The first step after a battle was getting our partners treated. The Battle Warehouse had an older healing machine, but Drake was content to let Cutter recover on his own, and after looking my knights over, I wanted to get the scratches on Tristan’s carapace checked out by an actual professional. I was pretty sure they were superficial, but when it came to caring for my partners, I figured safe was way, way better than sorry.
Drake didn’t begrudge my desire, if anything he seemed approving, so we left the facility to find the nearest Pokémon Center. Turns out, it was less than a block away, which made a good amount of sense. If you were going to create a centralized location for battling, you’d want it to be close to a Pokémon center, just in case.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when I walked into the building, but the interior followed suit from the exterior, which was to say it looked just like every other Pokémon Center I’d ever been in.
The only real difference was in the clientele. Instead of worried-looking housewives or young Battle Trainers, the denizens of this center were burly sailors and scowling dock workers. It was a little bit intimidating, but considering the side-eyes we got as we walked in, the scariest person in the room was behind me, so I strode forward with as confidence as I could muster.
In fact, I was starting to think that the unconscious feeling of intimidation coming from directly behind me wasn’t just my companion’s natural intensity. I turned to him as we lined up, and sure enough, he was wearing a thunderous scowl, and had sort of hunched in on himself. “Everything alright?” I asked, confused by his change in demeanor.
“M’fine. When you get to my age, you learn to hate hospitals, that's all.”
For the first time since I’d met him, I got the sense that Drake might have been outright lying to me, but trying to pry into it would have been awkward, so I let the falsehood pass. “I don’t really need a babysitter. If you’re uncomfortable, we can meet up later,” I offered, but the old sailor shook her head.
“The little one might’ve gotten hurt brawling against Cutter, and if he was, then I need to be here to be accountable, otherwise, I won’t hear the end of it, later.”
Before I got a chance to ask what that meant, the line moved forwards, bringing Drake and I closer to the counter.
I peered around the few people in front of us, checking to see if I recognized any of the nurses at the counter, and felt a shock run through me. I definitely knew at least one of the women working at this particular center today.
I pulled back, suddenly nervous, and eyed the door, considering my options.
This time, it was Drake’s turn to question. “You okay Fe? You look like a Shuppet just appeared above your bed.”
Before I could figure out how to answer him, and more generally what to do, someone else called my name.
“Fe, sweetie is that you?”
I felt a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine building in the back of my throat.
The crowd of burly sailors parted, because of course they did, leaving me with a clear view of my mom, fists resting against her hips, and not-so incidentally, giving her a clear view of me right back.
Of me, standing frozen, like a cartoon Nickit, caught in a spotlight.
I smiled weakly. “Hey Mom,” I said, offering a small wave.
I saw her eyes flicker between me, and the man standing next to me. To my surprise, her expression went from bemused, to something less benign. Thunderous might have been too strong a word, but it certainly came close to describing mom’s face.
“You didn’t tell me your mother was a Joy,” I heard the old sailor mutter next to me, voice coming out of the side of his mouth.
“It didn’t come up?” I whispered back. “Why is she looking at you like that?”
I heard the old man let out a hefty sigh. “Let’s just say, no one holds a grudge like family.”
-
Personally, I thought my Mom bringing Drake and I to a treatment room so she could interrogate us while she looked over Tristan was an abuse of power, but I wasn’t about to argue with her about it.
My littlest knight sat stock still on the sterile, white exam table, blinking Noctowlishly under the harsh, fluorescent lights. Mom poked and prodded at him, testing various metrics of health even as she barraged us with questions.
“You said your partner created these scratches, Champion Drake?”
The old sailor coughed, and I whipped my head around fast enough to catch a thunderous scowl on his face, before his mustache drooped over the expression. “Just Captain Genji now, actually, Nurse Joy.”
Mom spared the old sailor (who apparently was, until just recently, another region’s strongest Pokémon trainer!?) a sympathetic look. “Ah, my condolences. I hadn’t heard.”
Drake seemed a bit mollified. “Right, forget how isolated you lot are here in Ferrum. News takes a while to circulate to your region.”
“If it even arrives at all,” Mom replied with a shrug. She checked some sort of reading on one of the beeping devices in the room with a small frown, and then turned to us again. “And under exactly what circumstances did your partner cause this sort of harm to my daughter’s partner?”
The bushy white mustache couldn't conceal a wince, and I felt an urge to come to my sparring partner’s defense.
“It was in a training battle, Mom. Things got a bit heated at the end, since it was so close.”
“A training battle?” Mom’s pink eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “Captain Genji, why in the golems names’ are you in Ferrum, fighting back-alleys with overambitious pre-teens?”
Drake held his hands up in front of himself, as if to stave off an onslaught. “Firstly, it was a sanctioned battle,” he tried to explain.
