The restaurant was plush and warmly-lit, the air filled with spices and roasted meat, and Giovanni was in high spirits. A waiter stood over us, immaculately-dressed and presenting a gilded wine menu. We sat in a small, cozy booth, adorned with candles and a slightly obscene marble statuette of a Lucario.

"I'll have the grilled Magikarp, please," I said.

Giovanni laughed. "I appreciate the courtesy, Mr. Oak, but please do not restrain yourself to the cheapest dish on the menu. The braised Tepig here is quite excellent."

I nodded. "Thank you. The braised Tepig, then."

"And I will have the smoked Farfetch'd, with a side of Rowlet dumplings. And a bottle of that new Bounsweet cabernet - I've been dying to try it."

The waiter collected our menus with a bow, and bustled off. I turned my attention entirely to him, running through all the points I'd spent that afternoon reminding myself of. All that the Professor had told me of him over the years. He is well-spoken. He is courteous. He appreciates these qualities in others. He'll respond best if you're polite, if you're urbane and sophisticated and all that. Speak like you're twice your age. I'd spent half the afternoon reading etiquette guides on my Pokédex.

"So, Mr. Oak," he said, resting his hands flat upon one another, "I imagine you must have many questions. Where shall we begin?"

I admit, his presence was more intimidating than I'd expected. Not in a threatening way, mind - but to be seated across from a man of great influence and power speaking with you in such an intimate setting, was more than a little unnerving. I'd kind of hoped he'd have taken the initiative. I ran through all the questions which had been plaguing me during my afternoon wait in the Pokécenter - Nidoking had been pronounced fine, barring a few scars, and would be ready for travel by tomorrow morning - and settled on the most obvious.

"How's the Gym doing?" I asked.

"We will know when the structural engineers have completed their assessment. It could be open as early as tomorrow afternoon."

"Ah," I said, readying my carefully-rehearsed response. "A shame. I'll be setting off in the morning."

"A pity," he replied, smile broadening. "Please make sure to return soon. I do look forward to your challenge."

"As do I, Leader Giovanni." Proper titles. Deference. Follow his lead.

He nodded. "Then we understand each other."

"Indeed," I replied, inclining my head with a knowing smile.

Then I paused.

"Actually, no. I accept that my challenge has been declined, but I really don't know why. Is this to do with my father? I'm aware you two hate each other, but I don't want us-."

He waved his hand, laughing again. "Hate? Political disputes, my boy. There is no hatred in it, merely two great men who differ on some key issues. I assure you, I have nothing but respect for your distinguished father."

"Okay," I said, confused. "Then…why?"

"My boy, if you have one tenth of your father in you, then I am certain you can discern the reasons yourself. Your brother deduced my meaning the moment his challenge was declined, and pursued the issue no further. Rather, he requested an audience to pay his respects, and we had a wonderfully amicable meeting. He, incidentally, ordered the Tepig without prodding."

Yes, yes, Blue's a genius. We get it.

I took a moment to think it over, during which time the waiter arrived with our wine. He poured a glass for each of us, tilting the bottle one-handed from the base in a grip that was clearly physically impossible. I assumed a nearby Kadabra was keeping it from falling.

"Well," I said, "I did notice you receive very few first-ring challengers, even among Viridianites. Do you just dislike taking them?"

"That is part of it, yes. Now, why do I dislike taking them, Mr. Oak?"

Another moment of thought, piecing together what I knew of him. The immaculate suits, the dyed-black hair, the perfect inflection and eloquent manner of speech. His achievements, his status, his power. It was obvious, really.

"They're beneath your dignity. You're a member of the League Board. You were a leading figure of the war, one of the key negotiators of its end. You've got more money and political capital than all the other Gym leaders combined. You don't want to be seen making sure children know how to handle their Squirtles."

"And there you have it, my boy, all on your own," he said. "A man of my position can hardly be seen hand-holding kindergartners - even the particularly prodigious ones."

"But you do take some first-ringers, don't you?"

A nod. "I do. The League expects that I will accept some, and while I do not wish to have my standing diminished by these engagements, I absolutely cannot be seen to be avoiding them for the sake of image. So it is known in Viridian that I will be particularly harsh to low-ranking challengers, and geography mostly takes care of the rest. I rarely have to take overt action, as I did today."

"I understand. I apologise for placing you in that position, Mr. Giovanni." You weren't in the wrong. Apologise anyway. He'll appreciate it.

