Chương 418: Interlude - Confidants I

"Hey. Got a question for ya." Denzel blinked, slowly turning away from his laptop. He uncovered one of his ears, pushed his headphones to the side, and peeked at his friend. For her part, Grace hadn't looked up from her own screen at all. Her eyes darted across her screen, her fingers scrolling through a video of her next opponent's battles with precision and focus. She leaned slightly forward, her superhero costume catching the light from her laptop.

The deep red and cobalt blue fabric clung to her frame, the sleek material glinting faintly with each small movement. It looked a bit tight on her, and extremely silly. Her crimson cape draped over the back of her chair pooled slightly on the floor. And her domino mask? Pushed up and resting on her forehead. Denzel had made no comment about it—she was having fun. More fun than ever.

Comments online ranged from calling her extremely corny to cute to cringe to everything in between, but one thing was for certain, she sure left an impression. She'd come to his hotel room for some peace and quiet to study, along with information about the trainers she was going to face. He enjoyed her company, especially when they hadn't hung out one one-on-one in a while. Denzel hummed as he scrolled through stream analytics.

His numbers were on fire, but he wanted to know exactly what points of his streams and highlights his audience was most excited about.

"Yeah? Shoot." His friend's fingers drummed against the warmed aluminum chassis. You could hear the fan of her laptop churning ever so subtly, the internal machinery, the engineering that connected so many throughout the world—all of them at his fingertips if you worked hard enough. With a bored twirl of her hair, Grace glanced at him. It was a weary kind of stare, one that worried him slightly. On the desk was a plethora of snacks—brain food, Denzel liked to call it.

Chips, cookies, candy, whatever unhealthy trash they could get their hands on. Grace grabbed onto a bunch of cheese-flavored chips, chewing on them carefully as she thought.

"I've given a lot of thought to a lot of things the past day or so—and I was wondering if people close to me felt the same way about things." Denzel readjusted his posture, nearly rolling his shoulder.

"Sure, you can always talk to me."

"Could have gone to Cecilia, but I didn't for obvious reasons," she contemplated.

"Chase is the same. Mira… well, I don't want to bother her. You've been in basically the same amount of shit as I have." Her body straightened.

"And I don't want you to think that you're like, a last resort or something! I'm just explaining, like, why I'm saddling you with this." Saddling…?

"Grace, you can always come to me with stuff. We're best friends." Even if they hadn't hung out as much as when they traveled together, the bond was still there. An underlying trust that Denzel hoped would remain for the rest of their lives, as naive as that sounded.

"What's up?" Click. Click. Click. She'd pressed back in the video feed until it reached zero seconds and paused, muttering some storyboarding under her breath followed by what Pokemon her opponent would most likely use.

"Okay, so," she closed her laptop, "how have you been feeling lately?" Denzel smirked.

"I thought I was the one supposed to ask that question." Grace rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Answer, you ass." He let a few thoughts settle in his head for a moment, feeling his feet go flat against the floor as if he were grounding himself.

"Great." His friend looked up at him with ardency in her eyes. Something burning.

"Uh, I guess my career's taking off this summer; I've gone from a popular trainer streamer to the trainer streamer in the country." That was still staggering to think about. Like it wasn't real.

"I've been training my team to set up for my next Circuit run." It'd be a doozy to handle all those high-level Gym fights, but he was ready.

"Been talking to my parents more, so that's nice. And you know, it's also nice just not having so much to worry about. So yeah, things are going great."

"But…?" Grace tilted her head and leaned forward as if expecting something more.

"Are there no buts?"

"What do you mean, but?" he asked, raising a curious brow.

"Nothing else? No insidious feeling deep inside you that it's temporary?" she rambled.

"Or—or that it'd be… not better, but that it'd be like, weirdly okay if things went back to being awful?"

"Wha—" the teenager gawked at her, "of course not! I'd have a nervous breakdown! Do you feel that way? Because if you do, that's like—extremely worrying?" Damn it, usually he'd see the signs, but she was just so happy here that he hadn't noticed anything. He hadn't realized the difference. Denzel rose from his seat, and Grace raised her gloved hands innocently, as if surrendering to some unspoken accusation. In any other circumstances, watching her, a supposed superhero, do this, would have been hilarious.