Admittedly, he was a bit hard to hear over me saying “Overambitious pre-teen?” with as much offense as I could conjure, and maybe a small little voice crack.
Both adults shot me a look that made me want to wilt and also break something expensive. Before I had a chance to do either, Drake kept going, his voice rasping somewhere between irritation, and maybe a hint of chagrin. “Secondly, your daughter is a rather talented young battler, for whom that characterization is grossly unfair. And thirdly, I’m here on time-out, while the new champion decides if it's worth asking me to join their Elite Four.”
That felt like the sort of statement that should have been delivered in a more diplomatic way, and I knew Drake was capable of it. Was his directness bent towards a reason, or was he just too irritated with the circumstances to couch the reality of the situation in nicer terms?
“And so instead of doing whatever important political matter has surely brought you to our shores, you’re bumming around in a dockside battleground?” My Mom asked, clearly unimpressed.
The old sailor offered a shrug. “Your league slammed the door in my face yesterday. I’ve got an appearance at some small thing here in Techne tomorrow, and other than that, I’m trapped here for a week, twiddling my thumbs.”
My mom nodded, like what Drake was saying was making any sort of sense, but I was just left confused by the back and forth.
He must have noticed my befuddlement, because he deigned to explain. “I’m from Hoenn. There’s still bad blood, to this day, especially when you consider my specialty.”
My eyes widened with realization, but before I could accuse him of anything, my mom shook her head.
“He’s not a Draconid. He wouldn’t be allowed past the borders if he were. Still, Captain Genji is… politically divisive.”
I was a bit mollified, and I could see why Drake’s relation to our region could be thorny, considering the history. I felt a bit of natural revulsion in my own chest, that I tramped down on. The Hoenn of today had little to do with its historical masters, even if it allowed the remnants of those monsters to reside within their borders.
Still, the conversation so far had left me with more questions than answers. Unfortunately, the same was true for my Mom, and before I got a chance to ask any of mine, she fired off one of her own. “And what were you doing at this dockside battleground, Fione Alvida?”
Uh oh, full name. “My knights and I needed a place to battle, and I figured like the docks would be a good place to look for battles we could participate in officially,” I tried to explain.
My knights piped up as well, giving affirmative chirps from the side of the room, backing up my story.
I thought the explanation was good, but my Mom found the hole in it immediately, of course, “And why didn’t you tell me what you were up to?” And with that? the peaknight gallery fell conspicuously silent.
“It’s not really all that different from going to the beach to hunt Wigletts, or into the woods to battle wild Pokémon,” I tried to justify.
“And the first time you did either of those things, we talked about it together,” she pointed out, far too reasonably.
There were other arguments to make, other excuses to give, but pushing any further would be lying. My mind flashed to a bottle of pink hair dye, stowed away in a bathroom cabinet. “I didn’t know if you’d have let me, so I didn’t ask,” I admitted quietly.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Drake nodded sagely, “Better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
My mom rounded on Drake, eyes flashing, And how’d that go with your niece, Captain Genji?”
The old sailor shrugged, “Just fine by my reckoning. She got a jet-plane for a partner out of it, and now she makes a killing judging gyms for the PIA.”
“And when was the last time you talked to your brother or his wife?”
At that, the old sailor’s expression darkened. He levered a sigh, “Point taken, I suppose.”
Drake’s shoulders were slumped, as if defeated, but I didn’t miss the way his timely comment had taken some of the heat off my back. It sounded as if his anecdote had given some perspective, and hopefully my gaff didn’t compare to whatever mysterious circumstance had estranged Drake from his sibling.
“Sorry, Mom,” I spoke up, dragging her attention back to me. “I just really wanted to get a chance to participate in a real battle with my partners. I was too eager, I should have talked to you about it first.”
Our tag-team was effective, and Mom seemed at least a little mollified. “We’ll talk about it later. This should be a family conversation.”
It sounded like I was still on the hook, but she wasn’t spitting mad, which seemed like a victory.
Drake coughed, and my Mom shot him a look. “‘Family’ family, Captain Genji, not ‘Joy’ family.”
He held up his hands again. “Fair enough. How’s the little one, by the way? Everything check out?”
I blinked a couple of times. Had my Mom been caring for Tristan through that entire conversation? I wracked my memory, and found that yes, while we’d been going back and forth, she’d been working the entire time.
“He’s fine. Exhausted, more-so than his brothers, so no training or battling for little Tristan for the rest of the day or tomorrow.”
My littlest knight sagged, but perked up again at her next words. “The scratches are superficial, and we could buff them out, otherwise they’ll set in the carapace permanently.”
“Lin, Links Link!” he exclaimed, initially talking too fast for me to understand.
