.”

  “Oh, Meowth, that was too mean even for me!”

  “A-hem.”

  The fake cough – or perhaps it had been real, its maker wasn’t exactly in the prime of their health – stopped the flow of insults, and everyone looked to Dabi. Or I should say, Professor Mokusen. I haven’t seen Dabi since my last day at Machamp & Sons… “Thank you, sirs. As they said, these are six of our least skilled trainers. Your job, Enforcer, is to get them up to par – if you can elevate them to the point they can utilise our secret weapons that would be ideal, but I’ll settle for a second badge level. Do you have any questions?”

  Hoshi, who was still somewhat rattled by Doctor Hypno’s little speech, began to shake his head before reconsidering. “Just one. How good does someone need to be to use the… uh, the stuff?”

  “It’s more about emotion than power,” Jessie answered.

  “Yes, your hearts and minds must resonate – more deeply for the good Doctor’s work, but Professor Mokusen’s secret weapon isn’t a walk in the park either.”

  “Meow.”

  “That’s right! I’d say you're about at the point you could activate it, Enforcer Mutsu. Though of course, it’s hard to judge from the outside.”

  James nodded. “And of course, a little power is necessary – more for our dear Professor’s work than Doc Hypno’s, but more than what these twerps have in either case.”

  Hoshi nodded back. Emotion… Yeah, that’s kind of fuzzy. Would I have to think like a Pokémon? Hypno definitely seems kind of ghost-y, but it’s hard to take him as a baseline – the man was already a complete weirdo, and there’s Sabrina tangled up in everything too… It was probably useless to speculate, and he wasn’t in the mood for deep thinking anyway. “I think I understand, sirs. I can definitely put together a training regiment – you there, grunts! Sound off with your names, then release your starter Pokémon!”

  They did as ordered, and Hoshi did his best to match names to faces to species. Oof, I’m seeing way too many unevolved ‘mons. These guys have definitely been Rockets a lot longer than me and my crew, so that’s not a good sign…

  But whatever. These were his lumps, the price of insubordination, and he would take them without flinching – doing otherwise would imply he regretted speaking up, and he really didn’t. “Alright. Now, let’s see the rest; you at the end, show me all you've got!” The grunt furthest to Hoshi’s left stepped forward and threw – and the enforcer immediately recognised four of the five new monsters to hit the field.

  Ignoring the sandshrew… A squirtle, a beedrill, a persian, and a slakoth. The middle two were common enough, but put together with the others it painted a pretty clear picture. “You got those last four from out of the Pokémon Storage System, right?”

  The grunt blinked. “Uh, yes sir. How did you know?”

  “I recognised them from when I got mine.” So other people did use the system – I was wondering about that. Tanya and the rest in Vermilion hadn’t, but I guess all the people over here in Saffron took the opportunity. That was a good sign for their chances of success, but also made his job a lot harder; chances were it was those stronger Pokémon that would end up being the grunts’ ‘partners,’ and they’d have basically zero emotional connection in either direction. I can say I bonded pretty damn fast with Champ, Rivet, and Moony, but I’ve been fighting battles with them almost constantly for a week. These guys, meanwhile, haven’t even evolved their damn starters…

  Well, I guess it wouldn’t be a punishment if it were easy. Hoshi smiled, and the grunt took a quarter of a step back before aborting the motion. “The rest of you have full teams too?” Nods. “Good. Lots of variety – Professor Mokusen, can we do this thing for any Pokémon, or should I be focusing on specific lines?”

  Dabi exhaled through his nose, the air coloured with subdued rage like condensed moisture forming a cloud. “They need to be fully evolved. It’s been quite enlightening, actually; there are several monsters I’ve been unable to successfully craft stones for despite them being the highest form, which may indicate there are many Kantonian Pokémon which can actually evolve further – I’ll have my people type up a list of duds for you.” Despite Hoshi’s empathy indicating a rancour that was nearly overwhelming, only the barest edge of it touched the scientist’s face. His expression was sneering, yes, but he seemed more annoyed than angry, and more tired than annoyed. “For now, I'll say that your primeape and ursaring are off the table.”