He shook his head. "It is no great bother. After you left, I directed my Rhydon to open a small fissure in a non-essential wall. The inspectors will come, assess that the damage is real but minor, and our operations will resume before the day is out. Consider it your first lesson from a Leader."

"My gratitude," I said, feeling nothing of the sort. Politeness, civility, etiquette. This is what he responds to.

"But," he said, a sly grin emerging on his face, "I will admit that your father does play some small role in this."

"Oh?" I tried to sound mildly curious.

He spread his hands. "You are the son of Professor Oak. Great things are expected from you. I am not Champion, nor am I of the Elite Four. I will not have the opportunity to engage you on the Indigo Plateau, but I would prefer to do battle with the son of Oak when he is near the height of his power. Given our shared history, it seems fitting that I should be your final opponent before the Tournament."

"So I had the reason," I said. "Just not the meaning."

"Quite. I declined not out of hostility towards the Professor, but respect. I have great admiration for your father, despite our disagreements on policy."

I nodded, trying to conceal my inhalation as I geared myself up for the night's real topic. "The Reclamation."

"The Reclamation," he agreed. "I understand that your father's position on the issue stems from a place of compassion. What I think he does not appreciate is that mine comes from the same. We have the same aims at heart, we differ only in our methods. You have not touched your wine."

I took a sip, remembering too late that I was supposed to swirl it around and sniff it first. I'd never been a fan of red wines, but this was so sweet it tasted more like the port that the Professor would break out when he had something to celebrate.

As far as wines went, it tasted delightfully unlike wine.

"It's very nice," I said, perhaps a touch dismissively. "But Mr. Giovanni, I have to ask. A place of compassion? You're exterminating Pokémon by the thousands. With respect, how can you call that compassion?"

"My boy," he replied. "The subject of the Reclamation is quite complex, and does not lend itself to trite simplification such as that. It is true that the Reclamation has caused - and yes, will cause - the deaths of many Pokémon. But your remark overlooks an unpleasant truth. Thousands are dying, yes. But thousands will die, one way or the other, regardless of what we do. The Reclamation aims to take the path of least disaster. It is terrible, but it is the burden of powerful individuals to determine how that must come about, that the bloodshed might be best mitigated."

I hesitated, wondering how far to press. I didn't want our first meeting to be marred by argument, but I needed to hear more than the soundbites. "Forgive me, Mr. Giovanni, I know it's considered rude to discuss politics at dinner—"

"But fuck you, give me a real answer?" he asked, his smile broadening.

I couldn't help it. I laughed. So did he, heartily. It felt wrong to be so mirthful with a man who had championed such a horrifying crusade, but he did have a very disarming charm to him.

"I wouldn't phrase it quite like that," I said. "But something along those lines, yes."

"It is fine," he said, waving a hand. "We are both gentlemen, are we not? We are quite capable of discussing grand issues without animosity. Besides, our food has yet to arrive - dinner is not yet begun."

Even as we were talking, I could feel the shift in myself. My speech patterns were growing more courteous, more flattering and carefully-chosen. My back was straightening. I'd worn the only dress shirt I had brought - a maroon affair that Daisy described as 'dashing' every single time she saw it - and even my internal monologue was becoming more polished. I was acting the part of a 'gentleman', but the act was internalizing so quickly it was becoming real. Was I being friendly to this monster just because it was the best way to get information, or because something so trivial as a smile and a refined accent had somehow caused my subconscious to regard him as a friend?

Was this face truly Giovanni, or merely a mask of his own?

"Mr. Oak, you are young, and I fear I must give you something of a history lesson. I do not mean to condescend, merely to explain."

"Of course," I said. "I appreciate that you have seen far more than me."

"Thank you," he said. He leaned back and opened a hand to the ceiling, a professorial gesture that radiated authority. "You are, of course, familiar with at least the generalities of the war?"

I was. Kanto and Johto had spent over a decade at war with one another - the twentieth anniversary of the Armistice was only a few months away. Both sides had suffered horrifying devastation, and an entire generation had been raised in the shadow left in its wake. No human alive hadn't heard of the horrors that it had heralded, or seen videos of the atrocities committed under its justification.

"I am."

"Yes. Yet, you did not know Kanto before it happened. You have only ever known Viridian as a fortress, not the peaceful city it once was. You have only known West Kanto as isolated and sparsely-visited, where once it was a beloved and included part of our nation. You have never known the wilderness as a place of peace and tranquility, only a dangerous realm to be avoided and guarded against."

