13: Flowers
WildBoots
Don’t underestimate seeds.
13: Flowers
When the tea leaves sank to the bottom of the tin mug, Chris grabbed it through his sleeve, turning the handle out toward Una, and announced, "Careful, it's hot."
"Hm?" She paused tying up her hair for long enough to cast him a sidelong look. "Oh. No, thank you. I do not wish to keep Cynthia waiting, but I appreciate the gesture."
With that she stood and swung her backpack over one shoulder, leaving Chris holding out a cup of tea for no one.
He hadn't forgotten about Cynthia—he'd been there when she'd told Una where to find her in the morning—but he'd thought he and Una would at least eat breakfast together like they always had.
Was this how she'd felt alone at their campsite every time he left to train?
Fumbling for a place to set down the cup, he hopped to his feet. "Do you want help finding the hotel? I could walk with you."
She gave him a lukewarm smile. "I can manage. Thank you."
"I don't mind."
"This time, I would prefer to be alone with my thoughts."
"Oh. Right."
"Thank you," she said again. When he only stood stupidly, she added, "Do you not have a battle to prepare for?" From anyone else, it could've been derisive. Instead, it was pitying.
"No, not until this evening."
"Then I am glad you have an opportunity to rest. You have worked hard."
Chris winced, sensing what she was too polite to say: finally, a break from knocking his pokemon around.
But successful trainers didn't take breaks, did they? They took opportunities. If Dad were here, he'd remind him to use this time to get Asagi and Thorn back up to speed after their stint in the pokecenter—and he wouldn't worry what Una thought about it.
No matter what Chris did, he was always letting one of them down.
"Actually," he ground out, "I might train a little."
Una nodded like she'd expected it, but her smile took on a wistful edge. "Then I wish you luck."
As she turned away, he called, "I'll see you later?"
She turned and his gaze, her eyes steady and warm. "Of course."
His heart hiccuped, stuttering along the path behind her even after he could no longer follow her with his eyes.
—
True to his word, Chris packed up his collapsible targets, treats, and other training supplies, then started toward the pokecenter to collect Asagi and Thorn. As he threaded through the crowded paths, his Bitflex buzzed with messages from the group thread with Grant, Elias, and Tara. Most of them weren't even important, just memes and video clips. He imagined slapping the smartwatch silent, like crushing a mosquito.
Then Tara pinged, Are you too cool to catch a show with us? Live bands at the forest stage all day.
That dulled his frustration, leaving him weary instead. He needed to make more of an effort for them. Why did it feel so hard?
Maybe they could keep him company while he trained—but he recoiled from the idea. He wouldn't get anything done with those three around. Instead, he conceded, After lunch.
With that, he turned toward the plateau's edge. The lift station was nearly empty this time; maybe everyone else was busy watching live shows. He and one other trainer rode down in silence, only acknowledging each other with a nod before splitting off in opposite directions.
A jumble of music spilled over the lip of the plateau, but it grew fainter with each step until finally there was nothing but cicada song and the swish of leaves. No eyes on the back of his neck, no small talk. Chris savored the quiet like a sugar cube dissolving on his tongue.
Releasing his team would mean giving up that quiet. So just a little farther, he decided, until he came to a suitable place. After all, Asagi would need water.
When the trees gave way to the rocky coast, hers was the first ball he reached for. The lapras materialized into the water with a trill and a toss of her head. Then, as her eyes focused and landed on him, she stretched for him to pet her snout.
"Hey, pretty girl. Nice to see you again."
As Asagi pressed her pebbled cheek into his hands, he smiled—until he spotted the dark, ragged ring of scars on the side of her neck. He'd done that to her.
She jerked her head out of his hands, and for a moment he thought he'd somehow hurt her again. But she only barrel rolled into deeper water, popping up again to splash in his direction.
He scrambled away from the water's edge, already wet but laughing. "Hey!"
The next wave she threw his way missed, scattering into rainbow droplets. He wasn't fooled: he knew exactly how far her reach extended. She could dump the ocean over his head if she really wanted to, but that wouldn't be in the spirit of the game.
When was the last time they'd played together?
Chris had planned for her to practice precision attacks, firing ice shards through ring targets set at greater and greater distances. He slid a target from his bag, springing it open and shut as he watched Asagi swim slow laps. It was a shameless attempt to trick him into letting his guard down. She'd settle down and get serious when he set up a few targets and gave orders, but ….
Instead, he tossed the target into the water, letting it land with a wet smack. Asagi was on it in an instant; she grabbed it in her mouth and flung it dutifully back to shore. When Chris retrieved it, he sent it flying back over the water like a frisbee. She let out a happy cry and tore after it in a spray of salt and foam.
Una had been too generous: it wasn't Chris who'd worked hard. He owed Asagi this. He owed all of them.
One by one, he released the rest of his pokemon onto the shore and left them to explore or doze in the sun. Whatever they wanted. While Slapdash shimmied up the nearest tree and Zip chased butterflies, the others began to take interest in Asagi's ring target. When Chris was too slow to throw it back, Pocky was the first to investigate, picking up the target in an invisible grip.
The two pokemon lobbed it back and forth a few times before Thorn cut in, snatching the target out of the air. With a sharp breath, Chris brought a hand to his belt, ready to break up the inevitable fight … but it never came.
Thorn circled a few times before dropping the target into the water for Asagi, who dove to retrieve it and start the cycle again. He'd never seen Thorn behave so nicely with the others before—and without a single command. When it was clear they didn't need him to keep the peace, he shuffled out of the way and found a place to sit.
Una was probably telling Cynthia her stories right now. He wondered how many she'd agree to share before she decided to leave again.
Past his pokemon, near the horizon, something flickered over the water. Chris jumped up, heart drumming.
Suicune?
No sooner than the thought came, he realized it couldn't be her. The shape lifted away from the water, and what had been maybe a mane became unmistakably wings. The bird pokemon drew closer only to wheel away again, giving his team a wide berth, then vanished once more into the blue.
With a sigh, he sat back down.
The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like an accident of fate that he'd encountered Suicune even once. Had they turned back to camp a moment sooner, she would've ran past without them ever noticing. All the trainers and all the trails in the wide wilderness, and somehow he'd been the one to stand in the right place at the right moment. It was more than he deserved.
Maybe if Una had been left to wander like she'd planned, she would've eventually found Ho-oh too, and he supposed that was exactly what she'd hoped for. She knew better than anyone that miracles happened—whether you wanted them to or not. This one would be the miracle she was owed: who else could answer the kind of questions she had but a god?
Chris had to admit that now he had questions like that, too. Why Una? Why him? And what about Dad?
The thought that Suicune might have known a side of Hiro Nakano that Chris never had was a pulsating wound. He didn't like it, and still he wished he could know who else his dad had been. But whatever knowledge Suicune might have was beyond his reach now. He didn't dare hope they'd cross paths a second time.
