Chương 423: Chapter 346

Life was often stranger than fiction. Cecilia took the stairs of the Spire two at a time, nearly bounding toward Cynthia's office with her phone clutched in her hand, its battery hanging on by a thread. It was tough to charge things when you were homeless. There were plenty of outlets to use around, whether that be in Pokemon Centers or other public buildings, but they were nearly all occupied at all times of day.

She had checked her side of the bracket once, twice, a dozen times to be sure she hadn't misread or imagined things. Then a dozen more, just to be certain. But the truth remained: in three days, she would be battling Grace Pastel. The final step sent a faint tremor up Cecilia's leg, giving her pause. She never showed up to the Champion's office unannounced, but this time, she had no choice. This— all of this—had Cynthia's fingerprints all over it.

She had been of great help this entire Conference, but Cecilia remembered now why the Champion had gotten to where she was. Cynthia Collins had a way of arranging events in ways that would benefit her. But that was the question, wasn't it? Cecilia's fingertips felt cold as her hand reached for the door. How in the world did this benefit her? What wheels had she set in motion, and to what end? Her head went spinning with each answer that appeared on the tip of her tongue.

Ratings from the potential drama—no, of course not. She wasn't that shallow. A way to mend things between them? No, Cynthia herself had said that it would take much that this single Conference to even do that. Special training of some kind?

While Cynthia did not really have plans to directly train anyone who wasn't her unborn nephew, she did enjoy throwing people into the deep end of the pool and letting them either sink or suddenly muster the capacity to swim— Cecilia jumped, hearing the Champion's voice through the door.

"Well? Aren't you coming in?" Taking a few deep breaths to settle down, the Unovan pushed the great wooden doors open and entered Cynthia's office. She was at her desk, as always, with her Togekiss with her, as always, and with a mountain of paperwork waiting for her, as always, but what was different today was the particular stone she had in her hand. Weighty, creased, and weathered by the centuries as it may have been, Cecilia recognized Spiritomb's keystone that usually rested deep inside Cynthia's pocket.

The tall woman toyed with it with a nonchalance that felt alarmingly dangerous, turning it within her palm while she gave Cecilia a long look.

"You came to speak," Cynthia said before nudging her head toward one of her two chairs.

"Come and sit." Cecilia gulped, eyes stuck to the keystone, but she followed suit and—jumped when wisps of ghostly energy roiled around Cynthia's palm when she rasped the chair against the floor. Togekiss giggled, wings fluttering at his side.

"They don't like the noise," the Champion said.

"S—sorry." While Cecilia had seen it before, it had been in the midst of what had felt like an endless fight for life itself atop Coronet, so she'd been too emotionally exhausted to care. The teasing sight of a sliver of Spiritomb left her heart feeling like it was stuck in her throat, especially when the Unovan knew how… vulnerable she could be at the moment. Everything was still so raw. Cynthia placed the pulsating keystone on her desk, tapped it twice with a finger, and all activity ceased within a few seconds.

It did not all cease instantly, but was a lagging decision taken by the one hundred and eight souls within. For a while, Cecilia was caught up in the routine questions: how are you today, have you eaten, do you need me to procure you a room, how are you feeling, et cetera, but eventually, she put her foot down, literally and figuratively.

"You've seen the bracket of the knock-out stage, haven't you?" Cecilia asked in an accusatory manner.

"I'm against… Grace."

"I've given it a look or two," Cynthia banally answered. She tapped a pen against her chin and leaned forward on her desk.

"Stranger things have happened."

"Don't spew lies at me," she hissed in between her teeth.

"Craig Goodwill went up against Sarah Newman the first time he got out of groups in the midst of a personal falling out." That was the example Cecilia knew of, but Cynthia continued listing battles between friends, enemies, exes, and everything in between that had gone on throughout the years.

"It happens."

"You say all of this," the Unovan noticed, "but you never explicitly denied not having anything to do with it." There was a subtle shift in Cynthia's eyes, though Cecilia couldn't even come close to knowing what it meant. The blond woman, worn out by decades of rule and what it implied, stared Cecilia dead in the eye with none of the warmth she had gotten used to these past two weeks.