He paused, and spoke more softly this time. "You have never known Rangers as custodians, only warriors."

That cut. He knew about my biodad.

He continued. "It was not always so. We have fought wars before, Mr. Oak. Always, they took a toll - on our people, our land, our Pokémon. But they always ended, and we always rebuilt. But when the Johtoans deployed the Bloom, they inflicted a wound upon our very world itself. One which does not heal, one which has left a terrible scar upon our land. We cannot restore it. We can only bind the wounds."

"And 'binding the wounds' means extermination?" Nope. Wrong. Too blunt, too accusatory.

He sighed. "Our Pokémon are not as they were, Mr. Oak. The Bloom made them far more violent and aggressive. Once, a person could walk Route One unmolested. Once, their populations stayed low and manageable. The Bloom drove them to reproduce at unsustainable rates, and now their desperation makes them bolder. Those berries of astonishing properties, which we now import from Johto? Kanto was once abundant with them. Now they are extinct here, many breeds lost forever. The wilds have been stripped bare, our orchards pillaged by hordes of starving Pokémon. Cities build fortifications to the skies, Rangers die by the dozen, our city guards have tripled, and it is still not enough. It is not enough. You object to our work, Mr. Oak, but I note you made sure to acquire a trained Association Pokémon before you dared venture out. Twenty years ago, a Fearow would never be so desperate as to kill a human child for sustenance. Now, it is a regular occurrence. Eight children, in Viridian alone, this very year. That is not among all Pokémon, Mr. Oak. That is Fearow attacks alone. I understand your concern, but this is not an extermination. It is a cull."

"But," I said, trying to maintain diplomacy as the first hints of adrenaline began to surge, "a cull is a reduction in population. You - the Reclamation - is killing all of them."

He shook his head. "Not all. Many we are capturing. But you are correct, all of the native Pokémon are being neutralized, in one way or the other. We cannot permit the genetic alterations wrought by the Bloom to persist in the wild population. If we do, we do not solve the problem. We merely grant ourselves a brief respite from it, and all the suffering we do inflict will be without purpose."

"But the ecosystem is built around their presence. It'll collapse if you remove them all."

He nodded. "It would. But every species of Pokémon in Kanto is also found elsewhere. We shall replenish areas with breeds native to the region as we go, imported from our neighbours. The morphological and behavioural differences are minor - our ecosystem will endure. What it cannot endure is the continued presence of so many contaminated specimens."

"I get that," I said. "Really, I do. But—"

"Do you, Mr. Oak? When I was a child, we could go out into Viridian Forest without fear. We could pick oran berries and concern ourselves only with an accidental Weedle sting, not a cluster of Beedrill. We could pet a Caterpie. We could watch that same Caterpie spin its cocoon in the autumn, and steal a kiss as it emerged in the spring. If we stepped on a Pikachu's tail, it would shock us as it ran, not leave a young woman with third-degree burns. By what right do we deny our own children the safety and wonder that we ourselves once enjoyed?"

The anger was beginning to grip tighter. He wasn't talking any more, he was speaking. I'd heard these words before, these carefully-rehearsed anecdotes. "But this is our fault," I said. "We did this to them. Humans. We mutated them, turned them into weapons for a war they had no part in, we can't then turn around and blame them for what they've become."

"No, we can't. We can blame them no more than we can blame a faithful Arcanine which has gone rabid. It is not the creature's fault, merely the result of terrible circumstance. But regardless of where blame lies, we cannot allow it to pose a threat to our loved ones. We must mourn its passing, and mourn it we do, but we cannot allow our resolve to waver out of compassion. What once was, is no longer, and we must accept that."

Stop accusing. Stop arguing. Present alternatives, work with him. "But there are other ways. They're working on a cure - just last week, they announced there'd been a breakthrough. And when they deploy it, there'll be no need for any of this."

"When, indeed, Mr. Oak," he said gravely. "I have been following the development of this cure with great attention. Your father's arguments are not lost on me. But the number of so-called 'breakthroughs' has become disheartening. Every month, we are told of some new revelation that will surely herald the end of the Bloom. And all the papers and the stations sing its praises, make wild promises of a new dawn that they know they cannot keep. And a few months later, it turns out they'd just tested it on a particularly timid group of Pidgey, or the Rattata simply hadn't been in heat, or it only works on five percent of an obscure breed of Oddish. But the media never talks about that, Mr. Oak, they never speak of the stalls and the sad reality, because that sort of news does not sell papers. If such a cure even can be synthesized, it is many, many years away from readiness. And every day that passes, another child dies at the hand of our beloved Arcanine.