The worst part was that there was no one he could possibly talk to about all of it … except for Una, who wasn't here. Who was still going to leave sooner or later.
As his pokemon frolicked around him, distant as a video recording, a dome of loneliness settled over Chris. He flicked open his Bitflex contacts. He scrolled past Tara, Elias, and Grant in turn. Even if he trusted that they'd hear their phones right now, he wouldn't know where to begin. They couldn't take anything seriously.
Cynthia's contact leaped out at him next. He'd almost forgotten she'd given it to him—another otherworldly encounter he hadn't deserved. She was almost as good as a direct line to Una this morning, but he didn't dare interrupt them.
Had Una told her about Suicune?
There was no reason she couldn't. After all, their encounter had happened to her as much as it had to him. And what was the harm if someone else knew? What did it change? Still. Before Cynthia, it had been a moment that had belonged only to him and Una.
Well, he didn't need to talk about Suicune or even think about her. There was nothing more to say.
When he landed on Mom's number, he dialed before he could second-guess himself.
"Hi, honey!" Her voice came through in a distorted warble, the video frozen mid-frame.
"Hey, how's it g—?"
"I feel spoiled. Two calls in one week!"
"Hello? Can you hear—?"
"He-ll-o?"
"Just a second." He switched the video off entirely, then tried, "Can you hear me now?"
"I can, but your screen is dark."
"I know. The service isn't very good where I am. Should I try later?"
"No, you picked the perfect time! I'm just finishing my coffee before I head out to my Circle meeting."
"Circle meeting?" He couldn't tell if he'd heard correctly or if it was just the connection.
"Oh, sorry." Mom cleared her throat. "It's my peer support group. We meet to … share how we're processing our grief."
That one word plummeted straight to the bottom of his belly. He hadn't expected the conversation to swing toward Dad so quickly—though maybe he should've.
"At Circle we call it our grief journey. No badges but we do get some training, haha."
Chris was glad she couldn't see his face—he couldn't force a smile for her if he tried. "I didn't know you were doing that. It sounds … good?"
The line went quiet. Finally, she said, "It helps, a little. It's nice not to feel so alone with it."
He winced as he pictured her sipping her coffee in an empty kitchen: empty chairs with empty rooms beyond, empty teacups gathering dust in the very back of the cabinet. Of course she understood that Chris had needed to leave to follow the path he'd inherited, but he should've stayed at least long enough to help her box up the rest of what Dad had left behind. She didn't need all those reminders of his absence.
But he also hadn't wanted to be the one to remove Dad's things. He wondered if she'd ever gotten around to packing it all up without him or if she still lived among Dad's old clothes and toiletries like the curator and sole visitor of a lonely museum. Chris had never asked.
Even the thought was like lifting a rock and revealing what slithered and scuttled beneath, things that weren't meant for the light. Things he wasn't ready to see.
Maybe Mom wasn't either. With forced brightness, she said, "Anyway, I want to hear about you! I can only imagine what it's been like for you this week."
That was a sturdier place to stand. In a whoosh of breath, he said, "Yeah, it's been … a lot."
"It would be a lot for anyone."
"Maybe." This was still only the first round, meant to filter out the ones who didn't have what it took. Dad hadn't raised him to be one of them. "It's only going to get harder."
"You've got time to find your footing."
She wouldn't say it outright, but by her coaxing tone, even Mom knew he'd gotten off to a poor start. One outright loss, one narrow win—a technicality—and three matches left to go. He couldn't count on his opponents to mess up again.
"I have to win the rest. Simple as that."
Asagi's splashing and Pocky's low nickering as they played felt suddenly wasteful and loud. Chris wondered if Mom could hear them on her end of the line.
She piped up, "Next is the bird trainer, right?"
That caught him by surprise. "Right." He knew she'd been watching his matches when she could, but he hadn't expected her to research his competition. "Jessa something."
What had stood out most about her profile, apart from the birds, was that she wasn't from Kanto or Johto but Hoenn, some small town he'd never heard of. However, he had heard of Winona, which made Jessa's eventual goal obvious. Less obvious was whether she had the skill to back up her ambitions.
Her badges mapped a hopscotch path from Kanto to Johto and back, challenging the gyms that gave her birds the least resistance until she'd cobbled together a set of eight. From what little information her Indigo League profile offered, Chris couldn't say whether her team was flimsy, meeting the conference requirements only by cherrypicking, or whether this was her latest in a string of international conquests, gathered with brisk efficiency because she only needed to prove herself enough to reach the next competition.
Better to assume the latter.
Mom offered, "I guess that means you have an easy choice this time. Unless—were you planning to pick Kosho? What do I know."
"No, you're right. It'll definitely be Zip." Even though he was still recovering from a burn from the lanturn fight, Zip was the only choice that made sense.
"Then your odds are pretty good, right?"
Taking the elemental advantage gave a different one to Jessa: she'd be able to guess which pokemon he'd pick, but he still didn't know which of her birds he'd be up against. The altaria was by far the biggest threat, but she'd leaned hard on it in her first few matches; she'd have to let it rest eventually or risk injury. At best, that still left either the swellow, who might be able to outpace Zip, or the skarmory, who might be able to outlast him. And if she stuck with the altaria after all … it would mean trouble.
All he could do was wait and see. Shouganai.
On the other end of the line, Mom prompted, "What else are you thinking?"
"That's pretty much it. I can't do much until I know her pick."
"Sorry I'm not much help with strategy—"
"No, that's okay—"
"—but I'm always happy to listen. I know how important this is to you."
She wouldn't grill him the way Dad would've—she didn't even like battles—but she was ready to receive whatever he wanted to say. It was unfair how much kindness was offered to him by people who should be utterly sick of him. He was sick of himself.
"I'll figure it out. Thanks, Mom."
"I wonder …" For a moment he thought the call had dropped, but then she began again. "It's hard to see you so glum. Is it just stress about the conference, or is there something else?"
I'm fine, he wanted to tell her. She worried about him enough, and it was easier to lie to a black screen. But her voice held the assurance that all scrapes would heal if only he'd let himself be held.
So he admitted, "My traveling partner's probably leaving soon."
"Oh! I didn't realize you had one."
"It was sort of … unplanned."
If he'd had to watch the questions ripple across Mom's face, he might've stopped there. Instead, he stared toward the place where the sky met the sea and confessed, "We haven't known each other very long, but it's hard to imagine continuing without her after this."
"Oh," Mom said again, softer. "She must be a special person."
"She is." And then the rest tumbled out. "She's so unbelievably patient and kind. It's amazing, after everything she's been through. And, gods, Mom, she's so smart. She knows everything about plants. She can cook and sew and …."
It occurred to him that he was repeating the arguments Una herself had made when she first asked to travel with him. To think he'd tried to turn her away when all he wanted now was for her to stay.
"I'm sorry, honey. Did you have a fight?"