It was not a killer's look, but it still took her so aback that it robbed her lungs of their air—or perhaps she had simply forgotten to breathe. The unpleasantness that followed was akin to the jarring sensation of plummeting through empty space, that brief, stomach-dropping lurch before waking from a nightmare. She almost expected Spiritomb to be acting up, but the ghost was still inactive, resting within their keystone.

"Are you a fatalist, Cecilia?" The girl blinked for a few moments, not knowing what to say.

"I—no?"

"You came up here multiple times in our meetings, telling me how you wished you could talk to Grace one more time." Like a blade back in its sheath, sentimentality returned to her gaze.

"Now, obviously I have nothing to do with this matter, but I can tell you that this is not meant to force some reconciliation." It was as Cecilia thought—there would be no advantage. Grace was already in her grasp through Maylene, and Cecilia wouldn't be of use there. Granted, the Unovan doubted everything was such a zero-sum game for Cynthia as Mira had once guessed.

"A battle is many things, Cecilia, but it can also be the purest form of conversation if you let it." She tapped the table four times, enunciating the last four words.

"Speech through actions and through your dearest comrades," she placed a hand under Togekiss' chin and gently scratched, "equal footing impossible anywhere else. Whether it be a fight for sport or a fight for survival, there is no better or purer form of communication." Yes, Cecilia thought, there's the madness in her.

"Furthermore," a pause, "it's what you wanted."

"Not like this." Cynthia's lips quirked upward.

"Look at you, already thinking destiny is set in stone." She sighed, and Cecilia knew it to be the beginning of a lesson.

"To be a living creature is to have agency, and to have agency is to have the capacity to inflict change upon the world." She stood up and calmly walked toward her window, hands behind her back. Traces of sunlight danced across her face.

"An individual may be told they cannot do something their entire life, that it would be all for naught, but they are not alive until they take their own destiny into their own hands and face the world with grit. Even if it brings failure, humiliation, or what have you, at least you're living." She slapped her palm with the back of her hand.

"You have to act. You have to act on the world, or it consumes you." Once, a girl had lamented in the rural north of Celestic Town, a backwater that barely anyone bothered with. How many times had she been told she couldn't do it? You can't be a trainer, you can't join the Circuit, you can't get a badge, you can't reach the Conference, you can't win, yet suddenly, within the year, she was Champion. She had seized the region by its throat despite the naysayers and had been ready to reshape it in her image.

Cecilia might not have expected the lesson, but she managed an answer.

"I get what you're saying, but I've been given enough metaphors about life and death for a lifetime." Cynthia grinned.

"They do that a lot, don't they?" She walked back to her desk and raised an eyebrow at Togekiss having stolen her seat. She gave him a joking look, and he jumped off with an innocent hum.

"But the point remains the same. This is a two-pronged lesson: one, you want something, and the opportunity's fallen into your lap, so get it. Two…" she grabbed Spiritomb's keystone again.

"Better get everything off your chest before meeting your own ghost. What were your last few interactions with Grace like?" Cecilia sighed. Hiding from her in this very building, awkwardness beyond relief in that item store, and then a shouting match in Canalave.

"Not good," Cynthia guessed.

"It makes your job in a few weeks harder if you have nothing but painful memories to remember recently and the good is further away." The Unovan slumped in her seat, convinced, but not ready.

"Here's the thing. I dislike people who believe events are set in stone. That the world is rigid and their fate is sealed and that nothing they do can change it." Ah. That must have been what that glare had meant when she'd asked if Cecilia was a fatalist.

"You're acting as if you've already lost in all of the ways that matter."

"I'm not—""You are. That kind of thinking is a self-fulfilling prophecy." Cynthia leaned back in her chair and rested her head on a loose fist. Golden curls of messy hair got in Togekiss' face.

"Sorry if I'm being harsh on you, I just want you to make use of this opportunity, because it is an opportunity, not just a risk." Yes, it was a risk. A risk to be unmade. But she was right. One could avoid Grace to heal without getting into a fit of anxiety every time she was mentioned. The thought of facing her was still a haunting one, but it was…

"There you go," Cynthia said.

"Now you get it." Cecilia felt her lips curving.

"Yes. Yes, I do." —"... oring the drama, could be anyone's game. I mean, both of these trainers have radically changed their styles recently, seemingly to a lot of success. They've shown themselves capable of reaching the knock-out stages in their first year! Granted, there are more than them. Barry Lane, Lauren Goodwill…" Goalducc listed more names, some of them I hadn't heard about.

