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The thunder of battle leaves a void in its absence, in which all other sound goes to die.
Blue’s voice is raw, but not raw enough to stop him from snarling at Red through the smoke.
Red, whose glare pierces back at him, hands falling to his sides. Hands he watched cut and cleave in his direction moments ago, painting a full-frontal assault in grunts and pants of breath. Hands that only cared for snatching his trophy.
In the pause, Blue relives the violence. The crashing of Blastoise’s hydro pump against Charizard’s hide. Its desperate roar as it plummeted to the ground, more pitch than growl, spawning a rippling tremor on impact.
His breathing fills his lungs quickly and without satisfaction. He anticipates revenge. For Charizard to get back up and shoot a flamethrower that scorches the air as it billows past his head, his heart racing to bear it again. Only, it never does.
With a final, heaving groan, Charizard collapses, zipping back into its ball, leaving Red to stare wide-eyed at the empty field. He drags his hat over his eyes, shoulders quivering before falling stiff, refusing to let his disappointment bleed into anything more than a growl.
He lost.
Blue’s mouth twists into a smile.
Of course this is happening, he reminds himself. Of course he’s the undefeated Champion of the Indigo League. This is the happiest day of his life.
“Hahaha! I won!”
Blue’s laugh tumbles out, drawing a leer from Red. Even if he lost, he doesn’t think he should have to listen to whatever’s about to pour out of his big, noisy mouth.
“I won!” Blue repeats, thrusting an arm. His point stops like a weapon at Red’s forehead, and he grins at how effective it is at making him freeze. “Looks like I was too good for you, after all. Don’t take it too hard. Between us, I was always the Pokémon genius.”
Red’s mouth dries quickly like sand.
“Anyway, nice try, loser.” He laughs again, with teeth. “I’m the strongest trainer in the world. As for you, eh… maybe you can open a Pallet Town daycare or something. Raise up all the baby Pokémon. Speaking of.”
His eyes stop over Red’s shoulder. His gaze withers in Blue’s direction before scoping the new, heavy set of footsteps. As if this day could get any worse.
“Gramps!”
Professor Oak smiles as he enters the chamber. His lab coat weighs on his shoulders and his eyes retain their sterile edge, looking tired to Red up close. The overhead beams cast shadows upon his face, making it gaunt the way Agatha’s was when she sneered his name along with his duplicity.
Rivals, she’d said. Until he turned his mind to books.
“Red,” greets the Professor, gaining a half-frown as his eyes dart from him to Blue. “I see you are here with my grandson. What a shame. Your face tells me all I need to know.”
He chuckles in his enigmatic way. Red muffles a sound and stares at the floor, feeling dismissed and forgotten.
“Well, Blue, when I heard the news, I arrived as fast as I could to see it with my own eyes.”
“That’s right. You’re lookin’ at the bona fide Champion of Kanto!”
He never hurries, Red notes. Not even for this.
“Then I believe congratulations are in order. You’ve grown up considerably since the day you left with Squirtle.”
“Eh, you can can-it with the mushy stuff. I did it all on my own, y’know. My Pokémon are lucky to have a trainer like me.”
Blue snorts and puffs out his chest, eyes flitting to Red in the pause. Red stares back, curling his hands to keep them from fidgeting. He doesn’t know why this moment should have anything to do with him. Not with Professor Oak blocking him with his back while Blue commands his attention in full.
“I suppose they are. The bond you share with them is demonstrable. There’s only one more thing for you to do. If you’ll come with me.”
Blue follows Professor Oak through to the Hall of Fame, unable to resist drinking in Red’s reaction one last time.
He expects that wave of giddiness he always felt running into him. Ambushing him on the outskirts of Viridian City on his way to the Victory Road gates. Matching his quick footsteps to the light of his torch in the Lavender Tower. Chasing his bright hat over a maze of cubicles in the Silph Co building.
The memory gives him a high, but when he sees Red now, hunched over and gripping his elbow, clinging to himself the way the shadows cling to his eyes, he just feels bored.
Why doesn’t he ever say anything? Why doesn’t he ever punch his opponents when they gloat at him? Why doesn’t he ever react?
Red watches him go, exhaling through his nose, his mouth a pressed, stubborn line. As Blue and Professor Oak vanish down the hall, he feels incongruent to whatever lies beyond it. No more basking in the Professor’s adoration. No more lagging behind Blue, top of the class, first one out the gate, easily traced by the things he left shattered.
Defeat thumps in his chest, and he sits with it, welcoming the silence that cradles his ears.
Blue struts into the Hall of Fame feeling light from every angle. The polished green tile shines like glass beneath his feet. A lone screen awaits him beyond rows of pillars that would crumble beneath the might of his team. When the Professor activates the computer, the room comes alive, illuminating rows of empty frames.
“Go on, Blue.”
He hmphs as he approaches the Pokéball loader.
And then, he hesitates.
It all happened so quickly. His final battle with Red, which even now rings in his ears. Collecting the gym badges from one flabbergasted leader to the next. The morning he nabbed Squirtle and took off from the lab.
One-by-one, he loads his Pokémon, watching as their faces fill the screen.
He expects a cackle to burst out of him the way it sometimes did when no one else was around, but there’s only a squeeze in his chest. Maybe it’s Gramps’ fault. Gramps, whose hand never squeezes his shoulder. Gramps, who never once says: I’m proud of you.
Something’s gotta give, he seethes. He’s just conquered the world. It’s time the world paid up.
“What next?” he asks, turning to his grandfather, sounding flat to his own ears.
“A Champion must defend their title. Often, that means accepting a post at the Indigo League. You’ll have the Elite Four at your feet. Think of it as your new home.”
His disappointment shows, because then Professor Oak bestows a smile that elevates years off his face.
“It is the highest honour. You must not take it lightly. Though, I must not have to remind you anymore.” He chuckles again. “Blue, it’s time you discovered life as the best and the brightest of your generation. From this point on, you must live as the man the world sees you. I have complete faith in your ability to do so.”
“Yeah, I’ll… show you.” Blue finds a smile, at last feeling that hand on his shoulder. “I’ll show everyone.”
There’s been no word from Red since his defeat.
Not that he ever announced where he was or what he was doing, but without hearing people rant about some kid in the next town who silently cleaned up their team, there’s no way to keep track of him anymore.
Still, Blue entertains the demands of the League.
His position is everything. He’s the pinnacle of strength. An overnight celebrity. A hero.
He soars to the peak of Indigo Plateau, entering into the Champions’ Chamber where they’ve installed a chair just for him. He finds it more exciting to pace through the room, catching the odd shudder of battle through the walls.