"I guess so. I did my best, but …." He sighed. "I let her down. She's had a hard time, especially here on the plateau. Battles really upset her—kinda like you, I guess. "
"Hm, maybe. The battles were never the hard part for me."
"Seriously? Mom, I've had to tell you when it's safe to look since I was, like, eight."
"Okay," she said with a chuckle, "I never loved it, but I didn't really mind as long as I didn't have to watch the nasty parts. I wouldn't leave your dad over that."
"I guess." Something in her delivery made him pause and replay her words in his head. "You make it sound like you were thinking about it."
"Well, yes, I nearly did. I never told you that story?"
Chris couldn't believe it. His parents had always seemed to him like the perfect team, a relationship others envied. He waited for her to laugh and dismiss it as a joke, but she didn't.
So he said, "Uh, no. When did that happen?"
"Oh, a long time ago. Before you were even a dream." Her voice carried a smile.
That mollified him somewhat, but he still couldn't believe she could be so casual about upending everything he thought he knew about their relationship. "Wait, so what happened?"
He heard her chair creak, the sound of her settling in for the long haul. "You know how he got the gym, right?"
That was story Chris knew. He'd heard it so many times he could repeat it nearly verbatim: "One morning, completely out of the blue, Old Bert came up to him with a box of badges in one hand and the keys to the gym in the other and said, Hold these for me, will you? And then he walked out."
Bertel had already been an old man when Hiro was a boy, but he hadn't shown any sign of stopping or slowing down by the time Hiro had become a gym trainer. He was, however, eccentric and known to leave the gym for long stretches of solitary training. So when Dad had glanced at the sidelines weeks later and saw him leaning against the wall like nothing had happened, he'd automatically unclipped the keyring from his belt and reached over the stanchions to pass it back.
But Old Bert had only smiled and said, "Hold onto them a bit longer."
"You sure?"
"Why, too heavy for you?"
Finally catching onto the game then, Hiro grinned and said, "No, sir."
"Then keep them until you're ready to hand them to the next kid."
By the time the League and the press had come to make the official announcement, Hiro Nakano had already been acting as the gym leader for a month.
Terrifying, Chris thought, but Dad had always described it with pride and a sparkle in his eyes. "When life gives you a golden opportunity," Chris repeated, "you have to seize it with both hands."
"He definitely did," Mom agreed, her words tinged with a bitterness that made Chris sit up straighter.
"We'd just gotten engaged a few weeks before that," she began, "and we were planning to buy a house. It was still very new and exciting. But when Bertel retired, it was like Hiro married the gym instead of me."
A protest rose to Chris's lips, but she had a rebuttal even before he spoke. "I tried to be patient, at first. Of course I knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for him, and it meant we could finally start saving money together. I wanted him to succeed.
"But eventually I couldn't wait anymore. I told him that if I was going to eat alone and fall asleep alone every night, I might as well be single. And I sure wasn't going to bring a kid into this world by myself."
Dad had never mentioned any of this. He'd told other stories, how the rest of Old Bert's gym trainers had left when they realized that door had been closed to them, how each of the other Johto leaders had come to test him. Chris hadn't realized his rise to gym leader of Olivine had come at Mom's expense.
"What did he say?" he asked, half-dreading the answer even though his own existence was proof of how the story had to end.
"Well, your dad didn't do anything halfway, did he?"
When she laughed, Chris relaxed.
"The very next day when I got out of work, a dragonite taxi was waiting for me."
"Fancy."
"Just you wait. Want to guess where we landed? The deck of the S.S. Anne. It was docked in Olivine for a single weekend, and your dad somehow got us dinner reservations. I'm still not sure how he managed it.
"And I'm looking around at all these candles and live musicians and women in gorgeous gowns, and and there I am still in scrubs and sneakers. But he thought of that too—he brought my nice dress and heels for me to change into. In the end, it was a beautiful night."
She went quiet after that, lost in the memory.
"So you forgave him?" Chris prompted.
"Well, eventually, yes. He promised to do better and he did. But it was also so like him to throw everything into a grand romantic gesture when all I really wanted was for him to be home for dinner." She laughed again. "I would've been happy with flowers."
Flowers. Of course.
Like a switch had been flipped, Chris suddenly saw them every direction he looked: bulbous purple ones along the path, delicate white peeking from among the brambles, and even tiny yellow ones sprouting beside his boot. Una would know their names and more.
He couldn't turn back time for her or change the world, but he at least could show that he cared. After that, maybe it would be easier to find the right words to make things better.
"Anyway, I'm sorry for taking over the conversation. I know that probably doesn't help your situation but—"
"No," he answered quickly, "I think it actually does."
—
He found Una already at the campsite, kneeling at the base of the tree, head lowered. Not wanting to interrupt her prayers, he stopped at the path's edge and waited with his bouquet held ready. After a while, she sat back on her heels, stared up into the branches, and giggled. It was only then that he realized she wasn't praying at all but holding something that gleamed in the sun.
He cleared his throat. "Hi, Una."
She looked up at him with a radiant smile. "Chris! You must come and see this!"
"What is it?"
As he lowered himself to the grass beside her, cradling the flowers, an echo of his own voice rose to meet him. "What is it?"
And then he saw what she held out like a holy talisman: a smartphone.
The voice memo app was open; she pressed play, and Chris's voice repeated again. Una gave a delighted laugh. "Can you believe it?" She tapped a different track and played the distant warble of birdsong. "It can copy anything! Is that not miraculous?"
It was, like so many things Chris had ignored until Una cast her light onto them.
Several thoughts crashed in his head. He could call her next time they split up! But then, would this rob Una of her wildness? Was it a step too far? Too late anyway: for better or worse, she'd already been part of the modern world for weeks.
So why hadn't he thought to get her a phone? That one at least had a definitive answer: her coat and backpack had already been a stretch on his budget. Even so, he wished he could've been the one to give her something that made her so happy.
The flowers he'd picked looked bedraggled by comparison. He wondered if he should toss them somewhere out of sight before she noticed.
But Una had closed her eyes, listening as a Cynthia's recorded voice recited a poem.
There lived a beast deep in the wood
Whose shape did shift if willed it would
To sleep, it shed the skin it wore
and lay down like any man
When it woke, it dressed once more
and left on hoof and claw again.
There was a gap between the Cynthia that Una had befriended, the one who handed out poems and phones like candy, and the one he'd watched on TV, who'd hacked and slashed her way to the top of the Sinnoh League. She was multifaceted, fine, but it bothered Chris that Una didn't even know the gap was there.
When the track ended, though, he couldn't bring himself to disrupt the peace in her face. Instead he offered, "It was really nice of her to get you a phone."
To his surprise, Una frowned as her eyes fluttered open. "Yes. I find it difficult to believe that stories are all she asks in payment. Back home, a storyteller might trade stories for thread or the use of a spade for an afternoon—small favors. But this …." She tucked the phone to her chest. "There is no comparison."