  So if I do get a stone, it'll have to be for Guts… Champion had only just evolved, and Rivet wouldn't be able to become a magnezone without the incredibly strong, incredibly specific magnetic fields that were only found in a handful of deep mountain caves. Even Bob didn't ever have more than the one magnezone – and no electivire at all. So Junior was off the table too, and whatever the process was for turning a golbat into a crobat Hoshi hadn't been able to narrow further than ‘it happens when they get comfortable enough with their trainer.’ “Well, alright. Grunt Tyson, we have two options: either we evolve your original ekans and hope that works out, or we work with the already-evolved beedrill or persian until you've got the necessary… uh, emotional stuff. Think about it for now; I want an answer when I come back around. Grunt Grey!” Hoshi called, gesturing to the second Rocket. “Same deal! Show me the rest of your Pokémon!”

  As the day wore on and his stamina began to flag, Hoshi’s earlier confidence regarding his choices began to dim – but he was nothing if not stubborn, and so the enforcer continued on without letting his fatigue show on his face. At some point Jessie, James, and Meowth disappeared while his back was turned, leaving only Dabi to watch over his progress.

  Well, at least I know he's suffering even more than I am. It was a tiny consolation, but better than nothing. Speaking of nothing… “Jenkins, I see you slacking there! Put that damn ‘gear away!” Arc, these guys are terrible. Worse than I would've thought, even.

  “Damn man, don't bite my head off. Look, the guy is doin' fine, I don't see why I need to-”

  “First off, that's a female quagsire. Second, what the fuck do you think we're here to do?” The grunt, sour, opened his mouth only for Hoshi to cut him off. “We’re here to fucking train, dipshit.” Casca was right; being an effective leader sometimes means being a hard-assed jerk. And these people need more of that than my team ever did, Arc.

  “Hey, I ain't-”

  “And that means,” the enforcer continued, approaching. “That it's time for all of you – and yes, that includes you, Jenkins – to dig your brains out of your asses and get in the game.” The idiot showed some small stirring of survival instinct, curling his fists and putting his damn phone away, but not nearly enough to indicate sapience. “We're about to fight the Indigo League, Grunt. The actual Arc-damned military. They're gonna have guns, they're gonna have planes, and you bet your ass they're gonna have fucking Pokémon.”

  Hoshi entered the felt-clad man's personal bubble, and Jenkins’s eyes slid to the side – and the enforcer didn't need any psychic powers to tell what he was thinking. ‘If I let this crippled beanpole push me around, I'll look like a pussy.’ It may as well be scrawled across his forehead. Which was convenient – Hoshi had been simmering with disgust at the quality of his ‘students,’ and this was the perfect opportunity to both motivate them and blow off a touch of steam.

  After all, he may – for once – not actually be as angry as he looked, but that didn't mean he wasn't mad.

  “Hey! Fuck off. You-”

  Again the slacker was interrupted, this time a little more viscerally; Hoshi popped his lower lip with a left-hand jab. Not hard, not even enough to draw blood, but enough that the grunt definitely felt it. And of course, the quagsire does nothing. Pokémon can tell when you don't give a shit, Jenkins – if you don't put your whole ass in, neither will they.

  And from the other side, the equal and opposite statement: if you did, if you sweat and bled with them, then your monsters would take note. It was something that was demonstrated bright and clear as Jenkins counter-attacked – and, reacting to the threat, Moony the ursaring released herself.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The six-foot bear, who Hoshi’d had only a touch longer than the grunt had had his own stolen ‘mons, swatted the blow away and sent the shitty trainer flying several feet back. Jenkins bounced off the stained concrete and, expression set in a rictus snarl, came to a stop with a hand on his belt. And your draw speed is shit too, Hoshi critiqued as he kicked the Rocket Ball away. “Oh hey, look at that,” he sing-songed. Another attempt to release a Pokémon, another kick. The balls were active, expanded and allowing their occupants to fully sense the outside world, but neither of them so much as wiggled. “You're getting your ass kicked. If only you had, I don't know, some way to defend yourself.”

  Jenkins attempted a kick of his own, but Guts released herself and removed half the man's shoe with her teeth. He was afraid, now, and that fear swiftly overpowered the bravado imprinted into the gangster's skull like Arcus had applied it with a sledgehammer. He scrambled backwards.

  “Hey, hey man- look – f-fuck off already!”

  “You see this?” Hoshi sent out to the other Rockets. “This is what slacking off gets you; put on the ground by a man with one arm.”

  Moony and Guts were returned, and the newborn Rocket Enforcer took in the faces around him. There was universal wariness, obviously; a touch of respect; mean-spirited glee at seeing their no-longer-peer get pushed down paired with relief that there was now something lower than them to stand on. And, on a select few, genuine thoughtfulness or contrition.