"And perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps six months from now, Kanto shall be blessed with some miraculous panacea. And if that happens, I have no doubt that the efforts of the Reclamation will be decried by armchair historians, labelling it atrocity and abomination. And I shall be condemned as one of the worst villains of all history. But we do not have the benefit of their hindsight, Mr. Oak. We can act only on the information we have, and that information is without ambiguity. We must - regretfully - inflict this suffering upon our Pokémon friends, or face it thrice ourselves."

I opened my mouth to object, but he cut me off.

"And now, Mr. Oak, our dinner is arrived, and decorum requires we cease our talk of politics."

I might have objected, but I suspected the hypocrisy of arguing for the preservation of Pokémon lives while tucking into a roast Tepig would not be lost on him.

Also, it was delicious, and I was hungry. I'm human. Fight me.

But for all that he disliked talking politics over dinner, it was even more clear that he abhorred eating in silence. He spoke, his voice returning to pure civility, the edge that had crept in vanishing. "So, Mr. Oak," he said, offering me a Rowlet dumping, "what did you make of the contest this morning?"

"Jasper?" I asked, accepting it. "I only caught the end."

"When did you come in?"

"Start of the Sandslash fight."

"Ah, then you missed quite a spectacle. The previous duel lasted over ten minutes. It is difficult to fatigue a Golem, but his Golduck managed it artfully. I will have my aide send you a video."

"Mr. Giovanni," I said, readying myself for another bout of controversy. "I've actually been wondering about that fight."

"Yes?"

I took a pull from my wine, this time making sure to breathe it in properly. It smelled like wine. "Your Sandslash - what is it's name?"

"That one? Proioxis. Had her for six years now."

"Right. Proioxis. I'm not quite sure how to ask this…"

I paused. He made no move to reply, staring at me with a passive expression.

"Well. She was screaming. The battle - I know it turned out the other way, but at the time - it looked pretty lost. And you didn't intervene. Were you…without wanting to be rude, were you going to let her die?"

He snorted, his still face breaking out in amusement. "Die? You've been listening to too many stories about me, Mr. Oak. Proioxis was fine."

"But she didn't seem that way."

He shook his head. "Not to you. Not to, ah, Jasper. Nor to the Golduck, nor the audience. But she is my Pokémon, Mr. Oak, and this was far from her first fight. I am not in the business of sacrificing good Pokémon needlessly."

"You were shouting commands at her, and she just screamed."

His eyes lowered, and he contemplated me for a moment. "Mr. Oak, I would like you to run through the events that took place in that battle, precisely as they happened and without presumption. In the doing, if you would be so kind, try to pretend that I am a capable Trainer who wishes to keep his Pokémon alive, and not an insane reckless imbecile."

I winced. I sensed that this was the first time I'd truly offended him.

"Well. Your Sandslash - Proioxis - was rushing towards the Golduck. Er, what was its name?"

He shook his head. "I do not know. Continue."

"Right. Well, she was running towards him, dodging his attacks. She climbed up a tree, and she tried to jump at the Golduck, but the branch broke and she accidentally fell."

And just like that, it struck me. "Wait…was that an accident? Was it intentional? A trap, to lure the Golduck closer?"

A small smile. "No, Mr. Oak, that was not planned. The amount of planning and precision necessary to enact that sort of gambit would be unwieldy. The branch would need to be strong enough to hold her weight, but too weakened to take the jump. It would need to be for a very particular type of match-up. The opponent would have needed to be in that exact position, and in any event it would have resulted in my Pokémon on the lower ground, vulnerable to strikes from above. Which, if you will recall, is precisely what happened. So, no. Proioxis made a play, and it failed. Nothing more. She then adapted to the changing circumstances. Now please, continue."

Right. Obviously. "Okay. So she got hit, and fell. She curled up to protect herself against the water blasts, because Sandslashes are better protected from the back than the front. The Golduck kept attacking, but it was really careful about it. Didn't get too close—"

He raised an eyebrow.