"You know, it's okay to let people do nice things for you sometimes."
"No." Una set her jaw. "A gift should always be repaid twice over or the debt carries into the next life."
With a pang, he remembered her distress when he'd given her the slowpoke. How did every single thing he tried to do for her end up so tangled? At least the Sinnoh Champion was no better.
So he joked, "I guess you should write that one down for Cynthia."
For a moment, he worried he'd overstepped somehow. Then Una gave him a smile that said they were still on the same team. "Yes, I suppose so. At this rate, it may take every word I have. She has also offered me a room at her hotel."
Of course she did. How else would she keep her pet protege close?
But he admitted, "You should probably take her up on that. You'd get a lot more space to yourself. An actual bed."
"I told her I did not want it unless she made you the same offer."
That did something funny to Chris's insides.
"Una," he spluttered, "You didn't have to do that because of me. I'm fine in the tent—"
With an impish smile, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a pair of keycards. "It is the building with three birds above the doors."
Tricolor Inn, famous for hosting extravagant afterparties for conference winners and finalists. Cynthia had gone all-out. As he accepted one of the keycards, he felt guilty for thinking uncharitably of her. She was generous—of course Una admired her.
All the same, he couldn't shake another uncharitable thought: was Una extending Cynthia's generosity to him because they were friends … or only because she wanted to repay her debts?
"What is that?"
He followed her gaze to the ragged bouquet that still lay across his lap.
"Oh, these are, um …. I just decided to pick them, I guess. I was sort of thinking of you." Face heating, he thrust the bundle at her.
She accepted the flowers with a strange look on her face. Instead of sniffing them like he'd expected, she unwound the cord that held them together and spread open the bundle. Then she laughed. "Oh, Chris. What am I to do with you?"
Tenderly, she plucked out a stalk of purple blooms. "This," she said, "is delphinium, which is quite poisonous."
A furious blush rushed down his neck and across his ears. "Oh," he managed.
"This too. Lantana. And this looks like bindweed, which I suppose is fine as long as you have no plans for a vegetable garden. What else? Ah, some sort of lily. For funerals."
"So, basically, poison and death."
"Well … yes." She covered another laugh with her hand. "Forgive me. I know you meant it as a kindness."
Chris drew his knees to his chest. "No, it's okay. It was just a dumb idea."
Una set a hand on his shoulder, light as a butterfly. "I will simply have to teach you more about plants." Her smile warmed him to his toes.
"I'd like that." Then, remembering her belief about repaying gifts, he added, "And maybe I can show you how to use your phone more."
"Please. I gratefully accept. But perhaps first we should claim our rooms."
Like so many times before, they packed the tent and straightened Una's stone shrine together before they left their campsite.
On previous trips with his parents, Chris had always stayed at the more modest Fieldhouse, so he was unprepared for the Tricolor Inn lobby, which featured both a fountain and three chandeliers: one with a train of blue crystals hanging nearly to the floor, one with jagged sprays of light winging out to either side, and one of twisted red glass and streams of live fire. For once, he stared while Una, having already seen it all, continued coolly to the elevators. She took the key to room 251, leaving Chris with 245, down the hall.
His room was as over-the-top as the lobby. The walls were balmy blue with painted-on ripples of light, making them appear to waver and warp. The effect was slightly dizzying. The king-sized bed was decked in rich blues, flanked on either side by cast bronze dewgong lamps. On the opposite wall hung a life-sized painting of water pokemon: starmie, golduck, and a dozen teeming others in the background. Misty's signature team, he realized. In the bathroom, even the soap bars were carved into Cascade Badge teardrops.
Maybe he should start keeping track of his own debts to Cynthia.
He wondered whether the theme was specifically Kanto gyms or if there were rooms for every single pokemon type. Then he decided he was simply grateful he'd been assigned a water room; a bug- or steel-type room might make rest more difficult.
He lingered only long enough to drop his backpack in a corner before returning to knock on Una's door.
"The rooms here are like theater sets," she said by way of greeting. "Is this what hotels are normally like?"
"Definitely not."
"I have seen many surprising things since I arrived, but this may be the strangest yet." She opened the door wider so he could peer inside.
Bedding in shades of brown and moss green. Exeggutor lamps. A painting of a vileplume and other plant pokemon among shifting shadows. Walls the dappled green of light filtering through leaves. It was the perfect room for her, the next best thing to sleeping under real trees.
She wondered aloud, "Why make a room that pretends to be a forest? Why not simply step outside?"
He laughed. "Good question."
Una smiled, and he felt again like they were the only two people who saw the truth of this crazy world. Like here, in the hotel doorway, was where he belonged. But of course he had other places to be.
"Hey, so," he began, "I told my friends I'd watch a show with them—you know, music and dancing—if you wanted to come …? There'll be plenty you could practice recording."
She shook her head. "I should at least attempt a story for Cynthia."
"Right. Yeah," he said with a sigh. "That makes sense."
"Perhaps later tonight?"
When she smiled at him, he couldn't help but smile back. "Sure, I can let you know when I'm done with my next— uh, when I'm free."
He showed her how to dial a call (when the ringer went off, she flung the phone away in surprise), then how to save his number. The only other contact, right below his, was Cynthia.
Her world was so small.
And yet Chris, with dozens of phone numbers within his reach, still hardly spoke to most of them.
Well, he was making up for that right now. With a wistful wave, he set off to find his friends, resisting the urge to look back at her. Only when he glanced at Una's name on his Bitflex screen did his smile return.
But as he passed through the lobby, he thought again how unfair it was, deceitful even, that Cynthia had paraded Una through a fancy hotel but hadn't mentioned how it was paid for. He'd never intentionally hidden his livelihood from her, and it felt wrong to allow Cynthia to lie by omission.
So he stopped beside the fountain and tapped out a hasty message: Does Una know you're a league champion?
He didn't expect his Bitflex to buzz with her reply only a moment later. It hasn't come up. Why?
Did she really have no idea why Una had planned to leave?
His next message bubbled up like acid reflux. Don't you know how she feels about battles?
As he hit send, release gave way to regret. Why had he done that? She'd been kind both to Una and to him—and he was nobody to her.
When it became clear no reply was forthcoming, he kept walking, trying and failing to put it from his mind. He'd made it to the main concourse by the time his Bitflex pinged with a sickening alert: New group message from Cynthia Lachlan and Una. Heart pounding, he flicked it open.
Why don't you both come to the panel tomorrow? I've added your names to the guest list. Then a link: A Conversation with Champion Lance and Special Guests.
Right. He knew how that would go. He pictured the crowd pressed around them, rapt and oblivious as Una dug her fingers into his arm. How they'd hiss with disapproval when she scrambled for the exit. How it would hurt to see her go, even though he knew it was coming.
This time, she wouldn't come back. Fool that he was, he'd as good as made sure of it: if not for Cynthia, what reason would she have left to stay?