Most challengers fell to Lorelei, or if they were lucky, Bruno. It was exceedingly rare for anyone to get to Agatha. None ever made it past Lance.
He loathes them for being weaker than him, and also for leaving him here, alone.
The days start to merge together, and he invents new ways to break them apart. He lets a different Pokémon run loose in the chamber, rolling his eyes when it gives up on feeling useful to him and falls asleep. He makes outlandish requests for Sinnohan gâteau or Unovan burgers. He phones his sister at odd hours, almost desperate to hear the banal details of her life.
One night, he ignores the call when a challenger makes it to Lance.
“Does it matter? I’m not in the mood.”
Blue hangs up, rolls over, and lets unconsciousness take him.
The next morning, he’s intercepted upon entry to the League building, scoffing before the conversation even begins.
Lance’s talks are the worst. Plus, he loathes the way he looks at him; his dark eyes taut with sympathy, the crease of his brow unyielding.
He feels small in his presence, which is ridiculous, remembering how his Dragonites fell to him not so long ago. He could do it again now, if he wanted. Tear this whole mountainside apart, snapping trees like toothpicks and raining rocks through the air until his team crumbled to its knees and he remembered who he was talking to.
“Whattaya want?”
“Blue,” he says stiffly in greeting.
“Don’t tell me you lost.”
“It’s long over.” Lance blinks the battle away without further thought. “But your conduct is unacceptable if you wish to truly defend your title.”
“Hah. I’ll be sure to stand around uselessly next time.”
“I understand that for someone of your skill, this is a tough position to maintain. I do not envy you for the reigning title.”
Blue’s anger softens. Maybe he’s bored out of his mind, too.
“That’s why I wish to invite you to my training sessions.”
Oh.
“I get it.” His tone bristles and he scratches the side of his face. “You wanna force me to be more like you. Give me an attitude adjustment. Can’t have me makin’ the League look bad, so you gotta handle it covertly under the guise of friendship, right?”
“Blue,” he repeats. “A strong trainer needs the appropriate mental stimulation or your skills will suffer along with your reputation.”
“And what’s there to say about my reputation, huh?”
Like he cares what anyone thinks.
“When they speak of you, they refer to the young prodigy from Pallet Town who took the League by storm. What do you think will happen on the day you receive your first challenger and they’re met with someone who doesn’t want to be here?”
“If they wanted it more, they’d be in my place! They’d keep on fighting until they won. Ugh.”
Blue barges past, clawing away Lance’s cape, feeling his eyes on his back.
If anything had ever wounded him, it was the extent of his tolerance. He’s Mr League. He could conjure some excuse and have him replaced, albeit with someone weaker. Or they could simply return to their format without the Champion. He’s already got the trophy to prove it.
Maybe then he can hunt Red down for a rematch.
For now, he upholds expectation; arriving when he’s called, answering into microphones, counting down the hours in his chamber. He ignores the wild Pokémon on Victory Road, warming to the view of how his own adapt to the rugged landscape. They seem glad for the chance to scratch real dirt and spread their wings, even if the lack of battling leaves them confused.
When he clocks into the League, he discovers the art of smiling to keep idiots off his back. But Lance recognises burnout when he sees it.
“Are you still working on your Pokédex?” he broaches one day.
“That old thing? Nah, I’ve caught everything you’ll ever need.”
“What if I told you there was a legendary bird upon this mountain?”
“Eh, I’ve seen Moltres. Tracked it down. Only person who’d benefit from the info is Gramps, so I’ve left it alone for now. Maybe I’ll catch it when I run outta challengers,” he sneers. “Or maybe someone’ll boss up enough to fight me with it.”
Lance smiles back at him insufferably.
At the very least, he knows when to drop a subject. When talking no longer serves either of them and his meddling leads to smack-talk instead of evasion. The Pokédex, for whatever reason, is a thorny topic. So is his esteemed grandfather. So is the firestorm of a challenger who came after him, who fought without words and left the smoking ruin of his chamber without looking back. Message received.
One day, Blue’s patience runs out.
He hikes Victory Road to the perilously sheer cliff where Moltres made its nest, only to find it gone without a trace of smoke. His mind leaps to Red. He must’ve grabbed it, he thinks, heart jolting for the first time in weeks, wondering if he’ll see it again soon in a rematch. But his hope of a rematch fades between more weeks of silence. And Lance never mentions Moltres again.
In fact, Lance’s talks become far less frequent as he vanishes off to Johto for some undisclosed business. And for whatever reason, Blue resents him for that, too.
He admits it. He’s lonely. On top of lacking his usual purpose and drive.
Maybe this is what it means to grow up, he tells himself, and braces for another day of waiting.
Maybe that’s why Red is still out there running wild like a kid.
There’s no reason for Red to be taking his loss as hard as he is, Blue decides.
He needs some sense beaten into him. Or at the very least, a wake-up slap. And he’s in the right mood to do it.
It’s difficult to carve out time between his usual snooze in the chair and a week’s worth of interviews and photo ops; none of which have caught onto his attitude the way Lance warned they would. Still, he zips over to Pallet Town one afternoon, touching down before the lab.
To have any chance of finding Red, he’ll need information. Gramps was good for that, if little else.
The lab is as dull as he remembers it, a bright box of a building against the rustic houses and manicured gardens of his neighbourhood. Daisy will be upset with him if he visits without swinging by, but he shrugs away the thought.
The Professor is busy, warns one of the aides, but Blue sniffs and walks around him. He sits in his office chair, spinning it thrice and perching his feet on the table, narrowly missing his Krabby coffee mug. He overhears Gramps droning on a conference call through the wall. Something about a ‘Professor Elm.’ In New Bark Town. He’s probably too busy for his grandson, too.
Eventually, Gramps walks inside, stopping at the sight of Blue lounging around, tossing and catching one of the Pokéballs left on his desk.
“Blue, that’s not a toy.”
“Bulbasaur, right?”
“Bulbasaur is reserved for the next trainer who leaves Pallet Town.”
“Then I guess I’d better watch out.” Blue slants a smile and vacates the chair, letting him have it along with Bulbasaur. “Long time no see. I heard you were skipping off to Johto.”
“You’re well-informed.” Professor Oak gives a nod. “My trip will be research focused. You see, I’ve begun documenting the differences between Pokémon-hatched and trainer-hatched eggs. All evidence points to trainer-hatched eggs bearing friendlier Pokémon. They take instruction from us faster and work harder to preserve themselves. Isn’t that wonderful?”
He conjures a smile at the end of his spiel, and Blue blinks a little, feeling thrust back into the moment.
“And how are your Pokémon adapting to their new life?”
“They’re… eh. Hanging in there.”