"—well, tried not to get too close. Cycled through its attacks, making sure it didn't exhaust itself. And then you shouted an order at her, and she just screamed."

"And there, Mr. Oak, is the crux of your error. You have made a presumption, and had you been in Jasper's shoes, it would have been a fatal one."

I pondered it for a moment, but I couldn't see the assumption he thought I was making. He laid down his fork, focusing his gaze more intently upon me.

"Come, Mr. Oak. It is not that hard. Jasper grasped it in an instant."

I didn't really know, but there was only one leap that I could see I had made.

"That…wasn't a command?"

"Correct. What was it?"

Uh. "A…statement?"

He shook his head. "You are guessing."

"I am," I admitted, seeing no point to pretending otherwise. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

He sighed, resting his knife and leaning back from the table. "It was a question, Mr. Oak. Voiced to sound like a command. I was asking if she was injured."

"Yes," I said, jaw tightening. "And she screamed."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning she was in pain!" I answered, unable to stop the statement turning into an accusation. "Meaning she was hurt! She was a ground-type, being hit by blast after blast of water attacks! You asked her if she was okay, and she screamed, and you took that as a go-ahead?"

A flash of irritation crossed his face. "I will remind you, Mr. Oak, that we are presently seated with company nearby, and a certain degree of decorum is expected. I will further remind you that we are pretending I am not a callous fool, playing rough with daddy's Pidgey. The scream was an answer, Mr. Oak. A long-established response, intended to sound defeated, that communicated to me that her wounds were bearable and her lungs unscathed. She was telling me that she was fine to continue the battle."

"And if she hadn't?" I demanded, voice still raised.

"Had she remained silent, I would have withdrawn her immediately and conceded the battle. Do not give me that look, Mr. Oak - I am a Gym Leader, I am supposed to lose. I would have returned her, as I had five other Pokémon in that very engagement - or did you think I am having five graves dug tonight? Now, if you would be so kind as to compose yourself, we can continue this conversation - as gentlemen."

I took a breath, arms still rigid with tension. I exhaled slowly, and closed my eyes. "I apologise, Mr. Giovanni. That was…unseemly of me. I regret the outburst."

He inclined his head. "It is forgiven. But you must cease gauging me by the worst of my reputation. Or, at the least, you must try to appraise my actions through the lens of a rational man. A Pokémon of Proioxis' skill and power represents years of training. I would not toss away such an investment on a mere Gym battle. You forget that I spent many years at the forefront of the war - I do not discard valuable resources on such trivia."

"I know, Mr. Giovanni. I did not think."

He took a sip of wine, and picked up his cutlery. After a moment's silence and a few mouthfuls, a small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

"In the month leading up to the Tournament, I might face four eighth-ring challengers in a single day. Many of them will triumph. Even I could not long endure that sort of attrition."

"Of course," I said. "But Pokémon do die in Gym battles, don't they?"

He nodded gravely, finishing a bite of Farfetch'd before answering. "They do. The loss of Jasper's Golduck today was unfortunate. It was a Pokémon of great skill. It merely needed more seasoning."

My eyes shot up from the Tepig to him, shocked. He laughed.

"A poor choice of words. Conditioning, Mr. Oak. Jasper himself, I daresay, is quite ready for the League. I contemplated giving him the badge anyway, despite his loss - I do have that discretion. He saw through my ploy, he grasped the deception and dismissed it. Sadly, he had not drilled his Golduck with proper obedience. No combatant should ever turn away from the enemy without excellent cause, and Jasper's failure to instill that knowledge in his Pokémon cost that Golduck its life."

"Do you think he'll be back?" I asked.

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "He has great skill, and has lost Pokémon before. He will take the lesson to heart, even if he resents it in the teaching. Most Trainers who suffer near losses return - it is only when a Trainer suffers devastating defeat that they cease to pursue the Championship. He will be back, as will the Trainers inconvenienced by today's, ah, disruption. I must say, you did me something of a favour in that regard, Mr. Oak."

"Oh?"

"Yes. The girl who was scheduled to fight before you - she has shown considerable promise. I would much rather face her for her eighth badge than her seventh, and I am informed that she has chosen to go directly to Pewter rather than remain."

"Oh, right. Lapis."

He scoffed. "Yes. Lapis. Mew, what names you young Trainers have these days."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he waved me down.