And all he could do was type back a meek, Thanks, Cynthia.
When the tea leaves sank to the bottom of the tin mug, Chris grabbed it through his sleeve, turning the handle out toward Una, and announced, "Careful, it's hot."
"Hm?" She paused tying up her hair for long enough to cast him a sidelong look. "Oh. No, thank you. I do not wish to keep Cynthia waiting, but I appreciate the gesture."
With that she stood and swung her backpack over one shoulder, leaving Chris holding out a cup of tea for no one.
He hadn't forgotten about Cynthia—he'd been there when she'd told Una where to find her in the morning—but he'd thought he and Una would at least eat breakfast together like they always had.
Was this how she'd felt alone at their campsite every time he left to train?
Fumbling for a place to set down the cup, he hopped to his feet. "Do you want help finding the hotel? I could walk with you."
She gave him a lukewarm smile. "I can manage. Thank you."
"I don't mind."
"This time, I would prefer to be alone with my thoughts."
"Oh. Right."
"Thank you," she said again. When he only stood stupidly, she added, "Do you not have a battle to prepare for?" From anyone else, it could've been derisive. Instead, it was pitying.
"No, not until this evening."
"Then I am glad you have an opportunity to rest. You have worked hard."
Chris winced, sensing what she was too polite to say: finally, a break from knocking his pokemon around.
But successful trainers didn't take breaks, did they? They took opportunities. If Dad were here, he'd remind him to use this time to get Asagi and Thorn back up to speed after their stint in the pokecenter—and he wouldn't worry what Una thought about it.
No matter what Chris did, he was always letting one of them down.
"Actually," he ground out, "I might train a little."
Una nodded like she'd expected it, but her smile took on a wistful edge. "Then I wish you luck."
As she turned away, he called, "I'll see you later?"
She turned and his gaze, her eyes steady and warm. "Of course."
His heart hiccuped, stuttering along the path behind her even after he could no longer follow her with his eyes.
—
True to his word, Chris packed up his collapsible targets, treats, and other training supplies, then started toward the pokecenter to collect Asagi and Thorn. As he threaded through the crowded paths, his Bitflex buzzed with messages from the group thread with Grant, Elias, and Tara. Most of them weren't even important, just memes and video clips. He imagined slapping the smartwatch silent, like crushing a mosquito.
Then Tara pinged, Are you too cool to catch a show with us? Live bands at the forest stage all day.
That dulled his frustration, leaving him weary instead. He needed to make more of an effort for them. Why did it feel so hard?
Maybe they could keep him company while he trained—but he recoiled from the idea. He wouldn't get anything done with those three around. Instead, he conceded, After lunch.
With that, he turned toward the plateau's edge. The lift station was nearly empty this time; maybe everyone else was busy watching live shows. He and one other trainer rode down in silence, only acknowledging each other with a nod before splitting off in opposite directions.
A jumble of music spilled over the lip of the plateau, but it grew fainter with each step until finally there was nothing but cicada song and the swish of leaves. No eyes on the back of his neck, no small talk. Chris savored the quiet like a sugar cube dissolving on his tongue.
Releasing his team would mean giving up that quiet. So just a little farther, he decided, until he came to a suitable place. After all, Asagi would need water.
When the trees gave way to the rocky coast, hers was the first ball he reached for. The lapras materialized into the water with a trill and a toss of her head. Then, as her eyes focused and landed on him, she stretched for him to pet her snout.
"Hey, pretty girl. Nice to see you again."
As Asagi pressed her pebbled cheek into his hands, he smiled—until he spotted the dark, ragged ring of scars on the side of her neck. He'd done that to her.
She jerked her head out of his hands, and for a moment he thought he'd somehow hurt her again. But she only barrel rolled into deeper water, popping up again to splash in his direction.
He scrambled away from the water's edge, already wet but laughing. "Hey!"
The next wave she threw his way missed, scattering into rainbow droplets. He wasn't fooled: he knew exactly how far her reach extended. She could dump the ocean over his head if she really wanted to, but that wouldn't be in the spirit of the game.
When was the last time they'd played together?
Chris had planned for her to practice precision attacks, firing ice shards through ring targets set at greater and greater distances. He slid a target from his bag, springing it open and shut as he watched Asagi swim slow laps. It was a shameless attempt to trick him into letting his guard down. She'd settle down and get serious when he set up a few targets and gave orders, but ….
Instead, he tossed the target into the water, letting it land with a wet smack. Asagi was on it in an instant; she grabbed it in her mouth and flung it dutifully back to shore. When Chris retrieved it, he sent it flying back over the water like a frisbee. She let out a happy cry and tore after it in a spray of salt and foam.
Una had been too generous: it wasn't Chris who'd worked hard. He owed Asagi this. He owed all of them.
One by one, he released the rest of his pokemon onto the shore and left them to explore or doze in the sun. Whatever they wanted. While Slapdash shimmied up the nearest tree and Zip chased butterflies, the others began to take interest in Asagi's ring target. When Chris was too slow to throw it back, Pocky was the first to investigate, picking up the target in an invisible grip.
The two pokemon lobbed it back and forth a few times before Thorn cut in, snatching the target out of the air. With a sharp breath, Chris brought a hand to his belt, ready to break up the inevitable fight … but it never came.
Thorn circled a few times before dropping the target into the water for Asagi, who dove to retrieve it and start the cycle again. He'd never seen Thorn behave so nicely with the others before—and without a single command. When it was clear they didn't need him to keep the peace, he shuffled out of the way and found a place to sit.
Una was probably telling Cynthia her stories right now. He wondered how many she'd agree to share before she decided to leave again.
Past his pokemon, near the horizon, something flickered over the water. Chris jumped up, heart drumming.
Suicune?
No sooner than the thought came, he realized it couldn't be her. The shape lifted away from the water, and what had been maybe a mane became unmistakably wings. The bird pokemon drew closer only to wheel away again, giving his team a wide berth, then vanished once more into the blue.
With a sigh, he sat back down.
The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like an accident of fate that he'd encountered Suicune even once. Had they turned back to camp a moment sooner, she would've ran past without them ever noticing. All the trainers and all the trails in the wide wilderness, and somehow he'd been the one to stand in the right place at the right moment. It was more than he deserved.
Maybe if Una had been left to wander like she'd planned, she would've eventually found Ho-oh too, and he supposed that was exactly what she'd hoped for. She knew better than anyone that miracles happened—whether you wanted them to or not. This one would be the miracle she was owed: who else could answer the kind of questions she had but a god?
Chris had to admit that now he had questions like that, too. Why Una? Why him? And what about Dad?
The thought that Suicune might have known a side of Hiro Nakano that Chris never had was a pulsating wound. He didn't like it, and still he wished he could know who else his dad had been. But whatever knowledge Suicune might have was beyond his reach now. He didn't dare hope they'd cross paths a second time.