Not today, however.

"Grace, this is—there's a word for this. It's something in PTS—""D," she finished his sentence, crossing her legs on the chair like a child.

"I know. Been brought up to me a few times, really, the first times months ago by Aliyah—the therapist the League gave me. She was great." Denzel knew Grace was seeing a new therapist based in Jubilife once a week, even currently despite the Conference. He hadn't asked much about it because, well, it looked like it had worked wonders? Now, he just wasn't sure. She was better than before, much better in a way that a person like her just wasn't capable of faking, but what if there was more hidden beneath the facade?

"What'd you tell her?" Grace snorted—why the hell was she laughing?

"I basically told her she was full of it—in kinder and less confident words. Now I think she was right."

"So?"

"So?" she repeated, clasping her metallic necklace—Meltan.

"What're you gonna do about it?"

"Oh, well, I dunno." She shrugged and extended her legs in a stretch.

"I'll probably deal with it later."

"What?" Her face twitched, and her hold on her Meltan grew tighter.

"I talked about it, okay? And I'll deal with it," her breath caught in her throat, like she'd held back on saying something else. Finally, she finished, "later."

"Is this because you think it'd sink your chances in the tournament?"

"Obviously not."

"Do you think you're too broken to be fixed or something?" A saddened smile crept across her mouth.

"Used to. Maymay showed me that I wasn't." Denzel threw his hands up.

"Then why?!" he nearly yelled."'Cause it feels like it's not a big deal, that's why!" she yelled back.

"Sorry. But it's not! It's just not. Not compared to… everything else. It's just a pebble stuck in my shoe, and everyone's having a great time, so why even bother? I should be grateful I've even made it this far."

"Ugh. I'm calling Maylene—" Something stole the air from his lungs—no, he had just forgotten to breathe after his last exhale.

"Do not," she interrupted. Her voice cut through the silence, sharp and final. She held his gaze, her eyes firm, yet not unkind.

"I was gonna tell her tonight, anyway. I'm just taking stock first. Seeing what people have to say." They weren't close friends, but only the Gym Leader had learned to cut through all of this… tape in order to get to the heart of a matter when it came to Grace without her meandering and convincing you that she was fine. Denzel wanted to believe her, even now. Her plea rang sincere. Had she not truly improved since Coronet? She had. Denzel's back ached with his doubt.

"I'll believe you, but I'll text her tomorrow morning to see if you actually did." Compromise was enough for now; forcing Grace's hand was rarely wise. The only other time he'd done so was during the Backlot situation, and thank the Legendaries, it had worked out. Instead, Denzel much preferred containing her, either through ultimatum or things like this. Grace heeded his answer, breaths steady as she swayed from side to side on the creaky swivel chair before finally nodding.

"That's fair. A day should be enough. Thanks." Then, the blonde stood up all of a sudden, eyes flickering to life with luminosity like a candle just lit.

"But I should get going and fight my next battle. There are people all over the world who need to be saved!" Hands on her hips, she faced forward like, well, a superhero.

"Darn… it would have been better if I had Princess to blow wind in my cape." Denzel smiled, then couldn't help but chortle.

"Remember what I said. Damien's, uh, very concerned about his image. He's a better trainer than you on paper, but make him look bad and he might slip up, giving you a chance to get a W." Grace visibly cringed, nose wrinkling with a groan.

"You stream too much."

"Dude, you're in a superhero costume."

"So?"

"... you know, what, never mind. Just go out there and have a good time." She pumped a fist.

"That's what I plan on doing! Right, Mimi?" The steel type chimed, shaking around her neck.

"Mimi's my sidekick. Helps me fight any evil lying about."

"Yep. Make sure to go and defeat those villains—I'll be watching you." He pointed a thumb toward his laptop. He wasn't going to join her today; he would instead live commentate League matches all day with Goalducc and Archive—without feed of the actual battles on his stream, of course, or the League would immediately take the videos down no matter how much he wished they wouldn't. Everything he'd done, and they wouldn't even give him the rights.

Unfortunate, but he'd been lucky enough for a lifetime not to complain about it. Viewers would be able to sync the footage, so it was mildly inconvenient at best. A few more words were exchanged before Grace left, mostly about taking the wrinkles out of her costume and making her look as good as possible before she left for her fight. But right before she walked out the door;"Oh, and you wouldn't have a breakdown, by the way," she said out of nowhere.