“You would do well to keep them engaged between challenges. Or else you might find they take on their trainer’s lack of direction and fall to the next trainer they face. A powerful team demands a powerful mind.”
He knows, Blue realises, feeling his words die in his mouth. Gramps knows how isolating the job of the reigning Champion is. And he was happy to see him chained to it anyway.
“I thought winning would make them happy,” is all he says, and Gramps nods again, his eyes lending nothing to the validity of his statement.
“Then I suppose it is up to you to discover how to do that.”
“And what if I can’t?”
“You must.”
“Gramps, the League blows.”
He expects his outburst to rattle him, to offend him, to starve some real emotion out of him. But all Gramps does is sigh and hunch over his desk, knitting his hands together.
“The Pokémon League is a fast path to fame and glory. You have become a beacon in the eyes of trainers all around the world. An example to everyone who dreams of wielding the power to crush their opponents. A dream that died within me long ago.” He grumbles a sound. “We must learn to live with the choices we make. If you cannot make this life work for you, someone else will take your place.”
“Oh no, they won’t!” Blue snaps, his eyes, at once, sharp. “I worked too hard just to give it all away.”
“Ah. There’s my grandson.” Gramps lowers his hands, his approval laden in his tone.
Blue stares back at him numbly.
“Now, if there’s nothing else…”
“Wait.” He swallows. “You haven’t seen Red skulking around, have you?”
“I don’t believe so, no.” Professor Oak ponders the question like he might be talking about the weather. “Perhaps you might try asking his mother. I saw her out in the garden earlier today. She would be more than happy to hear from you.”
Along with Daisy, but he doesn’t mention her either, Blue notes.
“Ugh. The whole point of me coming here was so I don’t have to do that.”
“This is a laboratory,” he says impassively. “I’m equipped to answer questions about Pokémon, not gossip about our neighbours.”
“He’s not just some neighbour! He’s… you… you gave him everything.”
“Rest assured, Red is alive. Registering some impressive new entries in his Pokédex, I might add. Though I fail to see how this concerns you as Champion.”
So he knows about Moltres, too.
“Heh. Yeah. I guess you’re right. Nice chat, Gramps.”
Blue turns his back, jutting a wave, leaving the door half-open on his way out.
He pictures him immediately re-immersing himself in his notes, skirting around the dent left by his shoes. It’s an earned inconvenience for asking him to humiliate himself. Visit Red’s Mom? He’d rather arm-wrestle Machamp than set foot in that house again.
Everyone treats him like a problem, he seethes, boarding Pidgeot who steers without instruction. Like an idiot who doesn’t know how to swallow his boredom with gratitude. Like he hadn’t bumped Lance off his throne with only a fraction of his experience. Like he isn’t the king of their small, stupid world.
He’d rather arm-wrestle Machamp than set foot in the lab again, too.
On the doorstep of the Pokémon League challenge hall, Blue grins his way through another vapid interview.
The morning sun hurts his eyes, and he’s dressed in a tailor-made suit. It’s bold and shiny and cutting enough to send his name roaring beyond the borders of Kanto.
Dragonite statues line the pavement around him, which sees scant enough traffic to give the feel of an empty street. In any other town, there’d be tourists, cafés, trainers visiting with some other purpose than storming the Pokémon Centre and emptying the PokéMart, but there’s only one reason any of this infrastructure exists.
His title.
In the two years he’s held it, he’s gotten used to the grandiosity. A life of stylists, lighting teams, and manicures. A schedule of talk-shows, meet-and-greets, and advertisements for the latest Voltorb Energy drink. His own voice haunts him in the aisle of the Viridian corner store: now with added Electrode-lytes!
He refuses to travel by any other means than his own Pokémon. They snuck the odd battle whenever he ventured mountainside in plain clothes, leaving his opponents to wonder at the goliath they’d angered and string it together later, but without that, their lives were confined to a sandbox.
He knows how maddening that feels. It’s his fault, after all.
“What was the secret behind your rapid ascension to League stardom?”
“No secret,” he corrects, hands lingering midair as though to hold up the ceiling. “Training hard, battling everyone I meet, and pushing my team beyond their limits. Oh, and gettin’ enough beauty sleep to last me a millennium. You gotta earn it to reap the benefits.”
And my rival.
“You must have travelled far and wide, meeting all kinds of trainers, adapting to all kinds of strategies.”
“Yeah, it’s thanks to all my hard work without expectin’ anyone to clap for me!”
And defeating my rival, who I don’t talk about.
If he were still talking to Gramps, he’d probably hear bits and pieces.
Enough to know if Red’s still sharpening his axe. Enough to know whether or not Red’s still in the country. There’s a better chance he’ll knock on Red’s Mom’s door one day, but it’s hard to broach the subject of a son who, for as long as he’s known him, barely opens his mouth.
Daisy remains an untapped source of gossip. He supposes he’ll go to her when he finally loses his mind. She reminds him to keep in touch, but by the time he finds her messages, they’re submerged beneath a tide of more immediate demands. Like Growlithe adoption days. Or appointments with the media coach he keeps threatening to fire.
The interview ends with a smirk and a thumb denting his chest, promising to crush anyone who dares to take the League challenge with him at the top.
It’s what they all want to hear.
He has no idea how he manages to look so enthused repeating himself.
Months ago, Lance mentioned a Gym Leader opening at the Viridian Gym. After the news failed to pique his interest in the way he hoped for, he offered it outrightly, with a graciousness he spurned without hesitation. He seemed to think it would be good for him. A fixer-upper. A hands-on challenge. But he’d rather eat sand than give into a demotion.
The camera crew packs up hastily.
On his way inside the building, he ascends to the top of the staircase, chilling at the sight of some kid he’s never seen before. Dark clothes, bright red hair, and a glare to match a Marowak. There’s something deeply wrong with him. But more than that, he’s intrigued.
“What’s your problem?” Blue says, looking down his nose, high-heeled boots scuffing to a stop at his side.
“Get lost.”
Blue blinks, as though owed an explanation.
“I’m not here for you,” the kid dutifully explains.
“Hck?! Everyone’s here for me! Don’t you know who I am?”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re loudmouth, big-for-his-britches Champion Blue Oak.”
“You know it, loser. Welcome to my house!”
Before the kid can shoot him down further, the way his scowl promises he will, Blue throws his head back and laughs. He swaggers inside, whirling the door shut behind him.
The rest of the day passes harmlessly until he’s alerted of a trainer making it to Lance. His feet move without urgency to the crest of his chamber, where he sits and waits, one leg crossed over the other, fingers tapping the arm rest. He’s gotten better at handling boredom. It’s disappointment that stings him the most.