"It's a shame the bombings cut so many first years' Circuits short! Before we go into details about their Pokemon and each of their capabilities, Denzel, what do you think about this battle?" My best friend looked in his element without a shred of nervousness to his tall frame.

"I mean again, right? Everyone keeps talking about the low odds of this matchup, but for the results, I think it really depends on who manages to snag a switch advantage early and who presses that into real material gains…" Denzel kept droning about what he thought the battle might look like in ways that were so rigid I could have wept. It annoyed me, so I decided I'd stop listening to the livestream for now and maybe get back to it later.

I closed my laptop and stretched; the grass prickled the bottom of my legs as I observed my Pokemon do some light training in the distance. I had to remind Sweetheart that it would remain light every five minutes, or she always started going crazy and I was sure Cassianus didn't want to get pelted with Dark Pulses. Other than Honey, Princess, and Sunshine, they were all near the cliffs save for Mimi, who was napping on my laptop. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent.

Report it. The news of the coming battle had me somewhat anxious, but calmer than I had any right to be. My mind wasn't racing about what I'd say or do, or how I'd perform, or if I even deserved to win. Instead, I had the jitters one would have before any important battle. Maylene and Emilia were more nervous than I was! It was difficult to believe that in two days we'd be fighting.

I'd thought about a pep talk with my team, but they already knew what was at stake, and this wasn't as important to them as this was to me. For Sunshine or Buddy, for example, this would just be another battle. The difference, however, was that they knew how much this mattered to me. The day since the announcement had been spent studying Cecilia's new style and workshopping my own strategy with my family. I'd stayed away beforehand because it hadn't felt… proper to check up on how her battles had been doing.

The only time I'd seen her enjoy herself as close to that much in a battle was during our first fight with Chase and Denzel in Hearthome. I was glad it had worked out for her and happier that Temperance had taught her so much in such a short amount of time. Outside of actual Pokemon training, I was confident I would have beaten Cecilia from two months ago with a decent performance. Today was a different story; there was a lot to worry about and keep track of now that her Pokemon were so versatile.

Marley had offered to help me train, but other than general advice, I'd refused—not because I didn't want to win, but because no one else could interfere. This was going to be our battle. There would be no meddling, no one influencing the decisions I took.

"I guess the break's done," I whispered to myself. With renewed vigor, I pressed on, playing video after video, looking within every frame, every nook and cranny I could find. The more informed I was, the more I'd know how to approach this entire fight. I was not going to come in a silly costume—she was owed more than that—but I still needed to decide exactly what narrative to take.

It was already taking shape within the back of my mind, and if— if I went with this, I just hoped it wouldn't come off as too pretentious. To Cecilia, not the audience. I didn't give a crap about the audience. Less than forty-eight hours remained until the battle. I'd better make good use of them. — And I did. Time with my friends was put to the wayside these past few days, and although I still made time for Maylene, it was less than I'd wanted to have.

Sometimes I wished there were more than twenty-four hours in a day. There was a certain vibration in the air—a constantly beating drum hammering against my skin as the fated hour approached. I felt ready, or as ready as one could be considering the circumstances. But that was only for the battle itself. The knock-out stage functioned differently not only in its rules, but in every clash's importance.

This was when the majority of the viewers would tune in outside of the Lily, when so many battles would stop happening simultaneously. With fewer battles to cover, the media could zero in on the most compelling clashes and launch interviews on a massive scale. I was no stranger to attention after my time with Poketch, but that didn't make it any less aggravating. They were pushing a narrative now—spinning our old relationship into drama to juice their ratings.

Despite wanting to tell them to screw off, I was all smiles when what felt like the fiftieth microphone was shoved into my face on my way to the stadium.

"Ms. Pastel! Ms. Pastel!" a freckled, round-faced woman called out.

"I'm Regina with the Hearthome Herald!" She looked a tad nervous. Her eyes didn't know where to look and her hand was shaking a little—was it because Maylene was with me?

"Could you answer a few questions about the battle if you'd like?" And to think that Craig would set up literal press conferences for these. I gave her a smile and nodded, gazing at the massive camera her colleague carried on his shoulder. He was tall too, assuring that he'd tower over the masses to get a good shot of whatever was needed.