"Hm?"

"If things turned for the worse, you wouldn't have a breakdown." She looked back at him, holding the door open.

"You'd be there for us just like you've always been. I believe in you." The door closed. Despite it all, Denzel couldn't help it. He smiled. —"I don't think I particularly nailed the story aspect of it." In a bar, Grace tapped her chin with a finger while staring at the ceiling.

"I mean, honestly, I think I would have lost even if I'd nailed it, but the fact that I screwed up made it kind of unsatisfying. I wasn't… hero-like enough." Marley silently observed her friend talk her troubles away, wondering if there would ever be an end to her made-up problems. At the very least, it was intriguing to listen to. Stimulating, even.

Sipping on her sparkling water through a straw, Marley listened to Grace speak of how difficult it was for her to act like a stereotypical hero you'd find in a comic or a movie. She had to admit that life was easier now than it used to be, even if she rarely saw her parents because they'd never accept her for who she was even though they showered her with money. Any moment now, she'd expect it to stop, but it still hadn't after an entire year of being out.

They'd even convinced her to join that stupid piano class through her grandparents, and she'd accepted on the off-chance it might make them accept her in turn, yet it had not. That was why she hated spending money—the idea that the tap would eventually be cut haunted her enough to make her neglect eating until she met Grace and Jess. Piano ended up being fun too, just like when she'd been a child.

At the very least, Marley's grandma sent her messages every day about her matches, and endless doting on if she'd been eating, sleeping, and taking care of herself. Of course, there was the mental exhaustion beginning to ramp up from so many fights in a row. While Marley had gone to train in Victory Road—along with the goal of sharpening her Pokemon's skills—to ready herself for this stage of the Conference in an effort to ward her mind against mental fatigue, three days in and she was already struggling.

At least her team seemed raring to go, still. Meanwhile, her friend seemed to be brimming with boundless energy as she spoke. She really didn't understand how Grace did it.

"So what's your score now?" Marley asked, making sure her voice remained steady just like she'd practiced. The superhero pouted, then placed her head against the table—ew. So many people had been here before them.

"Aw, Marley! I can't believe you haven't been keeping track!"

"What's mine—""4-3!" Grace yelled, voice muffled by her position against the table. Her words buzzed against the surface.

"Which is the same as mine. God, I want to fight Damien Gunnhild again…" Marley nodded, something Grace barely saw out of the corner of her eyes. She suspected her friend could possibly have been at a 5-2 had she not been so entangled in her silly games. Oh, and there was no way Marley didn't actually know her friend's score, let alone everyone in their entire group; it would be foolish of her not to keep track of the standings at all times. She'd just said no to tease Grace.

What was she even doing, throwing matches like this just because she was an agent of justice, or whatever? How was her sponsor even okay with this? Marley sighed and patted the girl on her back. You couldn't help but support her in times like these.

"I'm sure your next battle will go better now that you got your feet wet into your role," Marley said."'Sure hope so." Two fingers rhythmically tapped her necklace.

"Hmhm. You're right." That was directed not at Marley, but at the strange creature around her neck.

"Wait. Marley."

"What is it?"

"You trained in Victory Road all the time until they closed it for the bombings, right?" Grace lazily leaned against the counter, face resting in her gloved hand. At least take the costume off when you're not battling, Marley wanted to beg. Instead, she nodded.

"What'd you think of the caves there? You know, I've never been even though it's literally right there. Too dangerous." Marley frowned at her and pulled a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

"It was awful, obviously. Both navigating it, getting through it, and just, you know, living in the wild for days at a time."

"Days?"

"Over a week, but just once. Plus, I'm always forced to wear such dreary clothes." If Marley had one vice, one glaring exception to her habits with money, it was her spending on clothes. Margaretan fashion, mostly; the term had been coined from the era of that very same name, when Galar, heeded by Queen Margaret IV, had been the undisputed world power over two hundred years ago until both Orre and Unova rose to challenge that claim. Today, she wore that same clothing style.