He hears a cacophony through the walls. Thunder. Rock slides. Hyper beams. His heart thuds in the silence, spiking when the light above the door flashes green, signalling to him that it’s showtime. He rises up, raking his hair and striking a pose, expecting to see the red-haired kid from outside and settle the score between them, only to balk at the sight of someone new.
Sports cap. Black hair. A red coat that clashes against the cold steel of the room. His trainers are stylish enough to stop the déjà vu dead in its tracks.
His voice chimes like a bell. “Hi, I’m Ethan!”
“Ethan, huh? Welcome to the Pokémon League,” Blue says, sounding dry to his own ears. “Sorry to disappoint you, but your dream’s gonna end right here with me. I was the first kid in the Kanto region to beat the challenge. They call me the Bright Champion. Ya wanna know why?”
Ethan blinks. He suspects it has something to do with his gleaming suit, but he says nothing, letting Blue have his moment.
“‘Cause when I get going, I burn up the room like a star.”
“I came all the way from New Bark Town! If my team can get me here, they can do anything!”
“The Johto League are a bunch of pushovers.” He loudly yawns. “Let’s see if you’re one of ‘em.”
The battle unfolds exactly the way everyone warned it would; with his heart barely in the match.
It’s not just that Ethan is powerful. It’s that his Pokémon match his every impulse. He crosses his arms, and they dig in their feet. He points, and they cut through the air, whipping up from behind, claws quick, elements quicker. They’re fast and determined the way a smalltown newcomer who has any hope of seizing the trophy ought to be.
Even then, he’s not as synchronised as Red.
When Pidgeot faints, Blue accepts it as a fluke. Then follows Rhydon. Then Arcanine. His frown blisters into a snarl, and he tears off his jacket, slicing the air, commanding his team with the tenacity of a cornered animal, but by then, it’s too late. He remembers this feeling. Watching Pidgey fall to an ember on the route to Victory Road. Watching Alakazam crumple beneath a body slam in the Silph Co skyscraper.
He misses it. The ferocity. The electricity. It all feels so long ago now.
He whittles Ethan down to Typhlosion, and loses to a thunder-punch that blows the lights.
Even Ethan looks stunned.
Blue huffs and recalls Gyarados before its body crashes flat on the ground, eyes shut, the corner of his mouth trembling, and for the first time in forever, feels something other than disappointment at everyone else.
He reopens his eyes, and sound and colour flood back faster than he expects. Maybe losing is a sort of mercy. Maybe losing means everyone will stop coming to him for promotions and brand deals and interviews at eight o’clock in the morning. And he can return to having a clear reason for being a let-down in Gramps’ eyes.
“Hmph. Congrats, kid, you aced it.”
Ethan scratches his head, adjusts his cap, and jitters a laugh.
“I used to watch your ads, y’know. Voltorb Energy: now in Shockolate! Always wondered if I’d ever reach your level.”
Blue scrunches his face. He despises that flavour.
“Heh, well in that case, you sure you don’t wanna join the League, pal?”
“I’m sure. I wanna do a lot more exploring before I settle down. Thanks for the offer!”
He can’t hate the kid. At least he knows what he wants.
“That’s too bad.” Blue blusters a sigh, stepping into neutrality like a new pair of shoes. “I’ll give you a pass for Mt Silver. Normally Gramps—Professor Oak writes them up, but in this case, I’ll see to it personally. Then I’ll walk you to the Hall of Fame.”
All who grew up in regional Johto and Kanto found Mt Silver hard to miss. The perilous snow-capped peak wedded their regions together, its road sealed off to all but researchers, those in dying need of a Pokémon Centre, and Champion-rank trainers. The Pokémon native to its foothills were vicious, getting stronger the further one ventured up the mountain.
Through the League staff, he heard gossip of a weird kid sniffing around there. None had any recollection of letting him through, and yet, whoever it was had no need of a pass. No need to prove himself in the eyes of the organisation tasked with keeping the public safe. A kid who flouted the rules as easily as he thrived in danger.
He figures this newest Champion has a better chance of catching the culprit, seeing as he won’t be chained to Indigo Plateau day and night.
On the day Ethan climbs it, he skates up its narrow waterfalls and steep cliffs, emerging from the darkness and into the cold. He follows a linear set of footsteps through the snow, and at the end, finds Blue in his fur jacket standing atop of the peak. His breath streams away in disbelief. If he hears him, he gives no indication of doing so.
Apart from the rumours, Blue has no idea what draws him here. Why its pull is so magnetic. Why its steps feel familiar to him, like he traversed them in a dream long ago, wedging his fingers into its cracks and inhaling its knife-like air. He scans the tundra, his eyes starved for colour between blanched logs, rocks, and snow, finding nothing.
In defeat, he nests his hands inside his pockets.
He feels tempted to stay. To abandon his post and never look back. He wonders if he could survive through the thick of a blizzard. If he would be capable enough to shoulder its sting and keep moving, one aching foot in front of the other, toward the promise of freedom. The sort of freedom that kept Red unshackled while he jumped the same hoops every day.
Ethan crunches to a stop behind him, hand outreached, wondering if silence might be his form of bleeding.
“Blue?”
“Tsk.”
When he flashes a smile, Ethan senses he’s witnessing something rare.
“Hey, Champ. I’ll get outta your hair. The whole point of a mountain is to get away from everyone, don’t you think?”
Blue steps off the airbridge with a yawn, mind skipping over the forests and fields that dotted the way to the tarmac as he narrowed in to land.
Back when he was ten, relations between the Leagues were in their infancy, so the idea that he would travel to Kalos someday with the blessing of the Indigo League felt impossible.
It was too long of a journey to take with his Pokémon.
Besides, if he’s going to be world-famous, why not see what first class is all about?
He splits with Lance at the airport, who nods solemnly and takes the train, ignoring numerous stares and whispers at his dark dragon get-up. He finds him far less annoying nowadays. He’s unwavering. Consistent. Even if his team feels archaic, and his kindness stems from some fatherly sort of pity.
Once he’s in Lumiose City, Blue trades his taxi for the sidewalk, passing art museums, cafés, and shopping strips. He turns the corner to glimpse the famed Pokémon Research Lab, which stops him in his tracks. Its swaying tulips and high arched windows feel a realm away from Pallet Town. Down the bustling Centrico Plaza, he eyes the crowds, view catching, heart skipping at every item of red clothing.
Coats, scarves, hats.
He’s not sure why he still thinks of Red.
He’s given up on the thought of him ever coming back.
With an ultimo latté in one hand, he swipes his key with the other, watching the Prism Tower spark to life from his king suite window.