"Sure thing, but please keep it short. I wouldn't want to be late."

"Thank you! And of course!" she practically squealed.

"Now, plenty of networks have asked you about how you feel and what you expect, but we'd like to know what you expect from this battle? Besides a simple victory, of course." There was no way to delve deep into this question without unraveling all of our history, so I decided to keep the answer simple.

"Battling is my passion—there really isn't anything else that makes me feel the way this sport does," I said.

"So what I really want for today is for the both of us to come out of this satisfied no matter the result." It was a bit of a cop-out, PR answer, but it was the honest truth. A win or a loss here was secondary—this was my truest of goals. A few more questions followed, the most notable of which was the reporter asking me what I thought of Hearthome and if I'd ever decide to spend more time there before my departure to Unova.

She was probably looking to boost her city's reputation with my words, which was somewhat surreal, even after all of the fame.

"For our final question," the reporter said, "if you had one thing you wanted to tell your fans ahead of this pivotal moment, what would it be?" I paused for a second, hand reaching at Mimi around my wrist.

"I'd tell them that I'm happy they stuck around for so long, through thick and thin." My fist clenched. I was a murderer, violent, crazed, and eccentric, but they still remained. Despite us not interacting as much as we could have, I appreciated them. A legacy was what I wanted to leave behind.

"And that I'm going to etch this battle into Conference history." The reporter seemed to like that line—it would make a good headline, wouldn't it? The live feed was cut off soon afterward, and I finally allowed myself to relax, even if I still had an approachable look about me.

"Your opponent has been rather silent and is rather difficult to approach, so we appreciate your cooperation! If only she was like you…" Regina trailed off. My smile twitched, but the moment I opened my mouth, I felt Maylene's hand gently grab mine. She'd been sidelined in a lot of these interviews, so I felt somewhat bad for her, but she'd decided to brave them anyway to support me for as long as possible before we had to go our separate ways.

She'd be cheering me on as a spectator soon enough, but her presence was a blessing. Instead of making a scene wanting to say that neither Regina or any news network was owed anything, we moved on toward the towering stadium. I didn't take any more interviews after that.

"You okay?" she asked in a low voice. The fact that she was still holding onto my hand with so many people around was a testament to how much she'd been worrying.

"Your body feels tense." There was an unsavory joke to be made here but now wasn't the time.

"A little. This is important." I rolled my shoulders, trying to unloosen the metaphorical knots in them.

"I just want to be standing on that platform already." Maylene let out a soft chuckle.

"At least you're eager." A pause.

"I'm looking forward to it too, you know?"

"Hm?"

"To hear what you both have to say," she added. The stadium loomed ahead, a monolith of steel and glass that seemed to swallow the sky. Its sleek, curved walls reflected the overcast light, casting distorted images of the crowds gathering below. Massive digital screens wrapped around the upper levels, flashing highlights of both Cecilia and my earlier group stage battles, and occasionally our faces, including my horrid trainer ID picture I took at the start of the year in Sandgem.

Unburned, innocent, and clearly so, so nervous. Strangely enough, even if the option was available for a fee that was honestly paltry, I'd never wanted to change it. It felt like looking at a time capsule, the key to an easier time, which was the energy I would need to channel soon. Stepping inside and getting through the maelstrom of people at the entrance, I met my friends in one of the halls leading to the bleachers.

Everyone was here—even Louis had come around for the day, though from what I knew he'd stopped by to see Cecilia first. My parents too, even if they were a little separated from the group due to the age gap. Marley seemed to be talking to them a bunch, though. Lauren was off to the side with her headphones scrolling through her phone, most likely listening to music.

Mira was chatting and catching up with Denzel, Pauline, and Emi—seeing her and Pauline talk amicably was a sight I would have thought impossible a few months ago. They all had words to say, whether that be good luck, or quiet reassurances that were honestly quite welcome. Denzel clapped me on the shoulder with that familiar, easy grin, though there was something steadier behind it this time—an understanding of what this moment meant.

Mira's enthusiasm was like a spark, practically vibrating with energy as she rattled off encouragements so fast they blended together. Lauren nodded in the distance with a discrete smile. Pauline offered a quick nod, sharp and confident, her eyes carrying a fire that said win, because I know you can, not out of a desire to see Cecilia crushed, but out of genuine support. My parents gave me a warm hug and both said they were proud of me. The support made my heart swell.