A dress of deep obsidian hue layered with intricate lacework, even if it made the heat nigh unbearable— Wait. When you really thought about it, no one else dressed like this outside of costume parties, cosplay, and the like. Did—did that mean that she was just like Grace, only a lot more discreet?

"Marley? Anything else to say about Victory Road?" Grace pushed her glass with a finger, intrigued by its movements on the rugged bar counter. She really struggled to sit still, didn't she?

"C'mon, talk to me about some stories. I'll pay for the tab."

"You don't have to—""Marley, I make so much money that I don't even know what to spend it on. A little bill at the bar won't bother me." She smirked up at her, assured that she had cornered Marley with a flawless argument. It wasn't about money, but about the principle of the thing, but…

"We wanna hear about it! Think of it like an exchange of favors—a balanced one." Although she blew a quiet raspberry, Marley relented.

"Fine, stories. Okay. I guess I'll begin at the start. Fresh off winning my eighth badge against Volkner because I skipped him and kept him for last." This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Oh! That's a rare choice; why'd you do it?"

"A lot of his personal Pokemon are known for their speed, along with the electric type in general," she said with passion she could barely contain. Her voice nearly shook every time she recalled that battle—how her Arcanine had finished off the Gym Leader's Raichu in a nailbiter of a duel with their newly acquired Extreme Speed.

"I wanted to test myself in a true test of speed to see if I had what it takes. I wish I could have gone against his Electivire though…" Grace laughed.

"Marley! I never see you get like this, oh my God! Look at you!"

"It—I mean, it's nothing." Marley scratched the side of her face, feeling awkward and thanking Arceus Jess wasn't here to tease her about this too.

"It's just his starter, y'know?"

"Yeah. Hey, keep this a secret, but I faced him once. He's really no joke," she said, sipping on her fruit punch as if she hadn't just dropped an insane piece of information. Marley's mouth gaped open.

"What?"

"Oh yeah. It was a battle with special rules and stuff. The goal was for Honey to touch him three times," Grace whispered with a hand hiding her mouth.

"Anyway, Electivire kind of shattered Honey's back, it was really gnarly stuff. All because he's an immature brat who hates losing."

"Now I want to hear about it…"

"Okay, well, one story at a time, miss," Grace teased.

"We should probably order another drink, too." Marley quickly agreed, but as she spoke, she couldn't shake the feeling that a part of Grace grew restless the longer she recounted just how dreadful Victory Road had been. Grace's concern always felt genuine, but it seemed tinged with a quiet disappointment, as if she had expected something more from those tales. Either way, she paid and went on her way—they both had a few hours before their second battle of the day.

When she did, she told Marley something about meeting a colleague. — Aubri might have only had one eye, but setting it on Grace Pastel made her want to pretend she'd never worked with Poketch. Sharing a company with this clown made her want to crawl into a hole she'd never come out of. She was a sight for sore eyes, with her costume being slightly too small for even her.

Plus, she was still wearing white sneakers which broke immersion, and it was wrinkly all over, and the gloves left part of her wrists exposed, and, and, and—you'd never run out of things to complain about. Not only had this girl texted her, asking to meet at one of the most crucial times in Aubri's life to talk about whatever nonsense it was she always brought up, but her attempts to get her to talk to someone else like Ramon had failed—Pastel wanted her. Aubri hated her.

"You've got some nerve coming here after that Gardenia nonsense," Aubri said, eyeing her own fingerless stump of a hand. Purple and broken skin covered her right arm, a landscape of deep burn scars that twisted and puckered the flesh like melted wax. The scars crawled up to her shoulder, usually a permanent reminder of the cost of carelessness, but now an added twist that she'd been refused this kid's position because she was a sorry sight for the eyes.

All of her talent and hard work, her years of service to Poketch, thrown away. How did one reconcile the trainer she had admired, worked herself to death to catch up to at the expense of her own body, had caused this? All of that for what? And she hadn't ever had the opportunity to really chew into him. To really ask him why, to really let her have a piece of her mind. A planned final showdown at the Conference where she would finally have bested him and proved to him that she'd been the one to deserve it all.

And she would never get to.