The following day, he arrives at the stadium bright and early, over-tipping his fare, navigating past early gatherings of fans. Dark hair, denim jeans, Pikachu balloons. All of which accelerate his pulse. He’s sure the crowd recognises him from the hum of conversation and clicks of light as he strides through the barricades and into the checkpointed entrance.
The greenroom is buzzing with cameras, reporters, and trainers from all different regions.
Many of them flock together in pairs.
Two sharp-eyed Unova Champions. A taller and brighter Ethan, dragged around by Lyra, the new Viridian Gym Leader. He recognises Cynthia from Sinnoh, whose reputation commanded eyes throughout the room. She’s shadowed by a blue-haired girl and a boy with a cap that jolts his nerves for the hundredth time. As Lance arrives, he leaves to check into hair and makeup.
If he’s being honest, most of the competition looks puny to him. He hates the Red-like naivety in their eyes. And the nauseating way they cosy up to each other. Like they cared for each other beyond their rivalries.
Fresh from the dressing room, a microphone and portable set of lights are thrust in his face. He recovers instantly. Eyes steady, shoulders back. He could do this in his sleep.
“You’re one of two competitors from the Kanto region.”
“Yeah, I’m a pretty big deal,” he chimes with a reflexive smile.
“And how will you be making up the shortfall?”
He snorts. “There’s no shortage of talent where I’m from.” His eyes sharpen triumphantly. “I’m gonna show you all why they call me the Bright Champion. I’ll outshine every single one of these rookies and teach them the meaning of the word ‘master.’ Smell ya on the pitch!”
When it’s his turn to walk out, the stadium thunders to life. The sound clenches the air from his lungs, filling him instead with the kind of awe and wonderment he expected from the League as a child. His level of fame is astounding, even to him.
Chin high, he takes the pitch, facing down Cynthia, whose fortified self-possession forces a grin onto his face.
In the flicker of a window before he sends out Pidgeot, his mind jumps to his interview. He’s not the only trainer who cleared Lance. Yet, Lance was all he knew. All he had to represent his region, to join him on their shoots, to cry on if he received a bad call from home. If either of them fumbled, Kanto would look weak to the world.
I won’t lose again, he tells himself.
Not to Ethan, not to Cynthia, not to anyone.
Pidgeot dives onto Roserade, cleaving it in one fell swoop.
From the get-go, he’s stronger, faster than he’s ever fought on home soil. His mind races against Cynthia’s calm, leaving her scarce room to play, nor any room for him to showcase the flexibility his team was renowned for. The audience watches on, drowning them both in unbridled noise.
Cynthia stares through him as he leers back at her; teeth gnashed, eyes feral with anticipation, his sanity, threadbare. With Blastoise, he maintains his position, enduring an earthquake that shreds the battlefield and wedges its shell in a crevasse, rocking the spectators in their stands. Then, with breakneck accuracy, he directs a jet of ice that smashes Garchomp to the ground.
He basks in the win, panting soundlessly, sweat running cold down his temple.
The applause might as well be static noise.
“Hahah, I knew I had it all along,” he drawls to the camera waiting over his shoulder.
Cynthia walks off the pitch, her smile slight and impenetrable beneath the racket of people chanting Blue’s name, and his interview whisks him into the headlines.
Arrogant, some called him.
Peerless, others praised.
From the safety of his hotel room, he looks out at the city that made him legend. Its peaceful canal rides. Its sprawling late-night restaurants. Its twinkling lights. Every brochure in existence labelled Lumiose the City of Love. If he had anyone to talk to, he’d mention how violent it was at its core.
He whips out his phone, skipping past countless contacts, staring as he freezes on Red’s name and number. He tries calling it once a year. He’s been hoping to quit it, to stop counting down the months until he can hit it again within the confines of his own, made-up rule. But the harder he fights it, the deeper the urge sinks its claws.
He dreams of Red the way he remembers him; wide-eyed beneath the shadow of his hat, childish in a way he always feared would drag him under. And sometimes, of Red as a man, no longer knowing what he looks like, no longer knowing how he’d react if they came face-to-face again.
With a swallowed breath, he presses the button.
It rings and rings, and as usual, no one ever picks up.
Blue is talking with Gramps again.
It happened after a health scare. That was all it took. After one too many calls, he decided to pick up, eyes darkening as the Professor calmly spoke of his inheritance.
Even when Gramps was in the clear, the odd visit was all he could do to belay the terror that one day, he, along with everything else he knew to be familiar would be gone.
He’s put off this visit for the second time, at last deciding to come and see how important this new letter is. Some Professor Kukui guy, a total stranger, seems to carry some detailed knowledge of who he is. Maybe he really is that famous. Or maybe Gramps told him. He had to have done at least one thing right to achieve that.
He circles over Pallet Town before coming to land, its rocky shore and expansive rice fields unchanged by the years.
The distant sea swallows the spot where Cinnabar Island used to peak. He’d missed the spectacle from the Champions’ chamber, but Daisy rang to describe it in perfect detail. The sharp, quaking blast of something primal. A tall ash cloud. And the eerie stillness in the air as their neighbouring town was engulfed by magma.
The day he turned ten, he couldn’t wait to get out of here. Nowadays, he’s glad it still exists.
Blue touches down beside the lab, finding a little less room from the new benches and drink machines. He recalls Pidgeot and stares up at the lab’s beige exterior and singular arched window. It’s no Lumiose. And it feels far beneath him in his extravagant Champions’ suit. But there’s a quaintness to it, like the room his parents once slept in.
A nearby drink machine gurgles and clinks, shattering the peace.
Glaring, he jerks his head to the side, expecting to see some old crone who never left town or some vacuous tourist with a camera looped around their neck the way Daisy said they looked when they came sniffing around their house. But that’s not who he sees at all.
Blue stares long and hard, as though to pierce the illusion before him.
A bright red cap. A dated graphic tee. His hair, a dark nest of spikes. His jeans, weathered and worn from the knee down. With ringing ears and stolen breath, he wrangles his panic as the man outright ignores him. He bends and grunts as he retrieves his can from the shute, cracking it open for his Pikachu.
It’s a Shockolate! Voltorb Energy. Blue’s face contorts with disgust.
Eventually, the man acknowledges his presence with a jolt, his frown evaporating. When their eyes meet, there can be no more doubt. Those same eyes would kick down his door and charge him head-on the minute he lowered his guard. He trusts them about as far as he could throw him.
“You.”
Red stiffens, and for a fraction of a second, appears lost. Then, he points back at him. Decisively. Emphatically.
‘You.’
Blue permits him a minute to stare. Judging by the shock, he’s managed to escape any footage of him on television. It’s all new. All strange. He suspects he must be jealous of the ‘fit. Even if Red’s face makes his cheeks burn and his palms sweat.