The worst part was that there was no one he could possibly talk to about all of it … except for Una, who wasn't here. Who was still going to leave sooner or later.
As his pokemon frolicked around him, distant as a video recording, a dome of loneliness settled over Chris. He flicked open his Bitflex contacts. He scrolled past Tara, Elias, and Grant in turn. Even if he trusted that they'd hear their phones right now, he wouldn't know where to begin. They couldn't take anything seriously.
Cynthia's contact leaped out at him next. He'd almost forgotten she'd given it to him—another otherworldly encounter he hadn't deserved. She was almost as good as a direct line to Una this morning, but he didn't dare interrupt them.
Had Una told her about Suicune?
There was no reason she couldn't. After all, their encounter had happened to her as much as it had to him. And what was the harm if someone else knew? What did it change? Still. Before Cynthia, it had been a moment that had belonged only to him and Una.
Well, he didn't need to talk about Suicune or even think about her. There was nothing more to say.
When he landed on Mom's number, he dialed before he could second-guess himself.
"Hi, honey!" Her voice came through in a distorted warble, the video frozen mid-frame.
"Hey, how's it g—?"
"I feel spoiled. Two calls in one week!"
"Hello? Can you hear—?"
"He-ll-o?"
"Just a second." He switched the video off entirely, then tried, "Can you hear me now?"
"I can, but your screen is dark."
"I know. The service isn't very good where I am. Should I try later?"
"No, you picked the perfect time! I'm just finishing my coffee before I head out to my Circle meeting."
"Circle meeting?" He couldn't tell if he'd heard correctly or if it was just the connection.
"Oh, sorry." Mom cleared her throat. "It's my peer support group. We meet to … share how we're processing our grief."
That one word plummeted straight to the bottom of his belly. He hadn't expected the conversation to swing toward Dad so quickly—though maybe he should've.
"At Circle we call it our grief journey. No badges but we do get some training, haha."
Chris was glad she couldn't see his face—he couldn't force a smile for her if he tried. "I didn't know you were doing that. It sounds … good?"
The line went quiet. Finally, she said, "It helps, a little. It's nice not to feel so alone with it."
He winced as he pictured her sipping her coffee in an empty kitchen: empty chairs with empty rooms beyond, empty teacups gathering dust in the very back of the cabinet. Of course she understood that Chris had needed to leave to follow the path he'd inherited, but he should've stayed at least long enough to help her box up the rest of what Dad had left behind. She didn't need all those reminders of his absence.
But he also hadn't wanted to be the one to remove Dad's things. He wondered if she'd ever gotten around to packing it all up without him or if she still lived among Dad's old clothes and toiletries like the curator and sole visitor of a lonely museum. Chris had never asked.
Even the thought was like lifting a rock and revealing what slithered and scuttled beneath, things that weren't meant for the light. Things he wasn't ready to see.
Maybe Mom wasn't either. With forced brightness, she said, "Anyway, I want to hear about you! I can only imagine what it's been like for you this week."
That was a sturdier place to stand. In a whoosh of breath, he said, "Yeah, it's been … a lot."
"It would be a lot for anyone."
"Maybe." This was still only the first round, meant to filter out the ones who didn't have what it took. Dad hadn't raised him to be one of them. "It's only going to get harder."
"You've got time to find your footing."
She wouldn't say it outright, but by her coaxing tone, even Mom knew he'd gotten off to a poor start. One outright loss, one narrow win—a technicality—and three matches left to go. He couldn't count on his opponents to mess up again.
"I have to win the rest. Simple as that."
Asagi's splashing and Pocky's low nickering as they played felt suddenly wasteful and loud. Chris wondered if Mom could hear them on her end of the line.
She piped up, "Next is the bird trainer, right?"
That caught him by surprise. "Right." He knew she'd been watching his matches when she could, but he hadn't expected her to research his competition. "Jessa something."
What had stood out most about her profile, apart from the birds, was that she wasn't from Kanto or Johto but Hoenn, some small town he'd never heard of. However, he had heard of Winona, which made Jessa's eventual goal obvious. Less obvious was whether she had the skill to back up her ambitions.
Her badges mapped a hopscotch path from Kanto to Johto and back, challenging the gyms that gave her birds the least resistance until she'd cobbled together a set of eight. From what little information her Indigo League profile offered, Chris couldn't say whether her team was flimsy, meeting the conference requirements only by cherrypicking, or whether this was her latest in a string of international conquests, gathered with brisk efficiency because she only needed to prove herself enough to reach the next competition.
Better to assume the latter.
Mom offered, "I guess that means you have an easy choice this time. Unless—were you planning to pick Kosho? What do I know."
"No, you're right. It'll definitely be Zip." Even though he was still recovering from a burn from the lanturn fight, Zip was the only choice that made sense.
"Then your odds are pretty good, right?"
Taking the elemental advantage gave a different one to Jessa: she'd be able to guess which pokemon he'd pick, but he still didn't know which of her birds he'd be up against. The altaria was by far the biggest threat, but she'd leaned hard on it in her first few matches; she'd have to let it rest eventually or risk injury. At best, that still left either the swellow, who might be able to outpace Zip, or the skarmory, who might be able to outlast him. And if she stuck with the altaria after all … it would mean trouble.
All he could do was wait and see. Shouganai.
On the other end of the line, Mom prompted, "What else are you thinking?"
"That's pretty much it. I can't do much until I know her pick."
"Sorry I'm not much help with strategy—"
"No, that's okay—"
"—but I'm always happy to listen. I know how important this is to you."
She wouldn't grill him the way Dad would've—she didn't even like battles—but she was ready to receive whatever he wanted to say. It was unfair how much kindness was offered to him by people who should be utterly sick of him. He was sick of himself.
"I'll figure it out. Thanks, Mom."
"I wonder …" For a moment he thought the call had dropped, but then she began again. "It's hard to see you so glum. Is it just stress about the conference, or is there something else?"
I'm fine, he wanted to tell her. She worried about him enough, and it was easier to lie to a black screen. But her voice held the assurance that all scrapes would heal if only he'd let himself be held.
So he admitted, "My traveling partner's probably leaving soon."
"Oh! I didn't realize you had one."
"It was sort of … unplanned."
If he'd had to watch the questions ripple across Mom's face, he might've stopped there. Instead, he stared toward the place where the sky met the sea and confessed, "We haven't known each other very long, but it's hard to imagine continuing without her after this."
"Oh," Mom said again, softer. "She must be a special person."
"She is." And then the rest tumbled out. "She's so unbelievably patient and kind. It's amazing, after everything she's been through. And, gods, Mom, she's so smart. She knows everything about plants. She can cook and sew and …."
It occurred to him that he was repeating the arguments Una herself had made when she first asked to travel with him. To think he'd tried to turn her away when all he wanted now was for her to stay.
"I'm sorry, honey. Did you have a fight?"