"You already barged into this Pokemon Center to talk to me, so just hurry the hell up and make it worth my time!" Chatot squawked on her shoulder. Her trusted partner had been about to say more, but she raised her hand. The one with fingers on it. Grace had always looked uncomfortable with Aubri around. With the Poketch guys, she kept glancing back at her as if Aubri would just launch into a tirade, or maybe even physically strike her sometimes. Alone?

She fidgeted, hugging herself and tapping a restless foot against the ground. Biting the inside of her mouth to distract herself with a bit of stimulation. Since her arranged and unfair fight with Gardenia—one that had made Aubri think far less of the Gym Leader and her entire clique—they had only spoken in short instances for their jobs. Aubri suspected Poketch itself kept those interactions at a minimum. So much to protect this single person, to string her up despite all of her fuck ups.

It was so frustrating; and all of that for Grace to beg for a meeting, yet to not have the confidence to even speak up? Damn it. So fucking pathetic. So fucking… damn it.

"What do you want?" Aubri sighed, running her hand over her face. Her voice, as always, was raspy and deep from the time she'd caught her Salazzle—same reason the burns were there, sunken into her right arm. Like a mockery of what she used to sound like.

"Err." Unsure of herself, as always.

"I've always had this deep sense of respect for you, Aubri. You're—you're so cool. And like, your battles are really a testament to your skill and perseverance. I look at you and I see a story of someone who's been chasing something for a long time but who'll never get it. Um, sorry. But your fights don't seem to excite you as much as previous years." Had she watched Aubri's previous battles? Of course she had.

"It's no fun rolling over people over and over without a good struggle." Excuse, for they both knew that was not even close to the reason. Aubri enjoyed crushing the competition, close battle or not, and now, this crazy girl liked pretending to be someone else. Grace walked around the Center room and leaned against the wall, finally relaxing some.

"You're undefeated in groups so far; that's extremely impressive. My friend Denzel says—""I don't care about what anyone says." Aubri turned away from Grace, and Chatot chirped in anger.

"I didn't let you barge in here so you could psychoanalyze me. This is my last time asking before I kick you out: what the hell do you want?" The blonde deflated, seemingly smaller than she was just ten seconds ago when she thought she was getting somewhere. Aubri wouldn't listen to her crazed ramblings, especially not when she was dressed like a kid for their eighth birthday.

"Fair. Sorry." A pause, punctuated by a particular expression that could only be described as regrouping. A regathering of her thoughts as if she needed to reconsider he entire approach. Seconds passed by the dozens until finally, a minute later, she struck.

"Like me, you've been through a whole lot of stuff 'cause you train in places like Victory Road. I'd like to know if you ever have issues coping with this." Ha! A question without any games or bullshit? She'd come to know Aubri didn't like to waste time. She scratched her Chatot's head with a gentle finger.

"Woah. You're smiling." Aubri clicked her tongue.

"I'm not. Shut up." Grace promptly did so without even a scared squeal. A shame. Aubri pointed up at her blindspot, an eyepatch that covered much of her face.

"When I first set out of Jubilife and tried to get a wild Spearow at the edge of route 203 because I heard you might catch a stronger one close to off-route, it called its entire flock and I came out of it with a missing eye." It had crushed her at the time, but today, she could look back on it and shrug. Smile, even.

"When I started training in dangerous routes and got deeper into Eterna Forest than I ever had," she showered Grace her wounded hand where only her thumb remained, "a Leavanny took half my hand. When I heard a Salazzle had snuck onto an Alolan ship and fled into the Sinnohan wilderness, I went and caught her. For that, she nearly killed me and became my ace." On her shoulder, Chatot eagerly nodded at each story, for he had been here for every one but the first. Where was she going with this? Here.

"You carry them your entire life, your scars. They stick to you like tattoos you never asked for. They stay with you, etched into your skin, into your memory, shaping the person you see in the mirror. You can try to cover them up, try to ignore them, but they're still there. A part of you, whether you want them to be or not. Your scars can't be ignored—it's what people first see when they look at you." She tapped the side of her head as Grace rubbed the burned side of her neck.

"That goes for mental scars too. People may not know they're here, but whether they and you want it or not, they'll come up when you interact. You can't run away from them—not forever, at least." Grace's eyes were wide with admiration Aubri frankly did not care for.

"Woah… you're so responsible…"

"What? Did you think I'd just let you walk in here like a sad, pathetic wet cat and let you leave?" She should have. That would have been great to see. Grace shook her head.