Damn it, he thinks. This must look like a costume. I’ve turned into Lance.
“You’re back,” Blue announces, desperate to break the loop in his head.
Red simply nods, infuriating him further.
He wants to grab him. To seize his shirt and shake him. The least he can do is open his mouth and say something. Where the hell has he been? Why hasn’t he answered his calls?
“I don’t believe it.” He forces a laugh. “After all these years. You got a lot taller. Buffer, too.”
Red nods again, and Pikachu leaps off his shoulder to dispose of its empty drink.
‘You look good,’ he signs, giving Blue time to piece the gestures together.
“I always do.”
Red’s stare intensifies, but he gives nothing back.
There’s nothing to say about being Champion.
All he knows is waiting. How to crush hope. How to kill time. How to stare through lights with tearless eyes. How to summon a smile to outshine them. His Pokémon feel closer to him than ever through their bonded misery. Every victory feels hollow, every loss and failure multiplied by however many fans watch from the stands. If this is his best life, he never wants to discover what rock bottom looks like.
“Life’s been a whirlwind since I took the Championship. And there’s no sign of it slowing down. Heh, I probably did you a big favour when I took that trophy.”
With deliberation, Red’s frown grows back.
‘How are you?’
“Like you care.”
‘I do.’
Blue snorts. It’s their first interaction that hasn’t ended in a rung-out line and existential dread in years, so he’ll bite.
“I’m fine, obviously. Never been happier.” Two can play at that game. “And how are you, Mr Too-Lazy-To-Answer-The-Phone? What’s new with you and the zap rat?”
‘We travelled together.’
“Travelled where?”
‘The world.’
Just like that, he’s jealous of Red again.
“What about Kalos?”
‘I was there last.’ He smiles a little. ‘There were posters of you in the stadium.’
Blue balks at the image of Red in Lumiose not so long after he made his impression on it; glancing through its bustling avenues and packed cafés and throngs of sightseers. He wonders if, in the heat and noise of the crowds, Red searched for him, too.
“That’s ‘cause they’ve got good taste. Anyway, it seems you’ve been busy. Crawling from region to region. Swiping Moltres from under my nose. Show me what you’ve got!”
Red hums a sound and takes out his Pokédex.
Blue does his best to hold it together, but he points and splutters and swears through an entire catalogue of Pokémon seen only in books. Red is a beast. Somehow, he’s been at the bottom of the ocean, as well as high enough in altitude to feel his head spin. There’s an army in his pocket capable of wiping their town off the map.
He wants to hate him, but instead feels only fascination and longing. And even a tiny bit of fear. He crams the emotion away where it will no doubt eat at him as he tries to fall asleep.
“You sure are persistent, you know that.”
Red hmhs. He senses that’s the closest Blue’s ever gotten to praising someone.
“And just what are you planning on doing next?”
Blue cocks a brow, feeling the switch come on slowly. The tightness in his chest. The thumping in his ears. His pupils shrink with suspicion, and Red stares back quietly, neither moved nor threatened.
“Keeping secrets, huh? Then at least tell me this.” He sighs with the heft of someone no longer asking. “Why’d you give up the challenge?”
Red unfurls a breath.
‘I don’t need the League to be strong. And also. You were happy.’
“Happy?”
‘Yes. Winning the League made you happy.’
Blue blinks at him, unable to fight the cold trickling through his body. He vaguely remembers the day he won. Something about a wide retro screen in the Hall of Fame. And feeling invisible to Gramps once it ended.
“You think I don’t see right through you?” He scoffs to hammer in the impression of not caring. “Deciding to swing by your old town with your fancy new Pokédex? It’s… well, whatever. Just know, I won’t make it easy for you if you try to take over.”
‘I don’t want to take over.’ Red stirs a sound that twists something in his gut. ‘I want to go home.’ His hand falls flat from the final word.
Oh.
‘But… I don’t know if I belong here.’
Pikachu leaps up Red’s arm to pat his back, glaring at Blue over his shoulder.
He wishes he could hit rewind and tell himself to shut up. At least then, maybe Red would have some chance of answering his calls, and he wouldn’t be stuck here piecing together his next move like a general on the brink of defeat.
“Me neither,” he says unanimously.
Red blinks at the oddness of his tone.
‘Why?’
“‘Cause there’s nothin’ around here that needs me. Not like the League needs its Champion.”
He hmfs and says nothing more.
There’s no denying Pallet Town’s midday serenity. The fountain spatters and bubbles in the distance, the grasses spring back and forth in the breeze, and the too-faint colours of the houses, which stretch around them, encase them beneath the hot, gleaming sun.
But it’s not the way it used to feel.
Not when they were learning to ride for the first time, and Red came off his bike and ate dirt. Or when they were learning to fish off the rocks, the way their fathers once did, and Blue cast his line too ferociously and fell straight in. Not when they stayed up late together playing beat-em-ups at Red’s house because his mother let him do what he wanted while Daisy hunted for the telltale light beneath Blue’s door.
We’re too old, Blue thinks. I’m too old. We grew up too quickly.
“You should call my sister,” he says, forcing a chuckle. “She’ll get you up to date on all the latest gossip. I can’t stand it, but maybe you’ll get more out of it. And hey… you can call me, too. You owe me for all the times you didn’t pick up.”
Red’s whole face appears to brighten at once. He looks fractionally younger. Like the kid he once knew.
Blue knows he’s off the hook when Pikachu stops glaring.
That was easy.
He supposes he’d better get out of here before he wears out his welcome.
“Anyway, I’m here on business. Got some important first-class mail to pick up. I’ll smell ya ‘round.” He chances a smile without the teeth. “If you’re lucky.”
Red chuckles a sound and gives him a wave, bowing out, watching over his shoulder as Blue struts into the lab to collect his letter from Gramps. There’s a spring in his step and a spark in his eyes. He might even be happy. Even if he’s too caught up in his own world to notice.
Blue slaps the letter onto the table in front of Daisy.
He’s never been so insulted in his life.
Professor Kukui was off to a good start with, ‘Dear Mr Blue Oak,’ but the idea that he would uproot his life for some region that couldn’t even string its own Pokémon League together is ludicrous. If anything, they should be on their hands and knees. They should send him a dignitary. That way, he can laugh in their face and kick them out.
“What the hell is this?” he demands.
“A sea change,” Daisy answers, registering little surprise after reading it through. “A much-needed one.”
“I don’t believe this. Everyone wants me gone. Lance, Gramps… even you.”
“Nobody wants you gone. You’re being recognised for your skills. This is your opportunity to take them out into the world.”
