Nightfall.
Inside the Quicksand Team's headquarters building, the top executives gathered with grim faces, each wearing a different shade of unease.
"Thirteen on the first day… That's even worse than ten years ago."
At the head of the table, Yuge—silver-haired and white-bearded—sighed deeply.
Even if the Quicksand Team was only considered a second-rate power, it was still clear they were on a downward spiral, weaker with every passing generation.
The shrinking number of qualified recruits made that painfully obvious.
Over a hundred participants had taken the exam on the first day. Only an eighth of them passed. Was the test really that hard?
"I think we should wait and see. After all, you know what happened…"
The lanky, long-haired Chester gave a light chuckle. "Maybe they were just dragged down by that man."
A rampaging Runerigus had triggered collapses throughout the test site, burying several unlucky participants. It took hours to dig them out.
But what could any of them say? That Pokémon belonged to their financial backer.
The Quicksand Team had started as hired muscle—guard dogs posted in Pyrite Town to protect mining interests. Nothing more than "security detail" backed by someone far more powerful.
Only Pyrite's unique environment had allowed them to grow into a proper faction. That didn't mean they could break free from their patron. In fact, they needed that backing more than ever to keep other groups from swallowing them whole.
"Dragged down, huh? You've got some nerve. Wasn't the one responsible your subordinate? How are you planning to explain this to the boss when he gets back from Phenac City?"
The muscle-bound Sōjirō sneered across the table.
Chester's smile froze, stretching tight and fake. "That's not your concern. I'll handle my own problems."
"Hmph! Better hope so!"
Sōjirō turned his head with a scoff.
Their mutual disdain was no act. The two had long been on the verge of open hostility—held back only by the boss's heavy hand.
—
Half an hour later.
The tense meeting ended without resolution. Chester returned to his office, only to find a worried-looking man pacing at the door.
"Lord Chester!" The man straightened as soon as he saw him.
"…Ishigaki."
Chester let out a weary sigh. "Go home."
"But Lord Chester! My nephew is still in the ICU, unconscious! The doctors say that even if he wakes up, he might not walk again for years!"
Ishigaki's voice rose in anger. "I have to make them pay!"
"Shut up."
Chester snapped, voice low and dangerous. "Do you even hear yourself? Your nephew brought this on himself. Revenge? Based on what? Speculation and a Pokémon's report?"
"Even I can't move against him right now! And don't forget—the higher-ups haven't punished you for your little stunt yet. Just meeting you today was a huge risk!"
His words thundered like a storm.
Ishigaki stood there, stunned. "But…"
But I was following your orders.
He didn't dare say it. Something primal told him that if he did, he might not leave this office alive.
"Look," Chester said, clapping him on the shoulder, "you've been with the Quicksand Team for a long time. You've followed me for years. I won't forget that. But right now, things are volatile. Lay low. Think of the greater good."
"…The greater good."
Ishigaki's expression turned bitter.
That phrase—"the greater good"—was Chester's favorite excuse. He used it to pressure, to silence, to control. Ishigaki had once admired him for it, had tried to emulate his way of managing people.
He hadn't realized the hammer would one day fall on him.
But what could he do?
That bastard had the attention of people far above his pay grade. If Ishigaki didn't want his entire family crushed, he'd have to endure.
His nephew? A vegetable?
Endure.
His Rhyhorn? Crippled?
Endure.
Biting his lip hard enough to bleed, Ishigaki turned and trudged away with leaden steps. He never noticed the muddy, malicious eyes of a lurking Stunfisk blinking once, then vanishing.
Chester's own eyes dimmed, the danger fading.
Comes to me for answers after botching the job? Useless fool.
If he weren't worried about unsettling the rest of his subordinates, he'd have eliminated Ishigaki a long time ago.
Trash.
—
Hospital Room.
Ayato sat in a blue-and-white patient gown, staring blankly out the window.
He hadn't realized until the check-up that, aside from cuts and bruises, he'd fractured one of his feet.
So now, he was resting.
Fortunately, Orre's medical tech was excellent. A fracture was considered minor—he'd be out in a few days.
What did surprise him was Shibata is in coma.
Ayato had wished he could grind him to dust on the spot—but even during the chaos with the Rhyhorn, he'd never expected this outcome.
That didn't kill him?!
What a shame.
Rhyhorn had gone berserk; there'd been no chance for a finishing blow…
A shame indeed.
What puzzled Ayato even more was Shibata's uncle—Squad Leader Ishigaki's reaction.
The first time he visited, the man came with a group of thugs, radiating murderous intent and vowing Ayato would die in that hospital bed. Ayato thought they were about to kill him then and there.
But they left.
On his next visit, Ishigaki brought gifts, chatted warmly, smiled like a snake, and babbled about "letting bygones be bygones."
As if.
What, had His Lordship forgotten how he acted just days ago?
The moment Shibata chose to go for his life, there was no going back. They were enemies now. The killing intent in Ishigaki's first visit had been real—Ayato had no doubt.
Everything now? An act. A cover.
For what?
Ayato didn't know—but he knew one thing: Ishigaki needed to go. Preferably soon.
As for the comatose Shibata?
Him too.
But then… maybe Ishigaki wasn't working alone. What if someone higher up was involved? A ranking executive he hadn't even met yet?
He didn't have enough information.
Ayato shook his head and glanced toward the other hospital bed.
Aron was still sleeping soundly.
It had been confirmed as a wild Pokémon. After a short stay at the Pokémon Center, it had been sent back to his room, nestled in a pod-like healing unit, snoring away like a baby.
The external injuries were healed. Internal ones… unclear.
The medics had said it was a little malnourished. Best to get it some iron supplements—or better yet, alloy-grade steel.
A walking, breathing gold sink.
Ayato seriously wondered if his wallet could survive the assault. Hopefully, once he got his full-member stipend, things would ease up.
"Guu."
A small sound snapped him out of thought.
Aron had opened its eyes slightly.
"You're awake? Don't worry, this is a hospital. Does anything feel off?"
Ayato smiled and opened the pod's cover.
Aron blinked, then shot up, scanning the room before locking eyes on him.
"Guu!"
With a sudden leap, it launched itself into Ayato's lap and started nuzzling into his chest like an overenthusiastic puppy.
"Oof!"
Ayato gasped, feeling his ribs creak under the weight. He almost passed out—but the sheer affection in Aron's actions caught him off guard.
"Good… you're okay. That's all that matters."
He'd thought it would take multiple conversations to earn Aron's trust. This was going way better than expected.
Is this… a sign?
As he stroked Aron's armored head, Ayato thought for a moment, then asked:
"Aron, what do you think of me?"
"Guu?"
It tilted its head, not quite understanding.
"I mean…" Ayato said gently, "If you don't dislike me—would you be willing to be my partner? Someone who walks beside me, helps me grow, someone I can protect, and who protects me in turn."
"I know it's sudden. But I really need your help. I want you at my side."
He placed Aron on the floor, adjusted his posture so he wouldn't strain his broken leg, and extended a hand.
"If you're willing… shake."
The words had barely left his lips before Aron lifted its front paw and placed it firmly in his palm.
"Guu-!"
Of course!
It nodded with complete sincerity, like it was responding to the most obvious question in the world.
"Ah… thank you."
Ayato couldn't help it.
The smile that bloomed across his face was utterly unstoppable.