"I know you're nice, deep down." Aubri glared at her.

"Not deep down! You're extremely nice inside and out!" she yelled with a hint of panic, shaking her hands innocently.

"Um, can I have some battling advice—""Goodbye. If you're lucky, I'll see you out of groups and show the board how I'll put you in the dirt."

"That sounds like I'd learn a lot, so sure!" she said before leaving.

"Don't show your face here again!" Chatot squawked. And Aubri meant it. She'd had enough Grace Pastel for at least a week. — Busy, busy, busy. Jasmine couldn't believe it, but she'd thank Lugia himself when her feet touched the sands of Olivine again. Sinnoh had felt so much better when all she'd had to do was fool around all day and spend time with Volkner. Now, it was meeting after meeting after meeting.

Diplomats, Elite Four Members, League officials, economists; she wanted out of here and fast, but Lance had saddled her with so much work, and his nosy self couldn't help but call every few days to hear a needlessly long report about how things were going as if he didn't already know every time a Cutiefly moved around these parts with how deep he'd spread Indigo's influence around the country since Unova's diplomatic fuck up. Hmph.

At least Brock and Will were working just as hard now, even if they never complained and whined like she did. She'd always make time for her only and favorite student, however. Grace had texted a few hours ago asking for Jasmine's available hours. She'd nearly had to consider cutting a meeting with a team of Indigoan and Sinnohan politicians about relaxing trade and visa restrictions even further.

Unlike his predecessor, Lance was no advocate for autarky, but he was no fighter for free trade like those money-grubbing Galarians either. It was a surprising step forward, especially considering how much opposition he'd face at home for the move. Jasmine figured he'd consider burning decades' worth of political capital if it meant putting Sinnoh under permanent Indigoan influence. It certainly would put them in the best position they'd ever reached since the birth of their union.

Although Kanto-Johto had been birthed by war and fear of the Gods, Lance knew times had changed and navigated these peaceful times extraordinarily well. It was a good thing Unova's Champion was sleeping at the helm and constantly dealing with internal strife, those lazy fat Glameows. But really, that was Lance's game.

Jasmine enjoyed seeing the region she'd spent so many months in getting back on its feet this quickly— A knock at the door of the office she'd been given at the Spire made her put away those thoughts for now.

"Grace? If it's Grace, come in. If it's not, I'm exceedingly busy."

"It's not Grace… it's Lady Justice." The voice was low and foreboding, with a hint of a threat that made the hair on Jasmine's arms stand on end and made her hand creep toward her Pokeballs neatly arranged on her desk, always just a reach away. But it was also just Grace.

"Open up and surrender, or I'm afraid I'll have to make you."

"Grace, I can clearly tell that's you. Who even is Lady Justice—" she opened the door, "—pfft." Maybe, just maybe, Jasmine laughed for the following minute at Grace's getup. Maybe she had tears in her eyes and her mouth hurt because of it afterward. Maybe she'd been so hysterical a League official had shown up asking about all the noise. Maybe all of that happened. Look— Jasmine just couldn't believe that Grace had walked into the official League HQ with this costume and didn't seem to care.

"I thought you were gonna asphyxiate to death from laughing too much," Grace said, rocking back and forth on her chair. That was the best part! She didn't even seem to care what people thought!

"It's just a costume."" I thought I was going to asphyxiate to death!" the Gym Leader cackled, nearly kicking her feet.

"Oh, Grace, you're so wonderful. Every time I see you, you just make my day." Jasmine stood up to once again hug her student, who remained seated.

"What brings me to you—sorry, what brings you to me." Legendaries, she was still out of it.

"Oh, not much." Grace looked around the office; it was quite impersonal, considering it wasn't actually Jasmine's, and modernized instead of old like it probably had been once akin to the Champion's. The walls were plain, painted a sterile white, and the furniture was utilitarian, devoid of personal touches or character. A standard-issue desk sat in the middle of the room, neatly organized with only a laptop, a few stacked papers, and a pen holder to break the monotony.

"But remember when I saw you after Galactic was destroyed?"

"Yes. You looked quite lost, back then." Her student nodded, pointing at Jasmine with a finger.