"Yes, yes, I know. I mean no disrespect by it, Mr. Oak. In truth, I rather admire the sentiment. President Iwata told me he was quite overjoyed when he heard how his words had been taken to heart. But for an old curmudgeon such as myself, it does at times come across as a tad absurd. Not three weeks ago I engaged a challenger named Bubblegum, of all things. Last year, a sixteen year-old registered as Hickory, which caused me no end of amusement. Not that he had many options - the issue with this naming schema, of course, is that there really are only so many names that can be taken. Although you and your brother seem to have circumvented this issue quite elegantly, Mister Red Oak."

It wasn't anything I hadn't heard before. People of older generations were quite skeptical, even dismissive of the way Trainers had started taking on new names when they decided to enter the circuit. Many still bore grudges from the war, and they saw the outreach as naive and optimistic. When laws were passed allowing underage people to legally change their names, there was outrage. But Iwata's reconciliatory speech at the end of the war had been standard teaching in every school across Kanto and Johto, and it had resonated with a generation growing up amongst the wreckage.

Our two nations have enjoyed centuries of bounty, working with one another. We are strong, but our strength has not come from our quarrels and our fighting. Not through our wars, nor the devastation we have wrought. We are strongest when our arms are laid down. We speak loudest when our voices are calm. We see clearest when we look forward, not when watching over our shoulders. We are greater working in unison than we can ever be divided. For it is the orchestra of many instruments that plays the grandest symphony. It is the artist of a broad pallet who paints the most vibrant piece, and it is the orchard of many flowers that fills our lands with the most aromatic scent.

That speech had carried far and wide. The next day, a Kanto general had announced that she would take on the name of Emerald, that she might be one of the many paints Iwata had spoken of. She was followed quickly by Teal, Ebony, and Beryl. Then a minor Johtoan politician had taken Heather, and quickly the wave spread. Within months, whole cities had voted to change their names to Azalea, Mahogany, and Viridian. It was heralded as the start of a new age of unity between the two nations, and young Trainers had raced to join the movement. It was the end of division, the end of petty rivalries and national hatred, the elevation of our peoples as a whole over individual egos.

In an environment such as that, it takes a special kind of self-assuredness to choose the name 'Blue'.

"It was Blue's idea, really. I just tagged along with it."

"I wouldn't make that point too loudly, Mr. Oak," he said, wiping his mouth of the last of the Farfetch'd. "You both garnered great interest when you chose your names jointly. The two of you have a fantastic yin-yang dichotomy, best not to tarnish it."

"Right," I said. "Image."

"Image," he agreed. "But yes. Lapis shows great potential. She's been personally sponsored by Leader Misty, you know."

"Really?"

"Yes. Apparently, took a shine to Lapis' starter. A Lapras. Pity it died, but you know what they say - the sixth badge has the sharpest edge."

"Who was she up against?" I asked, a little thrown by how casually he'd spoken.

"Leader Sabrina. Young Trainers always have trouble dealing with Psychic-types."

"Damn," I said. Didn't know what else to say.

"Damn, indeed," he said, finishing his drink and rising. "And with that, Mr. Oak, our dinner is concluded. I would remain and chat, but I do have business to attend to. I wish you all the best in your travels, and ask that you keep an open mind regarding our politics. Do not worry about the bill, I am quite well-known to the establishment."

"Thank you, Leader Giovanni," I said, rising and extending a hand. "I look forward to challenging you one day."

He accepted the handshake with a smile, clasping his other hand over the top as we shook. "And I look forward to accepting it. Good night, Mr. Oak."

He began to leave, but paused after a few steps, turning back towards me. "Oh, Mr. Oak. I assume you'll be heading to Pewter next?"

"I will."

"Then you'll be passing through Viridian Forest. It's where the Reclamation has been doing most of its work so far - something of a proving ground, as it were. Please, do take the opportunity to take a look around, and see what has been accomplished. A first-hand look might do something to impress upon you the importance of what we have achieved."

"I'll do that. Good evening, Mr. Giovanni."

"Good evening, Mr. Oak," he replied. And with that, he departed, setting off to whatever business demanded the late-night attention of a former Champion.

Feedback is always appreciated - I am a believer that art must be criticized to improve.

I can be found on Twitter, under the username 'RadHominin'.

Chapter Six of Pokémon: The Line will be released at 7:30pm New Zealand Time (1:30am ET, 6:30am GMT) on Wednesday, December 14th.

"Where the Wild Things Were"