Yes, this was my fight, but having people at your back was never unnoticed. Cecilia didn't have all of this support. She had Louis and Chase—but I was sure something must have felt like it was missing. Twenty minutes spent chatting, and it was time to go. Maylene cupped my cheek and whispered "go out there and have fun," in my ear, and I pecked her on the face quickly before running off.

Having all been built or renovated after the Final War, most of the League's stadiums had a similar inner layout despite minor differences like size or their outer layer. Where I was led by this League Trainer wasn't where I was accustomed to, but a shorter path that would lead to, according to them, a different waiting room. The halls quickly thinned, and soon enough it was just us two. The distant roar of the expectant crowd faded into a dull hum behind thick concrete walls.

Each step echoed faintly against the sterile, polished floors—an empty rhythm that felt louder with every turn we took. Then, a sliding door. Before entering, he fitted me with the usual lapel microphone.

"Now remember," he said, "you've got to walk out together."

"Huh?" He opened the door to a spacious lounge filled with comfortable-looking couches, snacks, and drinks lining the counters. My eyes darted toward the only other individual in the room. Cecilia had come dressed quite simply. Her tunic was loose and a dark gray while her trousers were flexible, a dark charcoal with reinforced stitching along the knees and sides.

Her dark boots were the most worn part of her attire almost in an artificial way—like how you could sometimes tell if someone had ripped their jeans on purpose or not. On her face was eyeliner with sharp, geometric shapes around the eyes—like winged tips that stretched farther than usual along with simple, bold golden eyeshadow. Her white eyes widened a smidge when she looked at me. I was, after all, wearing what I'd had on the day we met— truly met. Floaroma.

Baggy jeans and a wooly blue t-shirt the color of the sky. My hair tied in a ponytail from my run that very morning. Cecilia dipped her head, greeted me with a simple, smooth 'good morning', and grabbed a pack of cookies to munch on. Barely given enough time to think, the League Trainer ushered me inside. My legs felt a little stiff, but I managed to sit down on to closest couch, remaining in silence as the seconds passed by and the League Trainer left. How had I missed this?

When I'd watched the Conference in my childhood in the knock-out stages, the two trainers had always come out together, waving at the spectators for a bit before splitting up and walking toward their respective platforms. There was probably an email or message I'd gotten I hadn't paid attention to because of how engrossed I'd been in planning. Cecilia didn't seem surprised at all. I silently gulped and started to slowly relax. The room had a strange physicality to it.

It wasn't just tension, though that was there, thick and undeniable. Awkwardness, maybe, but something else lurked beneath it. Anticipation, perhaps. Whatever it was, it clung to the air like smoke—dense, lingering, something you could almost reach out and tear away. This wasn't like in the item store; there would be weight behind every word spoken before this fight. It was she who broke the silence.

"How are the others?" Cecilia asked.

"Oh. They're doing good; they're very excited, obviously." I didn't stumble over my words. It was strangely normal. I briefly went over each member of our old group. It was awkward small talk, but it was something, even if I felt like this would be so much easier in a Pokemon battle.

"Is Chase around?"

"He's finally taken a break from non-stop work and is somewhere in the stands. He complained about how much of a pain in the ass it was to navigate the island with so many people, but he managed."

"He does usually manage," I repeated with a few nods.

"It's a wonderful thing, to have his drive and spirit. I hope I channel some of that today." She crossed her legs.

"Are you nervous?"

"Kinda. You?"

"Deathly so. I feel like my body's going to explode," she laughed softly.

"But I'm looking forward to it." I mirrored her smile.

"So am I." An alarm blared above, telling us that it was time to get going. We stood together side by side as a timer counted down above the door from thirty.

"Remember when you'd just come back from Lakhutia and we explored the island together?" Cecilia reminisced, stretching and cracking each finger. I touched the Pokeballs at my hip.

"Hmhm," I softly said.

"We found a stadium much like this one, didn't we? I wish it was the same one."

"That's just like you."

"But I remember that promise," I whispered.

"I always remember." The doors swung open. A wall of sound crashed over us—cheers roaring, relentless, and deafening. We both smiled, raising our hands in unison to wave at the sea of faces beyond. Yes. I was ready. Just let me get to the battle already!