I was finally able to catch his meaning after asking him to slow down a couple of times. Apparently, he wanted to keep the scratches, as a battle wound.
The idea got an approving cackle from Drake. “Looks like your little knight wants to keep his scars, Fe. Proof of a tough battle, right little guy?”
Tristan’s whole body rocked up and down in a sort of nod, and the rest of my knights seemed equally enthused with the idea.
“There won’t be any long term problems with leaving them?” I asked Mom. “They won’t cause any issues down the line?”
She shook her head. “New carapace will grow in. The scratches should mostly fill out, but they’ll always be a bit discolored if we don’t buff them down. It shouldn’t have any impact on the durability of his armor though. Purely superficial.”
My littlest knight looked at me pleadingly, eyes almost watery.
“Well I’d be a terrible partner if I denied one of my partners his hard-earned scars,” I said with a soft smile.
My words got a round of cheers from my knights, who went to crowd around Tristan, justling him and cooing over the scratches in his carapace. They really set him apart from his brothers. I could tell them all apart at a glance, but I knew other people struggled with it. Now, Tristan would always be distinct from his fellow troops.
“Well we should be all done for now,” my Mom addressed us,” unless you’ve changed your mind about your partner, Captain Genji?”
“He’s a bit new, wouldn’t want to cause a scene,” the old sailor shrugged.
Mom’s eyes widened, and then narrowed. “You mean you haven’t had him in for any sort of checkup yet?”
“I just caught him a few days ago, and he’s a young dragon, they’re touchy,” Drake defended himself. “He can hold on until I get a specialist to look over him, back in Hoenn.”
“Hoenn, which is notorious for its Dragon-specialized medical care?”
“We know how to handle our Dragons,” Drake said, perhaps a tad defensively. “Bagons, Swablu, Vibrava, we have a lot of native species.”
“And Axew?” Mom asked, eyebrow quirked. Drake blinked, apparently caught by surprise, and my Mom went in for the kill. “Recognized the claw marks. We have a few Rumbles that live around the Nest, and some dojos that keep lines for partnering.”
The Tusk Pokémon and its evolutions were actually pretty common participants in Ferrum battles. As common as any dragon could be, anyway.
The old sailor hesitated, then wavered, and finally conceded. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to get him a check-up, if you have the expertise.”
-
Unlike Tristan, Cutter had never been to a Pokémon Center, (and wasn’t that a slap in the face, caught only three days ago and we still couldn’t beat him) so Mom needed to run him through a few tests and examinations.
Drake stuck around for a few minutes to make sure his new partner behaved, but he ended up joining me in the waiting room before too long, probably exiled by Mom for hovering too closely. With a hefty sigh, he sat down, taking up the rest of the bench my knights and I had claimed.
For a moment, I could see the years on him, weighing him down, pinning him to his seat. Then, he fortified himself, rolling out his shoulders, squaring his posture. A moment of weakness, and then the old man was gone, replaced again by the spirited master. “Well, lass, according to your Mom, you’ve got me for a couple of hours,” he let out a rueful chuckle. “I think I promised you some advice, right? Ask away.”
Because of course the cryptic bastard couldn’t just tell me what he thought I needed to hear. I had to pry it out of him, like trying to wring blood from a Geodude.
A dozen questions flashed through my head at once, but one rose to the top, both because it was a question I needed answered, and because I just couldn’t help poking the dragon. “I guess I’m a bit of a sore loser,” I admitted, with an anemic chuckle. It was both an explanation and an apology. “So my first question is, does it ever get easier?”
Drake’s eyes flashed. I’d definitely found a tender spot to prod. “Maybe for some people,” his grin was feral, and I got the slightest sense of what was boiling beneath the old master’s smile, “but not for me. Every loss, every single one, stings as much as the first.”
For a second, I thought I’d pushed too hard, and whatever was inside Drake was going to spill over. I almost leaned back, involuntarily, but I steeled myself, pushing back against the urge.
And then, the fire was out of him, sputtering, like dregs of draconic flames splashing harmlessly against a steel wall. “It can break you, if you let it,” he said quietly, after a few moments of silence. “Hollows out your guts and leaves you a husk of what you once were.”
I could see it. That bitter ash was still in my chest. I looked at the old master, bent, aged, cracked. How many losses had he experienced in his life? When was it too much?
Could I keep living with this feeling? Could I survive experiencing it a hundred times, a thousand? What would I look like, when I was Drake’s age? Would I be the old man, or the old monster? Which was Drake, now that he was champion no longer? “Is it worth it?” I finally asked. The only question that might get the answer I needed.
The dragon master sighed, and leaned back, eyes staring up at the harsh fluorescent lights built into the ceiling. He thought for a few moments, and then a few more, but I appreciated the wait, because when he finally said, “For those precious moments, when you’re at the top, it’s worth it. It’s all worth it,” I knew he meant it.