  Not a lot, and in every single case it was hidden behind something bigger and dumber, but enough for Hoshi to feel a touch of relief. It isn't hopeless. These might be the lowest of the low, but I might just be able to pull this off… Jenkins growled as he got to his feet, the fact that he'd just been made an example of already dissipating from his one-dimensional train of thought.

  …If I'm lucky.

  At the end of it Hoshi was exhausted. His feet hurt, his throat hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to leave the out-of-the-way dead-end hallway that was making due as a training room, return to that cavernous dorm room, and cuddle with his girlfriend. “Okay, it's eight PM. Pack it up, we'll meet here again tomorrow.”

  But it seemed he wouldn't be able to do that just yet. Amid the groans of the six Rocket Grunts there came a light tapping, and their assigned drill sergeant turned to see Professor Mokusen walking his way.

  The scientist – who for most of the session had been standing as stock-still and silent as a photograph – pushed his glasses up as he approached, his scowl present but a touch less arrogant than usual. “Mutsu,” he projected. “I have some gifts for you.”

  In an instant Hoshi’s guard was raised. “Oh?” Arc fucking damn it, this day has gone on for too long. What? Did the act of opening my mouth in your presence offend you? Was I not deferential enough?

  If any of his thoughts made it to his face, the enforcer couldn't say; Dabi certainly didn't react, though whatever was happening under his nonsensically thick lenses was equally mysterious. Whatever it was, when he spoke the tiny man’s tone was unchanged. “Yes. First, a payment that's been admittedly long in coming: in order to evolve, a lickitung must learn the move Rollout – a convenient enough prerequisite, given that your meathead subordinate already owns a sandshrew.”

  Hoshi’s mind blanked for a fraction of a second to make room for the fact that Dabi was apparently not being a gigantic pain in the ass – and then, having processed his surprise, a small smile found its way to his lips. Finally. Does Bubbles already know the move? The last couple days out in the woods are a bit of a blur… “Huh, Rollout. Thank you Professor, I'll let Kenny know.”

  “Quite. And second…” Dabi reached into his coat, and at his wordless urging Hoshi held out a hand to accept something smooth and startlingly heavy.

  Is this..? No, it wasn't a Mega Stone – it was a Water Stone. “And…” Don't. Don't you dare look this gift horse in the fucking mouth! “This is for..?” Damnit.

  “Consider it payment in advance for your current task. I was reluctantly impressed by how you handled the wastrels; keep them in line, Mutsu, and I'm sure your star will remain in the ascendant.”

  The pun soured his mood a touch, and the smugness with which it was said even more, but Hoshi surprised himself by only nodding shallowly. The Rocket Professor returned the gesture, and then they were actually done; Dabi walked away slowly, the sickly aspect to his every motion half-hidden by anger and determination, and despite expecting one last gotcha to ruin the semi-cordial interaction Hoshi followed.

  But no disaster occurred. They split off in the main chamber, and when he returned to the dormitories the tired man found both the companionship he'd been seeking, and a brand-new Rocket Enforcer uniform waiting for him.

  “How's it fit?”

  Hoshi stretched his heavy shoulders as he contemplated the question. “Pretty okay. A bit loose around the middle, but not so much it's awkward.” They probably sized it for the me of a few weeks ago; I've lost weight. But despite the imperfect fit the uniform felt good. It wasn't as solid as the hiking gear he'd been wearing, but it felt… denser. The same amount of protection packed into a smaller space. I can feel the armoured sections’ weight just standing here.

  It would take some getting used to, and unlike the grunt uniform it didn't stretch enough to accommodate a cast, but Hoshi was feeling positive. He sent his girlfriend a nod, and Casca smiled brilliantly.

  “Great! I was a little worried; when I got my half-agent duds they didn't fit for shit.”

  “You do look halfway respectable,” Ryan commented from the sidelines. He was also wearing his new uniform, the yellow stripes of the Senior Grunt outfit a match for his eyes. “Enforcer… honestly, it fits.”

  Of course you'd say that, you ponce… But he wasn't exactly wrong. While Hoshi'd been wanting to become an executive, that plan had been made with the assumption of a somewhat more reasonable timescale; given that they were on-course to collide with Clair and her people in potentially under two months, accepting a middleweight position was the least of his concerns. “I'll take that as a compliment. But enough about the uniform; is there any food left? I'm fucking famished.”