He scowls, jutting his hip as he perches a hand on it.
“First, they want me for the gym. Now they want me in a tree! I’d call that a downgrade, I don’t even get a roof.”
Daisy giggles, immune to his dramatics.
“This Battle Tree sounds different from anything you’ve ever done. Aren’t you at least a little curious?”
That’s the problem. He is. Maddeningly.
The idea of hanging up the suit and jetting out of here to some tropical paradise with ferocious Pokémon sounds like exactly the sort of thing that could get his blood pumping again. He could trade the spotlight for the open air. Feel the bite of the road beneath his feet. All he’d need to do to hold his end of the bargain was battle strangers on the daily.
There was no trophy. No Elite Four to cut them down before he ever saw their faces or learned their names. Just fight. The way he’s always wanted to.
But what did Kukui know about sacrifice? About plastering his face all over the PokéMart for a fat paycheck? Did they even have PokéMarts on this overgrown island, or was he supposed to get his shopping air-dropped by some hapless Pikipek?
He reads the letter again in scathing detail.
They’re offering a house.
The League never gave him a house. They gated him in some fancy upper hall of the building, and his choice was to either sleep there, or return to Daisy’s house, where Gramps seemed to wander in to stock up on coffee beans. Infrequent enough to resent his absence and often enough deter him from wanting to stay.
He releases a bluster of air.
“Red’s back, by the way,” he drops, like it isn’t the biggest news of the century.
“Yes, I’ve spoken with his mother.”
Blue rolls his eyes. He should’ve seen that coming.
“He’s been having trouble settling down. He seems to feel out of place no matter where he goes,” she goes on, looking perfectly pinched in the corners of her eyes.
“Sounds like you care more about him than about my problem. Maybe you can start a life together and get married now.”
“Are you saying you would like a new brother-in-law?”
Blue groans. God. Is that the sound of her joking? Is Daisy messing with him now? Too many strange things have happened today.
Sensing his apprehension, she touches his shoulders, and all the bristle in him goes away, even as he struggles to meet her eyes. This shouldn’t work on him anymore. At least, not on someone competent enough to be carrying all of Kanto on his back.
“There’s no right or wrong path. You’ll figure it out. You always have. I believe in you, Blue.”
He loathes it when she says mushy stuff like that. But he supposes someone has to.
Back at Indigo Plateau, he combs the craggy hills steeping down into Viridian City from his window. Then paces in circles furiously brushing his teeth. And then, rolls into bed where he stares through the ceiling, thinking more about Red.
He tosses and turns, beating his pillow into shape like it might at last surrender sleep. He feels the first yearning, the first madness to trade places with somebody else. Since he laid hands on the trophy, they’ve been separated like some retributory cause and effect. Perhaps all he really wanted was to keep Red close.
Where would they be now if he’d lost their battle for the Championship?
The worst part is how everyone sees his unhappiness. No matter how bright he shines, it clings to him like a shadow, hiding in the dimples of his smile and the quiet ensuing every wrapped shoot. Maybe that’s why they all want him shipped off to some spit of sand in the middle of nowhere.
He wonders what Red would think about that.
About being marooned in Alola.
He turns once more and wraps the sheet over his shoulder, letting the memory of his rival fade to grey.
He holds onto the letter for a week.
With humourless eyes, Blue digs his fingers against his forehead.
Once upon a time, he promised himself not to do this.
The last time he knocked on the door of Red’s house must’ve been when he was still lugging around a schoolbag. It welcomes him with a walkway five paces long, its garden smaller than he remembers, alive with shrubs and azaleas. He searches for movement in the second-floor window, finding nothing before sucking a breath and rapping his knuckles, hitting the bell for good measure.
Red’s Mom answers first, greeting him with a smile. He mirrors it poorly and jams his hands in his pockets, unused to being perceived in plain clothes. Either way, he’s hoping for a brief visit. It’s his safest chance of not scaring Red off. She looks over her shoulder and calls her son over from the breakfast table, leaving them to collect her laundry.
When Red’s standing before him again, he fights to hold his stare. His mouth is flat, but there’s a forgiving softness in the rest of his face.
“Hey.”
Red mhs and dips his head in greeting.
“I’ve got somethin’ I wanna show you. If you’ve got a minute.”
The readiness at which Red nods surprises him, and he whips out his letter from Kukui. The Alolan seal catches Red’s eye; an embossed Oricorio framed by two hibiscus flowers in royal blue wax. Blue holds it out, glancing away, eyes stuck to the footpath below as he reads it over.
“It’s an invitation to Alola,” he explains, “for a project called the Battle Tree.”
Red’s eyebrows form a puzzled curve as Blue tucks the envelope back into his pocket.
“Lance is gonna take over for me. Like back in the old days.” He whips up a smirk. “Back when Agatha was shambling around and smack-talking Gramps to anyone who’d listen. Remember that?”
He opens then closes his mouth, eyelids narrowing, as though not believing what he’s hearing.
“Yeah, I’ve decided. I’m going.”
‘I see.’
“That’s not all,” Blue adds, hating that forlorn expression on his face along with this new, flighty adrenal feeling in his chest. “I came to ask… if you’d settled in yet.”
Red shakes his head. His mouth twists with disappointment.
‘I don’t know what daily life is,’ he confesses, switching to his hands.
Sure, a home-cooked breakfast is convenient, and he loves and misses his Mom, who no doubt missed him greatly in the aching years he was gone. But there’s little for Kanto to offer him now.
Apart from the Championship. Prying the title from Blue’s fingers, taking his place at the helm, sinking the cost of everything he gave up in order to keep the show running. Every one of his successes, a challenge to be overcome. He thought the spark in him had long since died. The pull he feels now tells him otherwise.
‘I could fight you.’
“You wanna get back at me for callin’ you a loser, huh.”
‘I’d win.’
“You can try. There’s a reason I’m big in Kalos! Why they’re still offerin’ my haircut at all their salons!” Blue laughs blithely, running a hand through his hair. “Before we go tearing up your front yard, how about listening to this? A counter-offer. From the Bright Champion of Kanto himself.”
There’s a whiff of nervousness to him, and Red stills, pausing his breath to study it.
“If you want, you can shoot for my title. It’d be a real piece of cake for you with Lance in the hotseat.”
He allows the temptation to linger.
“Or, if you’re lookin’ for your next adventure, whattaya say you tag along to Alola? I can’t guarantee the take-home pay. And when they write ‘tree,’ they mean an actual living tree the size of a skyscraper, if you can believe the pictures.”
For the first time, Red looks frozen with incredulity, unable to paint a single word with his hands, and Blue feels a little thrum in his heart.