"I guess so. I did my best, but …." He sighed. "I let her down. She's had a hard time, especially here on the plateau. Battles really upset her—kinda like you, I guess. "
"Hm, maybe. The battles were never the hard part for me."
"Seriously? Mom, I've had to tell you when it's safe to look since I was, like, eight."
"Okay," she said with a chuckle, "I never loved it, but I didn't really mind as long as I didn't have to watch the nasty parts. I wouldn't leave your dad over that."
"I guess." Something in her delivery made him pause and replay her words in his head. "You make it sound like you were thinking about it."
"Well, yes, I nearly did. I never told you that story?"
Chris couldn't believe it. His parents had always seemed to him like the perfect team, a relationship others envied. He waited for her to laugh and dismiss it as a joke, but she didn't.
So he said, "Uh, no. When did that happen?"
"Oh, a long time ago. Before you were even a dream." Her voice carried a smile.
That mollified him somewhat, but he still couldn't believe she could be so casual about upending everything he thought he knew about their relationship. "Wait, so what happened?"
He heard her chair creak, the sound of her settling in for the long haul. "You know how he got the gym, right?"
That was story Chris knew. He'd heard it so many times he could repeat it nearly verbatim: "One morning, completely out of the blue, Old Bert came up to him with a box of badges in one hand and the keys to the gym in the other and said, Hold these for me, will you? And then he walked out."
Bertel had already been an old man when Hiro was a boy, but he hadn't shown any sign of stopping or slowing down by the time Hiro had become a gym trainer. He was, however, eccentric and known to leave the gym for long stretches of solitary training. So when Dad had glanced at the sidelines weeks later and saw him leaning against the wall like nothing had happened, he'd automatically unclipped the keyring from his belt and reached over the stanchions to pass it back.
But Old Bert had only smiled and said, "Hold onto them a bit longer."
"You sure?"
"Why, too heavy for you?"
Finally catching onto the game then, Hiro grinned and said, "No, sir."
"Then keep them until you're ready to hand them to the next kid."
By the time the League and the press had come to make the official announcement, Hiro Nakano had already been acting as the gym leader for a month.
Terrifying, Chris thought, but Dad had always described it with pride and a sparkle in his eyes. "When life gives you a golden opportunity," Chris repeated, "you have to seize it with both hands."
"He definitely did," Mom agreed, her words tinged with a bitterness that made Chris sit up straighter.
"We'd just gotten engaged a few weeks before that," she began, "and we were planning to buy a house. It was still very new and exciting. But when Bertel retired, it was like Hiro married the gym instead of me."
A protest rose to Chris's lips, but she had a rebuttal even before he spoke. "I tried to be patient, at first. Of course I knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for him, and it meant we could finally start saving money together. I wanted him to succeed.
"But eventually I couldn't wait anymore. I told him that if I was going to eat alone and fall asleep alone every night, I might as well be single. And I sure wasn't going to bring a kid into this world by myself."
Dad had never mentioned any of this. He'd told other stories, how the rest of Old Bert's gym trainers had left when they realized that door had been closed to them, how each of the other Johto leaders had come to test him. Chris hadn't realized his rise to gym leader of Olivine had come at Mom's expense.
"What did he say?" he asked, half-dreading the answer even though his own existence was proof of how the story had to end.
"Well, your dad didn't do anything halfway, did he?"
When she laughed, Chris relaxed.
"The very next day when I got out of work, a dragonite taxi was waiting for me."
"Fancy."
"Just you wait. Want to guess where we landed? The deck of the S.S. Anne. It was docked in Olivine for a single weekend, and your dad somehow got us dinner reservations. I'm still not sure how he managed it.
"And I'm looking around at all these candles and live musicians and women in gorgeous gowns, and and there I am still in scrubs and sneakers. But he thought of that too—he brought my nice dress and heels for me to change into. In the end, it was a beautiful night."
She went quiet after that, lost in the memory.
"So you forgave him?" Chris prompted.
"Well, eventually, yes. He promised to do better and he did. But it was also so like him to throw everything into a grand romantic gesture when all I really wanted was for him to be home for dinner." She laughed again. "I would've been happy with flowers."
Flowers. Of course.
Like a switch had been flipped, Chris suddenly saw them every direction he looked: bulbous purple ones along the path, delicate white peeking from among the brambles, and even tiny yellow ones sprouting beside his boot. Una would know their names and more.
He couldn't turn back time for her or change the world, but he at least could show that he cared. After that, maybe it would be easier to find the right words to make things better.
"Anyway, I'm sorry for taking over the conversation. I know that probably doesn't help your situation but—"
"No," he answered quickly, "I think it actually does."
—
He found Una already at the campsite, kneeling at the base of the tree, head lowered. Not wanting to interrupt her prayers, he stopped at the path's edge and waited with his bouquet held ready. After a while, she sat back on her heels, stared up into the branches, and giggled. It was only then that he realized she wasn't praying at all but holding something that gleamed in the sun.
He cleared his throat. "Hi, Una."
She looked up at him with a radiant smile. "Chris! You must come and see this!"
"What is it?"
As he lowered himself to the grass beside her, cradling the flowers, an echo of his own voice rose to meet him. "What is it?"
And then he saw what she held out like a holy talisman: a smartphone.
The voice memo app was open; she pressed play, and Chris's voice repeated again. Una gave a delighted laugh. "Can you believe it?" She tapped a different track and played the distant warble of birdsong. "It can copy anything! Is that not miraculous?"
It was, like so many things Chris had ignored until Una cast her light onto them.
Several thoughts crashed in his head. He could call her next time they split up! But then, would this rob Una of her wildness? Was it a step too far? Too late anyway: for better or worse, she'd already been part of the modern world for weeks.
So why hadn't he thought to get her a phone? That one at least had a definitive answer: her coat and backpack had already been a stretch on his budget. Even so, he wished he could've been the one to give her something that made her so happy.
The flowers he'd picked looked bedraggled by comparison. He wondered if he should toss them somewhere out of sight before she noticed.
But Una had closed her eyes, listening as a Cynthia's recorded voice recited a poem.
There lived a beast deep in the wood
Whose shape did shift if willed it would
To sleep, it shed the skin it wore
and lay down like any man
When it woke, it dressed once more
and left on hoof and claw again.
There was a gap between the Cynthia that Una had befriended, the one who handed out poems and phones like candy, and the one he'd watched on TV, who'd hacked and slashed her way to the top of the Sinnoh League. She was multifaceted, fine, but it bothered Chris that Una didn't even know the gap was there.
When the track ended, though, he couldn't bring himself to disrupt the peace in her face. Instead he offered, "It was really nice of her to get you a phone."
To his surprise, Una frowned as her eyes fluttered open. "Yes. I find it difficult to believe that stories are all she asks in payment. Back home, a storyteller might trade stories for thread or the use of a spade for an afternoon—small favors. But this …." She tucked the phone to her chest. "There is no comparison."
"You know, it's okay to let people do nice things for you sometimes."