“How long were you champion for?” I asked him, trying to get more details.
“Fifteen years,” Drake admitted with a sigh,” but it feels like I just took up the mantle yesterday.”
It sounded like a long time. Longer than I’d been alive. Longer than most Ferrum League Champions lasted by a multiplier of five. But what percentage of Drake’s life was that? A fourth? A fifth? “And everything before that was spent trying to get there?”
“Oh, not all of it,” the old sailor shook his head. “There was a war, somewhere along the way, and a few years sailing, after that. I spent some time running a gym, and did a stint as a stooge. So let’s say twenty-odd years or so, of real, hard training.”
Twenty years of training. Of blood, sweat, tears, of victory and defeat. Almost twice my lifetime of effort. I’d never heard of a Ferrum Battler with a career that long.
“And what now?”
The old man shrugged. “The Stone brat would invite me into his Elite Four, if I got on my knees and asked, but I don’t need it. I could retire, live my life out on some island somewhere, or I could go rogue, become a wandering master and give sage advice to mewling hatchlings like you.”
I gave him a sardonic look, which only got another cackle out of the former champion. Compared to his earlier laughs though, the sound was anemic. His heart wasn’t in it. “I guess the real answer is… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do now.” The admission sounded painful, like it hurt him to say it.
It definitely hurt me to hear. I wasn’t sure why, but I knew I didn’t want Drake to tell me this. I didn't want to know that he didn’t have this answer. Maybe because if he couldn’t find it, what chance would I have?
“But you said it was worth it,” I said in a rush, somewhere between a question and a statement.
The old man turned to me, his gaze quizzical.
“Earlier, you told me it was worth it,” I hastened to explain, “and I think you meant it. I mean, you would go back, and do it all again, right?”
A few seconds passed. Drake looked me up and down, gaze sharpening. Maybe when he said it, he meant it, or maybe he just figured out the answer I was desperate to hear. Either way, I felt an intense sense of relief when he flashed me a grin with a little bit of fire, dredged up once more. “I would. Every single time.”
“So… why stop now?” I asked him, trying to drive my point home. “You’ve got a fresh new partner, and an opportunity to be part of this ‘Elite Four’, right? Why let it be the end? I mean, that wouldn’t be fair to Cutter, anyway. You promised him tons of battles, right?”
“I promised him I’d find someone who could give him those battles. It didn’t have to be me.” The old man clarified.
“But it could be,” I pushed. “You said he could be an elite someday. Don’t you want to see that potential through?”
The dragon master’s gimlet eye stared at me, and my knights. “You know, you’re not very subtle Fe. Nor as clever as maybe you think.”
“Do I need to be clever to be right?” I asked him. “And subtly is overrated. It doesn’t matter if your opponent can see your moves coming if they can’t do anything about them.”
“Is that your answer?” he asked me, one eyebrow raised.
“It’s an answer,” I told him. “I’m trying it out.”
The former champ looked me up and down, and for a second I was worried, terrified that he’d ask why it mattered so much to me. That I’d need to explain myself, face the doubts and fears worming around in my gut.
Instead, he grinned. “Fine then, let’s give it a try,” he pulled an honest-to-Arceus planner from a coat pocket, and flipped it open. “I’m stuck here until… next Sunday. This is my last stop on the ‘play nice’ tour until I return to Hoenn. I’ll help you and your partners get stronger, and you have my ear until then, to convince me.” He let out a dark chuckle, “That is, if you can get your Mom to believing that I won’t be a bad influence.”
I had thought this conversation was hard, like battling the old master all over again, but faced with that prospect, I was already looking back on it fondly. “I can’t make any promises,” I had to admit. “But… I’ll try my best.” After all, I’d have to be an idiot to let this opportunity go. A week of personal training with a former champion. I knew classmates that would kill for that sort of chance. I’d kill for that sort of chance.
“Good luck with it Fe. It’s not that I don’t believe in your odds… but I’m not exactly the most popular figure among the Joys, let alone here in Ferrum,” he chuckled, and stood up.” Let’s at least spend the time we’re guaranteed to have productively. They’ve got a yard in back. I’ll give you a few tips. No tests or games this time, captain’s honor.”
I followed the former champion behind the center, my knights trailing at my rear. Maybe the time crunch had heralded this change of attitude, but the straightforwardness was refreshing.
Still, I had a sneaking suspicion that the second I did convince Mom that I should spend the week training with Drake (should I prove capable of doing so), the old captain would go right back to his cryptic ways.
After all, by the man’s own admission, anything I learned from him was something I’d need to fight for. Understanding was to be taken, not given. What a frustrating answer.