"Exactly. And I'm not lost anymore, which is great. But I'm also kind of lost still?" The Gym Leader had grabbed a pen, and twirled it in her hand.

"My dear, those are two opposing statements."

"Do you not feel the two mesh together still?" Grace questioned with an unsatisfied frown.

"Don't be so rigid in your view of things, Jasmine."

"Look at you, giving me lessons."

"The point is, I have a path to walk on, but it feels like I have a few demons shackling me. And you know, maybe they'll always be there. That'd be fine. I'd love to reconcile missing war, though. Feels off."

"Oh. Easy." The pen stopped in Jasmine's hand, and she snapped her fingers, a sharp sound that resonated through the office. Grace blinked, surprised by the sudden gesture. Jasmine leaned forward, her gaze steady and deliberate, as if she'd just solved a puzzle only she could see.

"You don't reconcile it," Jasmine said simply, her voice calm but resolute.

"You accept it."

"Now who's being vague? Does that mean accept that I'll always miss it—" the metallic necklace around her neck grew spikes, "—relax, this is a hypothetical." Jasmine smirked.

"It's a simple statement. Missing war doesn't make you a monster, Grace. It makes you human. People talk about war like it's all bloodshed and suffering, and while it's a lot of that and I wouldn't wish it on anyone, especially not children, you and I both know it's more than that. It's purpose. It's clarity. It's knowing exactly what's at stake every single day." For a while, there was silence as Jasmine waited to see if Grace would say something else.

Her pen rested forgotten on the desk as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"Peace isn't like that. Peace is messy, uncertain, full of choices you're never sure are the right ones. Of course you'd miss war—it's simpler. Capture this city, secure this objective, kill, kill, kill until it feels like nothing. Even when the walls and your body's soaked in blood, everything is laid out in black and white. There's no ambiguity in war if you're a footsoldier—just orders to follow and goals to achieve.

You're the good guys fighting the bad guys; the constant edge of survival sharpens every decision. It's easy." Something clicked in Grace's mind. You could see the gears turning behind her eyes.

"But peace? Again, peace is gray. It's the little things that for some reason matter so much even if you aren't fighting for your life every day. When I was killing Rocket Grunts left and right, I didn't have to worry about love; no one was harassing me about how much alcohol I drank. And for your information, that amount is still zero."

"You're… kinda right."

"Of course I'm right."

"But not completely right!" she exclaimed as if a lightbulb had lit up above her head.

"It's true that things are simple. Not easy. Simple." Grace paced around the room, cape flowing behind her.

"But that's not because those little issues don't exist, it's because we keep putting them off. Ignoring them, so it's as if they aren't there until it's too late to keep doing so. We can look back fondly on those times, thinking that all we had to think about was what was right in front of us, but that's really doing ourselves a disservice. All of it always mattered, we just couldn't see it because war isn't easy, it's blinding.

It hogs your attention and makes it so you can hardly think of anything else until it's over, and it leaves you in the dark to deal with everything you've been putting off." Jasmine was— A little stumped. She kept clicking on her mechanical pen, letting the tip constantly poke at the skin of her arm, because she did not enjoy how correct that sounded, and how the words could have come right out of Lieutenant Surge's mouth if she'd been closing her eyes and Grace's voice had been numerous octaves lower.

"I suppose you'd be correct."

"Of course I'm right," Grace mockingly mimicked her.

"Do you wanna hear about my character tomorrow? I went 2-1 today, but I'm sure I can do better when I come dressed as a Kalosian knight. Do you think I should be doing an accent, or would that be offensive? Fantina told me to go for it—" — Grace was late, and Maylene was worried. The last message she'd gotten from her girlfriend after her third and final battle of the day had been about meeting Jasmine for some 'advice', as she'd been doing with multiple people the entire day.

It wasn't that they hadn't seen each other much today—even though she was a little sad about that—it was that Grace could sometimes get carried away, and by the time you realized, she'd be fifteen steps into a nonsensical, roundabout plan to do something you'd never even think of. Ever since they'd come across Temperance at that Kalosian restaurant, Grace had been just a little off in ways only few were capable of catching.

"She'll come home soon," Nia said behind her before placing a hand on her shoulder.

"She must have gotten carried away and not noticed the time."