"No." Una set her jaw. "A gift should always be repaid twice over or the debt carries into the next life."
With a pang, he remembered her distress when he'd given her the slowpoke. How did every single thing he tried to do for her end up so tangled? At least the Sinnoh Champion was no better.
So he joked, "I guess you should write that one down for Cynthia."
For a moment, he worried he'd overstepped somehow. Then Una gave him a smile that said they were still on the same team. "Yes, I suppose so. At this rate, it may take every word I have. She has also offered me a room at her hotel."
Of course she did. How else would she keep her pet protege close?
But he admitted, "You should probably take her up on that. You'd get a lot more space to yourself. An actual bed."
"I told her I did not want it unless she made you the same offer."
That did something funny to Chris's insides.
"Una," he spluttered, "You didn't have to do that because of me. I'm fine in the tent—"
With an impish smile, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a pair of keycards. "It is the building with three birds above the doors."
Tricolor Inn, famous for hosting extravagant afterparties for conference winners and finalists. Cynthia had gone all-out. As he accepted one of the keycards, he felt guilty for thinking uncharitably of her. She was generous—of course Una admired her.
All the same, he couldn't shake another uncharitable thought: was Una extending Cynthia's generosity to him because they were friends … or only because she wanted to repay her debts?
"What is that?"
He followed her gaze to the ragged bouquet that still lay across his lap.
"Oh, these are, um …. I just decided to pick them, I guess. I was sort of thinking of you." Face heating, he thrust the bundle at her.
She accepted the flowers with a strange look on her face. Instead of sniffing them like he'd expected, she unwound the cord that held them together and spread open the bundle. Then she laughed. "Oh, Chris. What am I to do with you?"
Tenderly, she plucked out a stalk of purple blooms. "This," she said, "is delphinium, which is quite poisonous."
A furious blush rushed down his neck and across his ears. "Oh," he managed.
"This too. Lantana. And this looks like bindweed, which I suppose is fine as long as you have no plans for a vegetable garden. What else? Ah, some sort of lily. For funerals."
"So, basically, poison and death."
"Well … yes." She covered another laugh with her hand. "Forgive me. I know you meant it as a kindness."
Chris drew his knees to his chest. "No, it's okay. It was just a dumb idea."
Una set a hand on his shoulder, light as a butterfly. "I will simply have to teach you more about plants." Her smile warmed him to his toes.
"I'd like that." Then, remembering her belief about repaying gifts, he added, "And maybe I can show you how to use your phone more."
"Please. I gratefully accept. But perhaps first we should claim our rooms."
Like so many times before, they packed the tent and straightened Una's stone shrine together before they left their campsite.
On previous trips with his parents, Chris had always stayed at the more modest Fieldhouse, so he was unprepared for the Tricolor Inn lobby, which featured both a fountain and three chandeliers: one with a train of blue crystals hanging nearly to the floor, one with jagged sprays of light winging out to either side, and one of twisted red glass and streams of live fire. For once, he stared while Una, having already seen it all, continued coolly to the elevators. She took the key to room 251, leaving Chris with 245, down the hall.
His room was as over-the-top as the lobby. The walls were balmy blue with painted-on ripples of light, making them appear to waver and warp. The effect was slightly dizzying. The king-sized bed was decked in rich blues, flanked on either side by cast bronze dewgong lamps. On the opposite wall hung a life-sized painting of water pokemon: starmie, golduck, and a dozen teeming others in the background. Misty's signature team, he realized. In the bathroom, even the soap bars were carved into Cascade Badge teardrops.
Maybe he should start keeping track of his own debts to Cynthia.
He wondered whether the theme was specifically Kanto gyms or if there were rooms for every single pokemon type. Then he decided he was simply grateful he'd been assigned a water room; a bug- or steel-type room might make rest more difficult.
He lingered only long enough to drop his backpack in a corner before returning to knock on Una's door.
"The rooms here are like theater sets," she said by way of greeting. "Is this what hotels are normally like?"
"Definitely not."
"I have seen many surprising things since I arrived, but this may be the strangest yet." She opened the door wider so he could peer inside.
Bedding in shades of brown and moss green. Exeggutor lamps. A painting of a vileplume and other plant pokemon among shifting shadows. Walls the dappled green of light filtering through leaves. It was the perfect room for her, the next best thing to sleeping under real trees.
She wondered aloud, "Why make a room that pretends to be a forest? Why not simply step outside?"
He laughed. "Good question."
Una smiled, and he felt again like they were the only two people who saw the truth of this crazy world. Like here, in the hotel doorway, was where he belonged. But of course he had other places to be.
"Hey, so," he began, "I told my friends I'd watch a show with them—you know, music and dancing—if you wanted to come …? There'll be plenty you could practice recording."
She shook her head. "I should at least attempt a story for Cynthia."
"Right. Yeah," he said with a sigh. "That makes sense."
"Perhaps later tonight?"
When she smiled at him, he couldn't help but smile back. "Sure, I can let you know when I'm done with my next— uh, when I'm free."
He showed her how to dial a call (when the ringer went off, she flung the phone away in surprise), then how to save his number. The only other contact, right below his, was Cynthia.
Her world was so small.
And yet Chris, with dozens of phone numbers within his reach, still hardly spoke to most of them.
Well, he was making up for that right now. With a wistful wave, he set off to find his friends, resisting the urge to look back at her. Only when he glanced at Una's name on his Bitflex screen did his smile return.
But as he passed through the lobby, he thought again how unfair it was, deceitful even, that Cynthia had paraded Una through a fancy hotel but hadn't mentioned how it was paid for. He'd never intentionally hidden his livelihood from her, and it felt wrong to allow Cynthia to lie by omission.
So he stopped beside the fountain and tapped out a hasty message: Does Una know you're a league champion?
He didn't expect his Bitflex to buzz with her reply only a moment later. It hasn't come up. Why?
Did she really have no idea why Una had planned to leave?
His next message bubbled up like acid reflux. Don't you know how she feels about battles?
As he hit send, release gave way to regret. Why had he done that? She'd been kind both to Una and to him—and he was nobody to her.
When it became clear no reply was forthcoming, he kept walking, trying and failing to put it from his mind. He'd made it to the main concourse by the time his Bitflex pinged with a sickening alert: New group message from Cynthia Lachlan and Una. Heart pounding, he flicked it open.
Why don't you both come to the panel tomorrow? I've added your names to the guest list. Then a link: A Conversation with Champion Lance and Special Guests.
Right. He knew how that would go. He pictured the crowd pressed around them, rapt and oblivious as Una dug her fingers into his arm. How they'd hiss with disapproval when she scrambled for the exit. How it would hurt to see her go, even though he knew it was coming.
This time, she wouldn't come back. Fool that he was, he'd as good as made sure of it: if not for Cynthia, what reason would she have left to stay?
And all he could do was type back a meek, Thanks, Cynthia.
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