“Well?” He folds his arms. “C’mon, spit it out. You can say no, by the way.”
Red clears his throat.
“Friends again?”
Blue twists up his face. Of all the first things to come out of Red’s mouth in a decade, it had to be something childish.
“You’re so embarrassing.”
He tosses his head to give the impression of not wholly craving his answer, and the last thing he expects is for Red to grab him. To take both wrists, his eyes warming the cold recesses of his mind that warned him this would never work. He squeezes him with the devotion of one who, for the first time, shares his vision, and all Blue can do is stare back, determined to kill the lump in his throat.
“It’s not too late,” Red tells him.
“After everything that happened, you really see the good in me, huh. Not the good everyone else sees when they want something.”
In typical fashion, he nods.
Blue’s gaze darts around before he catches him with a hug, half-blushing, half-prickling with resentment. A sound squeezes out of him. Of all the things Blue Oak was famous for, crushing displays of affection were not among them.
“It’ll be like I never left, heheh,” he promises in a way that makes Red frown and glance sideways at the back of his head. He feels the curve of his cheek, mistaking it for a smile, and releases him with a grin. “Better get packing, Slowpoke. Keep me waiting, and I might change my mind.”
Red hums gently in agreement.
He thinks of skimming the clouds of Wela Volcano on Charizard’s wings. Fishing for Wishiwashi in the island lagoons. Ascending Mt Lanakila under the watchful gaze of a Ninetails, content with nothing but the shirt on his back. He thinks of what it will feel like to share that with Blue. And suddenly, to him, Pallet Town feels too small again.
With matching leis, Red and Blue stroll out of the Hau’oli airport into a bright and balmy morning.
The air teems with the salt of the ocean, and the street brims with traffic: taxis, buses, Toucannon and Tauros ride operators. Without argument, Blue takes Red’s wrist, preferring to travel by Pokémon, even if this time his team has earned a break.
Red turns, studying him, the calm of his eyes and the curve of his mouth unable to be forced as he forks over more than enough Pokédollars to run them to the city. Their Tauros charges down the street, commandeering a lane of its own in a cloud of dust, and he cackles while Red grips the seat, eyes screaming for it to end.
Once they’re there, Blue tests Red at every street food vendor, only to balk at how many malasadas and manapuas he can fit in his mouth. He eats like someone who has no idea where his next meal might come from. Blue deduces that’ll come in handy when they’re stranded from the long shopping strips Alola was famous for.
They take the winding backroad to the Hau’oli Outskirts to meet Professor Kukui.
Blue has no idea what to expect. Whether he’s old and lame like Gramps. Whether he’s decadently stylish like the Kalosian Professor he saw on a holo-call to the lab one time. When Kukui emerges onto the porch of his home, a fresh face of a researcher with no shirt beneath his lab coat, Blue knows he’s in for something different.
The local kids swarm them like celebrities, despite being too young to know who they are and never watching a Voltorb Energy commercial in their lives. Blue discovers he has a knack for regaling them, even lacking in his extravagant suit. Red doesn’t. He shrinks under the noise, but clicks instantly with Kukui, who hands him a set of keys.
That afternoon, they race Lapras and Blastoise across the water to Poni Island.
As far as dangerous places to live go, it’s homely enough. Picturesque, with its rocky shores and verdant wilds. The Battle Tree is somehow bigger in person, and Red stands motionless before it, basking in the shade of the canopy.
When they reach the doorstep of their new home, Blue leaves his suitcase in the hall, centering himself in every room. A stone-floored foyer. Breezy sliding doors. Open windows to the beach. It’s a far cry from the cold, seemingly endless mountains where Kanto bridged into Johto. He could get used to this.
By the end of the week, the Battle Tree is in full swing, taking on tourists and elites alike. It attracts the Alolan Champion, who wins her skirmish against Red’s regular team. Lucky her, Blue decides. She gets bragging rights over his greatest rival and obstacle, blissfully unaware of the horrors he keeps stowed away.
Blue expects more of an adjustment period, but there’s a restlessness in his blood like he’s ten again. Waking up early. Training with Red after his morning stretches. Kicking water over him in the shallows, while their Pokémon cautiously sniff and acclimatise to each other on the sand.
News of the Battle Tree catches like wildfire, and soon, he’s challenging trainers from new corners of the world. Some even recognise Red.
It’s weird relating to him as his confidant. As his partner. No longer at each other’s throats. At least, not in a way that keeps him awake at night.
On a daily basis, he uncovers the time and care and effort of Red’s solo training. He’s lightning-quick. Unflinching. All his Pokémon ever do is shower him with love, and it fills him with the sort of jealousy that shoves a book into his hands. Blue begins grooming and pep-talking his team in preparation for the day they fight again, with every advantage stacked and no holds barred.
Until then, he decides he’s never leaving Red’s side.
It’s a warm, cloudless night when he calls Daisy from the beach near their house. He eyes his surroundings for the sandcastles people warned him about over on Akala Island. Just in case.
A bonfire roars at his back, while Red sleeps slouched onto his shoulder, his eyes groggy and head heavy after a long day of battling. He hadn’t been angry enough to move him, though if he gets any drool on his shirt, that can change in an instant. It’s not like he smells bad or anything. More like sea salt. And the sweet wood of the jungle.
“How’s island life?” Daisy asks from her sunlit reading nook.
“Can’t complain.” Blue takes a loud drag from the straw of his coconut drink. “This island feels ancient. The Pokémon hit like trucks, but it’s nothing we haven’t handled before. How’s the sticks?”
“We’re doing fine. I’ve started up a Pokémon massage business.”
“About time you started charging.”
She smiles and turns a page. “Have you remembered Gramps’ birthday tomorrow?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call him when we’re done exploring the ruins Red found. Decided to save ‘em for both of us. Maybe he’s scared. Big baby. But I guess there’s nothin’ to be afraid of when you’ve got the best back-up in the world.”
Blue checks Red’s breathing and the innocent calm of his face. If he’s eavesdropping, he does an excellent job of not giving it away.
“I’m glad you took the deal.”
“I think everyone is,” he says, allowing himself a yawn. “Call you again soon, alright, sis?”
“Alola, Blue.”
“Alola… laters.”
He hangs up the phone and ruffles Red’s hair, where his hand stays entwined. Sighing in tandem with one of his louder, grumbling breaths, he watches as the waves push and pull beneath the endless starry sky, wondering at the path laid before him. A path no amount of accolades and packed-out stadiums had ever prepared him for.
Kanto can keep its loyal cape-wearer of a Champion.
Just as Kalos can keep its image of him in lights.
The League was never his home, not in this lifetime, and the truth of that finally felt like freedom.