"That does sound like a Grace thing to do…" she gazed past the sliding glass doors across the garden, beyond the pool, and at the gate of the Gym Leader house. It was so late they'd all eaten dinner already and the adults had gone back to their own home on the other side of the property.

"I texted her, but she hasn't read them."

"Well, I'll be in Candice's room. Call us over if you need us." A silent nod, then footsteps that got further and further away. Maylene considered just going back to their home, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone wrong. Jasmine… was Grace's teacher, and Maylene respected that fully, but like that Hatterene, she sometimes put bad notions into her head due to her upbringing. Unable to contain her worry, Maylene dialed Denzel, the person who she knew Grace had met first.

A hoarse voice answered her.

"Grace, what is it—""It's Maylene."

"Wha—" there was a crash on the other end of the line, and then a scramble to stand.

"Sorry, I thought Grace was calling me through your phone."

"Has she… done that?"

"Twice. Both times because she wanted to prank me and see me act stiff—I'm sorry for the confusion."

"No, no, it's fine." Maylene restrained a smile.

"I was actually hoping you knew where she went?" What followed was a game of telephone, tracking Grace's day through word of mouth. First came Marley, who she called despite having never spoken to her one-on-one. Then came the Poketch sponsees she was closest to—first Ramon, then Bobby, and then somehow, it was Aubri, whom she had gone to see. Those she'd needed to get the hard way. Messaging them on Chatter through her official Gym Leader account and chatting through direct messages.

Schneider kept the exchange short and was nearly downright rude, but that was okay; at least she'd answered. A common theme espoused through each meeting was a ravenous intrigue at one location: Victory Road. Maylene's anxiety reached a fever pitch, and a continuous flow of paranoid thoughts of Grace delving into those caves because of some Graceian plan. Would she? No, she wouldn't. Not after so much progress, and certainly not without telling her.

But what if Temperance found her, or vice versa, or they met by pure coincidence again? What if she really did confront Grace? And why had the expression 'Graceian' even popped up in her head—should she grab her Pokemon and go check Victory Road? Not without telling the others about it— Maylene paused, her breath catching as she felt it—a faint yet unmistakable warmth brushing against her senses like an old companion's hand on her shoulder.

It wasn't overwhelming, but a steady, familiar pulse that made her heart settle in her chest. She couldn't see Grace, not yet, but she could feel her. That aura, so distinctly her own, like the soft glow of a candle in a storm, always burning, always present.

"Thank the Legendaries," she whispered to herself as she opened the sliding glass door. This feeling was akin to a melody she could sing by heart, an unmistakable sensation that pushed Maylene to run to the gates. In a few seconds, she was already there, and it was here that she saw the flame around Grace illuminating the dirt road in the dead of night. Its edges were sharp and angular, slicing through the air like shards of glass catching the light.

The blue hue wasn't serene—it was electric, humming with an energy that felt alive, almost predatory in its focus. Yes. This was someone whom, once an idea materialized in her head, would move heaven and earth to make it a reality. Still in her costume, Grace's eyes widened when Maylene ran up to hug her. The Gym Leader grabbed her girlfriend by the face and held back a sob.

"Where were you? I was so worried—I texted you like twenty times!"

"Oh. Oh. My phone died, sorry. I used it too much today and I never came back home to charge it." Grace hugged her as well, hands snaking toward her back.

"I guess I never opened my laptop. Sorry for worrying you."

"Arceus… so you were with Jasmine, still?"

"Oh, no. I left her hours ago because she was busy; I was on my own walking around the wilderness of the island and thinking about things. It was a pretty productive day."

"Okay. If it was just that, then fine. I was worried for no reason—just, let me know next time?" Maylene knew Grace well enough to understand that one bad day could undo months of progress, and there were plenty of people here who could press that trigger. It was always fine for her to be alone, just—half a day without any news, and one started to worry.

"Oh, by the way, I might have been extremely panicked and texted like, everyone you met with today. And Bobby and Ramon." Grace grabbed her by the hand, and they started walking back through the garden.

"That's fine. And I should tell you what today was about—but first, I'll tell you this: I should probably try harder the next time I see my therapist, I think." Oh. Maybe Maylene had underestimated Jasmine.