  Hoshi woke up feeling a fair bit better than he had falling asleep. No weird nightmares, thank Arcus, he thought as his eyes opened, and with the benefit of vision he was made aware of one probable cause of his improved mood: the floodlights hadn't been turned on yet. He was back to his normal sleep schedule.

  Huh, that feels more important than it should be – it's not like anyone else is gonna be up, so I might as well be asleep… right? Maybe he just needed something to be normal after yesterday.

  It was with that thought in mind that Hoshi got up, sliding as subtly away from Casca’s side as possible to head to the kitchen area. An egg sandwich and leftover beef stew were enough to quiet his stomach, and then the enforcer- no, the man gathered some other odds-and-ends together, released his raticate and golbat, and simply sat and examined them as they ate.

  “Hey girls,” he said. “How you doing?”

  Guts gave an inquisitive chitter before the leftovers swiftly recaptured her attention, while Crow locked eyes with him for a long moment. He nodded, and she returned to the food as well. “Good to hear it. It's been a heck of an October, huh?” So far, I should say. Month isn't over yet.

  Over the past week Guts had really filled out, and her size was now where a raticate should be. His golbat had done the same to an extent, though she remained something of a lightweight when held up to the standard of a trained, professional battler. But I'm not worried. She doesn't seem unhealthy; I think she's just naturally small.

  There were a few other early-risers in scattered clusters around the room, but at the moment he didn't feel like moderating himself. Hoshi put a hand in his pocket, touching his wallet – where the Thunder Badge he’d earned sat. “It's kind of absurd, isn't it? This whole thing. Like…” His hands came up, the cast covering his right arm stark white even in the dimness of the slumbering room. “This Deoxys thing. What am I even supposed to do with that? I've been ignoring it, but something tells me that isn't a viable long-term solution.” I got into this to try and get Kanto back where it should be, but it feels like there are a hundred different paths that might lead there… but they all go off into the trees, and I can't see which one actually goes where I want.

  Would Bob have spoken up yesterday? Would Dad have?

  His wallet felt heavy in his pocket. “I want to do the right thing, to do it the right way, but what does that even mean?” The slight sound his aunt's fingers had made as they'd been separated from the rest of her flashed in his head – he hadn't been able to do it himself, and that cowardice ate at the man for a moment before he put it back on its shelf. “Even this assignment we have now… Like, did I go too hard yesterday? Or not hard enough?” The five men and one woman were definite problems where discipline was concerned, and while singling out the biggest dumbass amongst them had seemed to work in the moment, that, too, didn't seem like a long-term solution. Jenkins might've deserved to get punched in the face, but he's also the only one who had two fully-evolved Pokémon before we got our collective mitts on the storage system. The pair of fearow hadn't been exemplars of the species or anything, and they barely listened to orders, but he was somehow still in the top half in terms of raw power. How many of them can I get fighting fit?

  Is it even worth it? Presumably all the scientists and other Rockets were already competent enough to use either a Mega Stone or Sync Stone, otherwise it was them the instructors would've sent his way – how much would two, four, or even a full six extra Megas really contribute, especially in the hands of them?

  And assuming we win for a second… What do we do with all these stupidly powerful dogshit trainers once the League is beaten? They might be his allies for the moment, but Hoshi had no illusions about what the average Rocket Grunt would do when handed a smidge of authority. Fuck – fuck, I almost sound like I'm in the fucking League. He let out a low chuckle. Restricting the power of the ‘unworthy’ trainers… ha!

  With the slightest of upward tilts curving the edges of his lips Hoshi watched his two starters finish their breakfast. Soon enough they were squeaking away as they examined the room, Guts nosing around and Crow wrapped up in her own wings. More people were beginning to rise – and with an unpleasant flash a scientist flicked on the lights. Blinking against the sudden artificial daylight, the Vermilion native felt his smile widen and sharpen.

  “Arc, what a time to get philosophical, huh?” He stood and stretched, finding his shoulders still tense – but it wasn't a bad feeling. No, it was the tightness of a drawn bowstring; despite his reservations, Hoshi Mutsu could see light at the end of the tunnel. We have Mega Evolution and whatever else the Sync Stones can do. We have people and Pokémon. We have a tactically sound plan.

  His left hand flexed. And I've apparently got powdered god in my blood. That's gotta be worth something, right?

  And speaking of that… “Hey, you there. Have you seen the Psychic Hunter around? Kiribo Kimigawa, wears a big brown coat? Carries a sword? Scruffy beard like he just hit puberty?”